Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Noah
My heart pounds against my ribs as I lead Alexis up the exterior stairs to my apartment.
The weathered wood creaks under our feet, each groan making me more aware of how different this place is from anywhere I’d normally bring someone like her.
The metal railing wobbles slightly under my hand, paint flaking off where countless hands have gripped it before mine.
No one else has been up here since I moved in six months ago—and certainly not a woman. The realization hits me like cold water. What am I thinking, bringing her to this barely furnished space that screams “bachelor who works too much”?
I pause at the door, my key halfway to the lock. The faded green paint is peeling near the bottom, and there’s a small dent near the doorknob from when I moved in and misjudged the width of my mattress.
“Uh, just so you know, my apartment is nothing special.” My fingers fidget with the keys. “I don’t spend much time in it, so it kind of looks like I just unpacked.”
Alexis’s eyes stay steady on mine, not even a flicker of judgment crossing her face. “That’s okay. I get it. I lived that way myself for a while. It wasn’t until I moved to Pine Island that I even thought about making my house a home.”
The tension in my shoulders eases, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thanks. Feel free to still judge me, though. I won’t hold it against you.”
She laughs, the sound warm in the evening air, and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. If I don’t like what I see, I’ll go to my office desk and write a scathing review about it.”
My hand flies to my chest in mock horror. “Ouch.”
“Too soon?”
“No.”
It’s perfect, actually. Every joke we make about our complicated past—the review that nearly destroyed my restaurant, the article that brought us back together—makes it feel less like a weight between us and more like shared history.
The fact that she can laugh about it, that she takes it lightly enough to tease, sends a rush of pure joy through me.
I spin her around, my hands finding her waist as her back meets the door.
The old wood is solid behind her, and I can smell the faint vanilla of her shampoo mixing with the evening air.
My mouth finds hers because I can’t wait—not even the few seconds it would take to fumble with the lock and get inside.
Her lips are soft and inviting when they sink into mine.
Her taste an intoxicating mix of sweetness and something uniquely her.
My head spins as her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer.
Every nerve ending comes alive where she touches me.
I want to map every curve of her body with my hands, memorize the way she sighs into my mouth, learn what makes her breath catch.
But we’re standing on the landing in full view of the street below. Anyone walking by could see us pressed together like teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other. The thought brings me back to reality, though it takes every ounce of self-control to pull my hands away from her warmth.
My fingers shake slightly as I work the lock. The door sticks—it always does—and I have to shoulder it open.
“Home, sweet home.” The words come out more sheepish than I intended.
Alexis steps inside, moving slowly through the open space like she’s taking inventory.
I see it through her eyes—the bare white walls without a single photo or piece of art, the secondhand couch that came with the place, the trunk/coffee table I found at the yard sale and cleaned up, TV off to the side that’s rarely turned on.
The kitchen counter is empty except for a French press and a bag of coffee beans from downstairs.
A small dining table with a couple of mismatched chairs from the flea market.
The apartment looks exactly like what it is—a place where someone sleeps and occasionally showers, nothing more.
“I’m hardly ever here,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from fidgeting.
She turns to face me, and there’s something soft in her expression. “I can imagine.” A small smile plays at her lips. “It’s cozy, though. I like the view of the trees outside.”
I follow her gaze to the window, where the oak trees that line the street are just starting to turn gold at the edges. “Yeah. The bakery feels more like home, though. This... It’s just somewhere I sleep.”
“What? You don’t like sleeping on a dining room chair or in the bakery pantry?”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “Been there, done that. A mattress provides a much better night’s rest.”
She moves closer, tilting her head up to look at me. “So you literally are down there all the time, huh?”
“The last six months, my whole life has been getting that place up and going... and then running it.”
“I guess that doesn’t leave much time for hobbies.”
“Hobbies?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I did something that wasn’t related to bread or the bakery?
“What did you do before you were so busy?”
I scratch the back of my neck, trying to remember. “Uh... Work. And learn about bread.”
Her laugh is gentle, not mocking.
“Does a YouTube channel count?” I ask, grasping for something that might qualify.
“Your YouTube channel about bread?” One perfectly shaped eyebrow rises. “That sounds more like work to me.”
“Then no. I don’t have hobbies.” I let my hands rest lightly on her arms, needing the connection. “So you’ve seen my channel?”
Pink touches her cheeks as she tries and fails to suppress a smile. “I may have... watched a video or two.”
“Really? Since when?”
“Hey, I’m your editor. And I wrote a review of your business. I need to know what you’re up to.”
My hands slide down to her waist, and I can feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Is that the only reason?”
“Well...” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting that smile. “Maybe I enjoyed looking at you, as well.”
“Ditto. I love reading your reviews, though. You have an amazing voice.”
“Thank you,” she says, but something shifts in her expression. Maybe work is the last thing she wants to discuss right now.
That’s perfectly fine by me. Work is definitely not what I have in mind.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice dropping lower.
She tilts her chin up, her hair falling away from the elegant line of her neck. “For what?”
“For... being here.” The words sound inadequate, but they’re the truest thing I can say.
Ever since I moved to Portsmouth, my life has been nothing but motion—constant, relentless motion. There’s hardly ever a spare moment to breathe and recalibrate.
But with Alexis here, in my sparse apartment with the fading light coming through the windows, time seems to slow. I’m not thinking about tomorrow’s bread orders or next week’s flour delivery. I’m just here, in this moment, with her.
And I never want it to end.
