“Jesus, Noah, you scared me.” His name came out about three registers higher than her normal voice. She pressed her free hand flat against her chest. “Why must you do stuff like that?”
“Like what?”
"You were just standing there all quiet and creepy.”
“I was in the doorway. Not sure what’s wrong with that.”
“Right. Because staring at me like a stalker isn’t weird at all.”
He laughed. “I’ve been here for less than a minute. Maybe two.” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed to the counter, where the fallen roll was making its frosting situation worse by the second. “I’ll take care of the mess.”
"I've got it." She reached for the paper towels.
But her beat her too it, and she groaned, rolling her eyes. Quickly, he dealt with the floor and the side of the cabinet, and when he rose, she was standing there, flushed and flustered,with frosting on her thumb and her hair falling out of the ponytail in three new places.
God, she was adorable. He picked her up and set her on the counter.
“What the hell?” She looked at him with an expression that suggested she had significant opinions about what he’d just gone and done.
He left his hands on her waist, and she didn't move away—which was kind of answer to a question he hadn't asked out loud yet.
"You made me cinnamon rolls," he said with a smile. “You know how much I love those.”
“I was being nice,” she said. “And was worried if you, like me, didn’t sleep well.”
“Tossed and turned all night.” He looked at her. At the shirt. The collar sat crooked because she'd buttoned it wrong by one. He reached up and straightened it, and her breath shifted slightly. He left his hand there at the collar for a second longer than he needed to. “You stole my shirt.”
"I have no idea how it got here."
“I’ve got a good idea, and it starts with you taking it from my dressing room.” A smile tugged at his lips. “For the record, I’m beyond flattered.”
“Don’t be.” She held his gaze without flinching, which was the most Ziggy thing she could have done. “I probably just meant to get it dry-cleaned for you and forgot.”
He reached up and tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear and tried to remember all the excuses he’d come up with on why they couldn’t be together. Or why it was a bad idea.
And there was only one that ever made any sense—well, it would’ve if he’d actually disappeared from her life.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For startling me?” She cocked her head. “You’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again.”
“You’re so good at deflecting.” He traced her jawline with his index finger. “No. Five years ago."
Her chest rose sharply and she tried to look away, but he cupped her chin. “Don’t turn away,” he said softly. "I'm sorry about how badly I behaved five years ago." He kept his voice even, the way he kept it even on air, except this time it wasn't professional. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought if I ended us before things got too deep, you’d be protected. But I was wrong. I’ve been wrong about so many things. I know I can’t make up?—”
“You don’t have to?—”
"Let me finish." He kissed her cheek. "You’ve spent five years standing next to me. Watching me date women I had no business dating, none of whom were you, and you did like it didn’t destroy a little piece of you. I’m so sorry I did that. You buried a story that could’ve made your career because I handed you something you’d never asked for, and then I pushed you away and asked you to stay anyway, and you did. I’ve spent every day since then being grateful for that and terrified of it in equal measure."
She was quiet. Maybe a little too quiet. Not to mention her body went very still.
"I know we've had the version of this conversation where it's about protecting you," he said. "Where it's about the cameras and the headlines and what happens when Matias Salazar's son becomes the story, and everyone in the frame gets burned. That's real. I'm not pretending it isn't." He studied her expression. Or lack of it. The way her eyes didn’t widen or narrow. The way her lips didn’t twitch. They didn’t frown or curl upward. But she had tensed, and he couldn’t ignore that. "But it was never only that. I was scared. I've been frightened my entire life of being something I don't want to be, of it affecting the oneperson I don’t ever want to lose. So, I convinced myself I had to keep you at a distance."
A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks, and she swiped at them as she glanced away. He gave her that dignity. Outside, the morning was doing its quiet Langley thing—gray light through the kitchen window, the Sound somewhere behind the rooftops, the kind of Saturday that asked nothing of anyone. Yet, he was asking everything of her.
“That’s quite the speech.” She blew out a puff of air, turned, and held his gaze.
“It wasn’t meant to come off like that.”