44. Dani
When we finish our meals, I feel Noah’s eyes peering at me.
My eyes pull in his direction.
There are those dreamy ocean eyes I’ve succumbed to.
He studies my face, making his way to my lips. “You got a little pasta sauce on your face.”
I go to reach for my napkin, but he stops me and puts his hand on my arm.
“I got it.”
He swipes the pad of his thumb across the corner of my mouth, bringing it up to his lips. He inserts it into his mouth, sucking on it.
This man is eating the leftover pasta sauce he wiped off my mouth.
I have to look away, so I can catch my breath. I thread my fingers through tendrils of hair from my ponytail.
What the fuck was that? That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Are you malfunctioning over there?”
I turn my head back in his direction, collecting myself by taking a deep breath in and out. “I’m fine.”
Yeah, I’m the complete opposite of fine.
The urge I have to tell him to pick me up and throw me on the kitchen counter is real.
I sit criss-cross applesauce, realizing heat is spreading in between my thighs.
“You sure?”
I grin. “Uh-huh.”
He gets up, grabbing his bowl and mine along with our utensils. He walks over to the sink, turning it on and washing the dishes.
Noah’s done washing the dishes which probably took him twenty minutes to do. I would’ve been in here for a solid hour because I’m not skilled in that department.
I don’t know what it is about men and washing dishes, but I find it so attractive.
I look at the pan we used and it looks brand new. Everything is stacked perfectly in the drain board. The dishwasher is organized with plates, bowls, and other items in their own respective places.
God, I want to marry this guy.
He’s standing in front of the sink while I’m leaning against the island.
“Tell me a secret,” I say.
He whips his head around. “What?”
“How are you so good at washing dishes and organizing them?”
“I’ll tell you my secret for washing dishes if you teach me how to be a better cook. Do we have a deal, Princess?”
I stick out my hand in his direction, gesturing to him to shake it. He does, but he holds onto my hand for a bit longer than he has to.
And I let him.
“You know I could get used to this.”
“Used to what?” A sliver of a smile grows on my face.
His lips curve up, eyes lighting up like stars brightening the night sky.
My heart is beating fast like a race car driver driving in the Daytona 500, anticipating his answer.
“This.” He points to us, using his index fingers on both hands.
“You need to be more specific.”
He wets his lips, pressing them together. “Do I really?”
“You really do.”
His jaw twitches, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I’ve had more fun with you this past month than I have with anyone in a long time.”
How is it that Noah Kaplan has this incredible ability to take my breath away with just the words that come out of his mouth?
I change the subject because I have no idea how to respond to what he said to me. “I snuck some fresh blankets on the bed in the guest room.”
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Anytime. I’ll be here. All day and all night just for your hospitality needs,” I say as I curtsy for him.
That gets a laugh out of him, causing me to laugh with him.
I don’t think I’ve laughed this much with anyone except for Dad. He knew how to make me laugh. He told the best Dad jokes. They were so bad that they were good.
I miss him so much.
“Well, time to get back to work. Then, I’m going to sleep. My brain might shrink down to nothing if I don’t. That would suck.” He smiles at me.
“Guess I should get back to my editing cave too.”
He starts walking into the living room, turning back around to face me. “Hey, Dani.”
“Yes, Noah.”
“Hope you get a lot of editing done.” He winks, smirking at me in the process.
I’m restraining myself from running into his arms and kissing him so hard his lips bleed slightly from me pulling on them with my teeth.
Pull yourself together, woman.
“Thanks.”
I walk into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
How am I going to focus on editing when Noah’s not even a foot away from me?
The kitchen is farther away, and so is the living room.
He’s doing this shit on purpose to test me and my hormone levels.
Thank God I’m not on my period.
I bend my elbows and clench my fists. Closing my eyes, I breathe in and out multiple times in a row.
Time to dive back into the editing cave.
My fingers are finally working their magic, typing all the words that are flowing out of my brain.
Although the story I’m writing isn’t as taxing as what’s unfolded over the past month here, it does have moments of emotional intensity.
The female main character suffers from PTSD and panic attacks. It’s oddly therapeutic writing about anxiety from a character’s perspective because I’m also taking into account that it’s actually me saying these things.
No matter how hard I try to focus though, my mind keeps shifting to Noah.
I have no idea what the hell he’s doing. And it’s stressing me out. I mean I know he’s editing, but still. A girl needs to know these things.
Sitting back on my office chair, I glance out the window to see birds sitting in the tree in front of the house, chirping away.
The sky is gradually getting darker as time goes on. The view outside my window is nice and serene.
Why don’t I feel serene?
I need a drink. Too bad I don’t drink alcohol that often. Caffeine is the answer to my problem.
Wait, I can’t drink caffeine right now. What the hell am I thinking?
See this is the problem. I’m already wired. Caffeine will only make it worse.
Music. That’s what I need.
Music will calm me down and allow me to regain my focus.
I grab my wireless earbuds, sticking them both in my ears. I maximize the window for Spotify, finding my playlist that has my current favorite songs on it.
