I wake up the next morning to the harsh sound of rolling thunder and constant rain drilling down on the metal shutters covering the windows. At first, I don’t know where I am, but I look over and see Noah sleeping soundly next to me. My back is packed tightly against his chest and his arms are around my stomach.
I smile at the sight and wiggle my way out of Noah’s grasp. I pick up a shirt on the way to the door and I don’t know if it’s mine or his. I guess both shirts are his, but whatever. I grab my panties off the door handle and shimmy them on before leaving the room. I close the door quietly, not trying to wake Noah.
I grab my headphones out of my purse, which I set down by the front door last night, and plug them into my phone. I turn some music up loudly and go to the kitchen, intending to make us breakfast. I dance around to the music as I take out eggs and find a pan to cook them in. I sing along to the music sometimes and my dance moves are getting ridiculous when I turn around to plate the eggs.
I see Noah standing against the bar across from me with an amused smile on his face. I rip out my headphones and place my phone on the counter. I return his smile, not even feeling self-conscious like I normally would if it were Rich, and hold up the two plates of eggs.
“I made breakfast,” I proudly declare as I put them on the bar.
Noah comes around into the kitchen and grabs me by the hips like we’ve been with each other for a lot longer than a single night. He lifts me onto the countertop and stands in between my legs. He’s wearing only his snug boxer-briefs, and he has a firm hold around my back, pulling me close to him. When he nips at my collarbone with his teeth, I groan at the sensations it elicits.
“We should eat before the eggs get cold,” I manage between my uncontrollable giggles. I am not usually a person who giggles. Noah pulls back and gives me a quick kiss on the lips before helping me off the counter. He goes to sit down as I head to the fridge.
“Do you want some orange juice?” I ask, pulling the bottle out.
“Please. Thank you for making breakfast,” Noah replies as I pour two glasses of juice and sit down next to him.
“It seemed like a third date kind of thing to do,” I say with a light laugh. I’m rewarded by a breathtaking smile and we eat in silence for a few minutes.
“What should we do today?” Noah asks.
“Do you like scary movies?” I ask as I load the dishwasher with our dishes after we finish breakfast.
“Love ’em,” Noah responds.
“Since it’s pretty dark in here from the metal shutters, we could watch a few scary movies,” I suggest.
“Sounds perfect. I think I’ve got some popcorn here,” Noah says, coming into the kitchen. He searches through his pantry until he finds some popcorn kernels. I look at him with a smile.
“No microwavable bags?” I ask, smirking.
“Nah. This is the best type of popcorn. You cook it with a little oil in a pot on the stove, then add some melted butter. Better than the movie theater,” Noah replies as he gets a pot out.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask.
“My friends and I used to have a lot of time of our hands so sometimes we’d spend time in the kitchen, and the chef showed me how to make it when we asked for some for a movie night. When I moved here, it was the only thing I could make without Google before I took the cooking classes,” Noah replies.
I give him a strange look. He had a personal chef? How rich was he? Is he? I guess there are a lot of things I don’t know about Noah, and I’m a little tempted to Google him. I quickly dismiss the idea. No good can come from that. If there is anything about him on the web, it’s probably full of half-truths and misconstrued words. No, thank you. I’ll learn about him the old-fashioned way.
“I’m going to call Rachel while you do that,” I say heading to the bedroom.
I turn on the light and see that Noah’s picked up the scattered clothes of his and put them in the laundry basket. I smile as I remember our night before sitting on the bed and pulling out my phone. The line only rings a few times before the pair of them answer.
“How was last night?” Rachel asks.
“What did you do?” Holly demands.
“We listened to music and drank wine. Did a little dancing after all the alcohol. The night ended in his room…” I trail off.
I have to pull my phone away from my ear or I might go deaf from their banshee level screaming. I smile into the phone and immediately the phone beeps indicating a video call. I shake my head and accept. The two of them are pressed together so they’re both in the frame.
“Spill,” they demand at the same time. I regale them on my most magnificent night with Noah and I get all sorts of smiles, squeals, and sighs from Holly and Rachel.