My mouth finds hers again, drawn by a force I can’t name and don’t want to resist. This kiss is different—slower, deeper.
I take my time tasting her, learning the shape of her mouth, the way she makes a small sound in her throat when I catch her lower lip between mine.
Heat builds in my chest, spreading through my body like fire.
She moans softly into my mouth, and I have to consciously loosen my grip on her waist. I want her with an intensity that surprises me—want to feel every inch of her pressed against me, want to lose myself in her completely.
But I won’t rush this, won’t risk scaring her away with how much I already need her.
My lips trail along her jaw, finding that spot just below her ear that makes her breath hitch.
Her skin is silk under my mouth as I work my way down her neck, tasting the salt and sweetness of her.
Her fingers dig into my back, pulling me closer, and we start moving together without conscious thought.
Four legs, one mind, we navigate around the coffee table toward the couch. The backs of my knees hit the cushions and I sink down, the old springs protesting under my weight. Before I can reach for her, Alexis is climbing onto my lap, straddling me with a confidence that sends my pulse racing.
This is more than I expected, more than I dared hope for. My fingers tangle in her hair as our mouths meet again, the kiss turning hungry, desperate. She rocks against me slightly, and heat rolls through my body in waves. The ache building low in my belly is almost painful in its intensity.
Alexis pulls back, her forehead dropping to rest against mine. We’re both breathing hard, and I can feel her heart racing where her chest presses against mine.
I swallow, trying to find words through the haze of desire. “Would you... like to go to my bed instead?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel her tense. Her hesitation is like cold water on my heated skin, and I realize I’ve overstepped.
What the hell am I thinking? This is only our second day of.
.. whatever this is between us. I haven’t taken her on a real date, haven’t bought her flowers or taken her to a nice restaurant.
I haven’t proven that I want more than just her body—though I do, God, I want everything with her—but how could she know that?
“Or not,” I rush to say. “Sorry. That was too soon. I shouldn’t have...”
She leans back on my lap, far enough that I can see her whole face. Her expression is serious but not angry. “No, it’s... I want to. It’s not that. It’s just... Before we move forward, I want to tell you that I have a condition called interstitial cystitis.”
I search her face, trying to understand. “Interstitial cystitis?”
“Yeah. It’s also known as Painful Bladder Condition.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Oh. Shit.” I sit up straighter, my hands moving to her hips to steady her so she doesn’t fall off my lap. “Alexis. I’m sorry. That sounds...”
A sad smile touches her lips. “Painful?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling completely inadequate.
“Well, it’s in the name, so...” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I’m beginning to recognize. “It can make sex painful. Sometimes it’s fine, but other times—especially if I’m flaring—it makes penetrative sex a no-go, and other things painful as well.”
My chest tightens with sympathy. “Are you flaring right now?”
“I’m coming off the tail end of a flare, yeah.”
“I’m so sorry.” My hands move up her thighs instinctively, wanting to comfort her, to somehow make this better. But then I freeze, suddenly afraid that even this simple touch might hurt her.
“Thank you.” Her hands settle on my shoulders, warm and reassuring. “I want to be with you. Like, right now. I just don’t think it’s currently a good idea.”
“Of course. Of course not.” I carefully place my hands on her waist, gentle as I can be. “Is touching you here okay?”
Her laugh is light, almost musical, and some of the tension in my chest eases. “Yeah. It is. It’s my pelvic area that’s not doing so good.”
“We can do something else. Anything else.” I meet her eyes, wanting her to see that I mean every word. “I just want to be around you.”
She studies my face for a long moment, like she’s looking for something. Whatever she finds must satisfy her because her expression softens. “I want that, too.”
“Are you hungry? We can grab an early dinner. Or we can watch a movie. Go to the park. Whatever you want to do.”
Her smile starts slow and builds, sweet as honey. “Really? I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to be right here with you.”
The way she says it, low and full of promise, makes me bite my lip to hold back a groan. “That’s what I want too.”
Her eyelashes flutter as she considers something. When she speaks, her voice is quiet but determined. “I do want to go to your bed, Noah. I... I don’t know what we can do, but?—”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, not wanting her to feel like she needs to explain or justify. “I just want to be with you.”
And I mean it with every fiber of my being.
She nods, something vulnerable and trusting in her eyes. “Me too.”
She slides off my lap and takes my hand. Her palm is damp with nervousness as we walk together toward the bedroom. The short hallway feels like miles, each step weighted with anticipation and uncertainty.
I can feel her anxiety in the slight tremble of her fingers. Maybe she thinks I’ll judge her for her condition, or that I’m frustrated by the limitations it puts on us. The thought makes my chest ache.
But I’m not frustrated. Not even close. Life isn’t the fairy tale we’re sold in movies. It’s messy and complicated and sometimes painful. Alexis is a real woman with real struggles, not some perfect fantasy.
A real woman that I’m falling for harder than I ever thought possible.
A real woman that I’m starting to feel I would rearrange the stars for, if she asked.
We cross the threshold into my bedroom, and I’m acutely aware of how bare it is—just a bed with plain gray sheets, a nightstand with a lamp, and a dresser with a few clothes spilling out of a half-open drawer. But none of that matters.
All that matters is the woman whose hand is in mine, who trusts me enough to be vulnerable with me, who’s choosing to be here despite everything complicated between us.
I’m falling for her. No—I’ve already fallen. And standing here in my sparse bedroom with her hand in mine, I know with absolute certainty that I would move mountains for this woman. I would move the moon itself if she needed me to.