It’s hard to miss because of the title.
Good Shit.
Pressing the play button, a big smile grows on my face when I realize Olivia Rodrigo’s voice is in my ears.
I’m finishing up the edits I’ve been working on for the past month, courtesy of my lovely beta readers. They’re a sweet group of people and they’ve been incredibly helpful in providing me with constructive feedback on my book.
It’s no secret I’m an adult.
Maybe I don’t act like one all the time, but I am.
It’s surreal to relive my teenage years through Olivia Rodrigo’s angsty and emotional discography. No, I didn’t experience heartbreak or have a life-changing relationship. But, it’s cool to imagine I did both of those things through her music.
The irony is it hasn’t been that long since I was a teenager. It just feels like it has.
Time is such a common yet foreign concept. Sometimes it’s slow. Sometimes it’s fast. There never seems to be any in between. Not in my personal experience, at least.
For instance, it feels like my dad passed away only yesterday, but he actually passed away nine years ago. I can’t believe it will be a decade next year.
I blink my eyes three times in a row to stop the tears from welling up.
My bat mitzvah was one of the last times I had a heart-to-heart with him.
I studied the shit out of my Torah portion, but anxiety got the best of me before I could even walk into the temple.
My dad pulled me aside.
I remember the exact words he said to me.
You’re going to do great, pumpkin. If you feel those nerves trying to take over when you’re up there, just picture everybody in their underwear. Works like a charm. You studied so hard for this. You can do this. I know you can. You’re a strong girl because you’re my girl. My daughter. You’re a Solomon. And we never back down from a challenge. We never admit defeat.
That last part always echoes over and over again in my head like the inside of my head is incredibly hollow.
I’m brought back to reality when I notice how late it’s getting. “Shit, I need to get ready for bed,” I mumble to myself.
Removing the earbuds out of my ears, I put them back into their case.
I do a quick change out of my clothes into my pajamas.
Once I open my bedroom door, I walk to the bathroom.
Before I can open the bathroom door, Noah comes out.
He’s standing there, but that’s not the main thing I notice.
The man isn’t wearing a fucking shirt.
You wouldn’t know it by looking at him right away when he’s wearing a t-shirt. But, wow. I had a feeling he was muscular underneath because I’ve felt his biceps and chest.
Fuck, he’s ripped.
I study his chest and toned stomach, taking in the beautiful sight. I’m biting my bottom lip so hard it might bleed.
He takes his sweet time, scanning me from head to toe.
He’s kerosene, lighting my body on fire. I’m hot everywhere.
“Hi.” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a smirk across his lips.
Why is it so attractive when guys lean against door frames?
“H-hi,” I stutter.
“Are you okay because it looks like you look like you just saw a ghost?”
I flatten my lips. “Everything’s just peachy.”
I’m shocked I’m able to get any words out.
I’m not the type of girl who weighs physicality over personality.
Noah’s the entire package. He’s smart, creative, talented, charming, and funny. To top it all off, he’s so fucking handsome.
“Bathroom’s all yours. Good night, Dani.”
He slowly walks away from me. I’m engulfed by his signature scent. Ocean, orange, and minty goodness.
“Night.”
I walk into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I cover my face with my hands.
I can’t do this anymore.
I think about Noah all the time. I dream about him for Chrissakes. I need to do something about this now or I’m going to regret it later.
Getting up from the edge of the bathtub, I walk over to the sink. I rush through my usual night routine, taking a cold and hard look at myself in the mirror.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I admit defeat.
“You win, Noah Kaplan,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. A deep breath comes out of my mouth. “Fuck it.”
I storm out of the bathroom, catching up with him before he goes into the guest bedroom.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Grabbing his hand, Noah turns around with a confused expression written all over his face.
He lowers his eyebrows. “Forget something?”
A long stretch of silence occurs. At first, I hesitate to act on my attraction to him—until I don’t.
I grab his face, planting a kiss on his lips.
When I pull away, he looks at our surroundings with widened eyes and meets my gaze like he can’t believe what happened.
He stares at my lips for a moment before gently grazing them and running his tongue along them.
He requests entry into my mouth.
I accept his request without any hesitation.
The palm of his hand lands on my cheek and the other slides down to grip my hip.
His lips are warm and soft. They taste like mint and the ocean.
My body wants him so fucking badly, but my brain is telling me something entirely different.
The chronic overthinker is determined to take over.
Wait a minute, what am I doing? This is wrong.
I pull away, realizing I just kissed Noah fucking Kaplan.
He stares at me like he can’t believe what just happened, his mouth gaping wide open. He looks like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen like a statue in an art museum.
My breath hitches, growing heavier by the second.
I try to rub my arms in an attempt to get rid of the goosebumps but it’s no use. They’ve become a regular thing when I’m around Noah. I should be used to them by now.
I take a deep gulp, almost choking on the saliva going down my throat. “I’m sorry.”
I sprint into my room, slamming the door behind me and having a borderline panic attack.