“Honestly, I did not expect you to sleep with someone on the first date,” Rachel says. I roll my eyes at her.
“I wasn’t planning on it. If there hadn’t been a hurricane and I went home at the decent time, I wouldn’t have slept with him,” I say defending myself though I don’t need to. It was my choice, and I do not regret it at all.
“I’m not bagging on you. I think it’s great. I can’t imagine Captain Dickweed was that great in bed,” Rachel replies.
Captain Dickweed is Rich’s nickname that Rachel and Holly came up with pretty early on in our relationship. I used to hate it, but I laugh now. It rings with a certain truth.
“Noah is definitely better in every way,” I concede with a small smile at a memory.
Noah’s footsteps echo in the hall, and I can tell he’s almost to the bedroom. I tell Rachel and Holly this and they rush to say,
“Tell Noah hi for us.”
I nod quickly and end the video call when Noah opens the door. He leans against the door frame looking drop-dead sexy with his ruffled hair and all his tattoos on perfect display for me to see. I smile at him.
“Ready to watch some movies?” he asks, walking into the room. I nod and sit up from the bed.
Noah’s pretty close to me and my breath hitches with what that might mean, but he only grabs a hold of the comforter off the bed to bring it to the living room. I lead the way out and we sit close together on the couch. Noah spreads the blanket over us both and puts up the recliner on his couch. I grab the popcorn off the coffee table and in no time at all we’re searching for a movie to watch on Netflix.
I’m laying on Noah’s chest as we watch a few movies. I’m about to put the third one on when I notice Noah is passed out. I smile at him and get up from the couch. I want to search the rest of the house that I will be calling home for at least the next twelve hours.
It seems like there’s another two bedrooms another bathroom and a laundry room. I go to the first door on the right and find a home gym, which explains why Noah has such an amazingly muscly body. I close the door behind me and go to the next one down the hall, and I find a room filled with music producing equipment. It’s a very large room with a gorgeous black grand piano, an acoustic guitar, a drum set, and a red electric guitar with several amps around the room.
I wonder if Noah can play all these instruments. I shake my head at the thought. Of course, he can play them. Why else would they be here? Does he write his own music too? The thought makes me feel giddy and I want to hear. His speaking voice is deep, and I bet his singing voice sounds like a low bass angel.
My fingers skim across the white piano keys and then the strings of the acoustic. The strings rumble a bit and I smile. Music is one of my favorite things about life. I’m positive I would have fallen into a deeper pit of depressional despair without music when I was going through my breakup.
I turn toward the door to continue my exploration of Noah’s house. I yelp when I see him, now in a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, leaning against the door frame. That seems to be his thing, and oh my God, it’s so hot when he does. I look around, embarrassed that I was going through his house like I own the place.
“Sorry,” I say. Noah’s smile tells me he doesn’t mind.
“You apologize too much for things that don’t require an apology,” he replies, coming all the way into the room. He sits down on the piano stool and runs his long fingers over the keys the way I did not too long before.
“Do you play?” I ask, walking to sit beside him.
“I do. I play all these,” he says, motioning around the room. I smile at how ridiculously talented he must be.
Noah closes his eyes and starts playing. It takes me just a second longer than it should to realize he’s playing Hallelujah, which I know from Shrek. It’s a beautiful song and I smile at him. Noah opens his eyes and looks into mine. Then he sings.
“Well, I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord,” Noah starts in his deep voice.
“But you don’t really care for music, do you?” I can’t help but join in and I’m greeted with another eye lighting smile.
“Well, it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift. The baffled king composing hallelujah,” Noah and I sing together and continue through the chorus.
At the end of the song, when the piano dies away and all that’s left is silence, Noah smiles at me and we’re both breathing hard.
“I should have recorded that. You have an amazing voice and the harmonies were killer,” Noah murmurs.
“You have a great voice,” I reply with a smile.
Noah holds his hand out to help me up and we leave the room. He shuts the light off and closes the door before he leads me back into his room. I wonder what we’re going to do when he lets go of my hand.
“I was going to take a bath. Care to join?”