Never Ever

13| A little vanilla

His apartment looks the same but cleaner. I turn around, taking in the fresh smell of cotton and bleach. The floors are shiny, and the pillows have been plumped at a perfect 45-degree angle.

Something about this feels suspicious. "You knew I would say yes," I accuse. "That's why you cleaned."

I turn around in time to see a small, frail woman coming out of the kitchen with a mop and yellow gloves. She smiles at Noah, who returns her kind smile before reaching into his pocket for a tip.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hedge," he says. "I'll see you at the same time next week." As the door clicks behind her, Noah arches an eyebrow at me. "You can use the ensuite in my bedroom," he says before heading to the kitchen. "It's bigger."

I nod but make no effort to move. Instead, I exhale, watching Noah open the cupboards, the muscles in his forearms springing to life. "Just to be sure, this isn't your way of tricking me into a date, is it?"

He looks over his shoulder. Winks. "You haven't earned that privilege."

Rolling my eyes, I hurry down the hallway as he calls out third door on the left. I dip inside, closing the door behind me before taking in his bedroom. It's large and airy, with a four-poster bed and a set of old antique drawers. The pillows are propped, the bed draped in an expensive muted blanket that looks soft as silk, and everything is in its rightful place. Despite the cleaner, something tells me Noah's bedroom would look this way even without one.

With a deep breath, I head into the bathroom, marveling at the stone countertops as I strip and step into the rainfall shower. With a twist of the faucet, hot water pounds my skin instantly, creating a cloud of steam around me. I tilt my head back, relishing in the warmth before scanning the inbuilt shelves.

In typical Noah fashion, there are countless expensive shampoos and soaps to choose from. I take my time lathering up in a kind-to-skin fruity shower gel before washing my hair, shamelessly enjoying every second. I'm so used to having to dart back home still half-drenched in chlorine that a nice hot shower after swimming feels like heaven.

After sufficiently pampering myself, I dry off and change before glancing in the mirror, wincing at my bare, blotchy face. I hadn't thought to bring makeup, but then again, I hadn't planned on having dinner with Noah tonight.

Still, there's nothing I can do about it now. I run a quick hand through my hair and head into the kitchen, where Noah stands before a bubbling pot on the stove. The place smells delicious, a mix of herbs and spices that make my stomach grumble. I lean over his shoulder to catch a peek as he half turns to look at me, forcing our noses to brush.

I feel my cheeks burn as I forcefully step back. "What are you making?" I take in the bottle of red wine on the counter and suddenly grow alarmed that he's planning to get us drunk.

"Red Wine Bucatini with Pancetta and Parmesan." He says it so casually that it surprises me, making him laugh. "Don't get your hopes up – it's just a fancy way of saying pasta. Come here." He steps back a little, making room for me to stand in front of him.

Cautious, I move closer, stopping an inch away. Noah rolls his eyes before grabbing my waist, guiding me into the space before him. I flinch at the feel of his chest against my back, every inch of my body on edge. "What are you doing?"

Reaching around me, he grabs for a spoon. It sends a jolt of excitement through me. "Relax, Blue. I'm teaching you how to cook – strictly platonic."

If I felt nervous before, it's nothing compared to now. Noah stands behind me, his broad chest pressing against my back like solid iron. Every fiber in my body demands that I move, but I can't. "What's the first step?"