“But you have money in your savings account, right?”
“No, Mr. Movie Star. I don’t have investment or retirement accounts, either. It’s all gone.”
A look of guilt crossed his features, as if that was exactly what he’d been thinking. “I’m sorry. I feel responsible.”
“You’re not responsible for the actions of a criminal.”
He put the lid on the blender and then looked at me for, like, a really long time. It was starting to make me uncomfortable. “People just usually depend on me for this kind of stuff.”
“I’m not in the market for a sugar daddy,” I said teasingly, and that put a smile on his face.
“I’ve given you money before,” he reminded me.
“You overpaid me for a service I performed for you, and that was before we were friends. It would be weird now.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s not your decision to make,” I told him.
“Okay. But know that it’s here if you need it.”
He turned the blender on high, and his offer touched me in a way I wouldn’t have imagined possible. Not to mention how it sent little shivers of happiness rushing through me.
We were getting into dangerous territory. He had taken out pieces of fish and was dunking them in different bowls that had flour, eggs, and the rice mixture, and he told me about his day. About the little girl who said she wanted to be Aliana when she grew up so that she could marry him (a sentiment I understood all too well) and the little boy recovering from cancer who said he’d grow his hair out as long as Malec’s when it came back in.
The fish smelled delicious and took less time to cook than I would have imagined. He brought a serving over to the table for me, along with a fork. Then he sat down across from me and told me to dig in.
I took a bite. It was incredible. Light, flaky. “Why are you good at everything? This is amazing.”
He grinned. “Thanks. I probably should have made a salad or something, but it was a long day, and I’m tired.”
I was going to tease him that tired people didn’t usually make wild rice–crusted halibut for dinner but decided to be nice.
We ate in silence. It was just too good to let sit and get cold. When we finished, I offered to clear our plates, but he wouldn’t let me. “You’re my guest.”
“Thank you for that dinner. And for cleaning up. You know, I could get used to this,” I told him as he walked over to the sink to rinse off the plates before he put them into the dishwasher. “You waiting on me.”
He smiled and said, “I live to serve.”
I smiled back and . . . I realized I didn’t have a reason to stay. I’d returned Magnus to him safely and he’d fed me both cereal and halibut, and now it was probably time for me to head home.
“It’s getting late,” I told him.
“You’re right.” He came back to the table but didn’t sit down. I took that as my cue to go and stood up.
“Or . . .” He let his words trail off.
“Or?” I repeated, far too hopeful.
“You could stay for a drink. I think we both deserve one after the days we’ve had. What do you say?”
The right, clearheaded choice was obvious. Go home. Pack my bag and get ready to start my new job in the morning.
Walk away from Noah Douglas and all his dangerous sexiness.
Problem was, I didn’t want to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Just one drink,” I said.
“Do you have a preference?” he asked. “Beer? Wine?”
I grimaced. “Not wine. We no longer speak after this wicked one-night stand we had years ago.”
That made him laugh as he headed for a bar cart in the corner. “Do you want me to make you my supposedly favorite drink?”
“Sure. What’s your supposedly favorite drink?”
“Whiskey sour.”
“I’ve never had it.” Which meant I didn’t know how much alcohol was in it. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
Noah had pulled out a bunch of different bottles and a metal shaker. “If I was trying to get you drunk, I would have grabbed the vodka.”
“Should I be worried about how fast you said that?”
“No. I was in the military. I know the best way to get drunk fast.” He was pouring syrups and liquids into the shaker.
“Were you a bartender in a movie, too?”
“There was an offer, but the deal didn’t come together. I did my research, just in case.”
He poured the drinks into glass tumblers and handed me one. “Do you want to go sit in the library?”
Again, that felt a little dangerous. But I said, “Yes.”
I followed behind him, remembering the room from before. I planned on sitting in one of the armchairs, but when we got there the only piece of furniture left was a couch. A very small, two-seater one.
“Shelby’s really cleaning you out, isn’t she?” I asked when I sat. He sat down close, facing me, and I had to refrain from scooting away. But whether that was to prove something to him or something to me, I wasn’t sure.
He took a sip of his drink. “I’m planning on staying here during the renovation, so she’s leaving me what she thinks I need and we’ll just move everything around as they work on different rooms. I couldn’t go to a hotel. I hate hotels.”
“That must be fun for someone who travels as much as you do.”
He raised an eyebrow in agreement, taking another drink.
I decided to take a drink, too. I grimaced after my first taste.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think this tastes like lemonade’s hardened older brother who has a full tattoo arm sleeve and a criminal record.”
He laughed, but I did take another drink. It tasted better now. Maybe his laughter had done that.
Or it was the alcohol.
Probably the alcohol, which was warming my insides and making me feel very relaxed. It really had been a long time since I could afford such quality liquor. “So if this is supposedly your favorite, what is your actual favorite?”
He leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It would ruin my street cred.”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t have any street cred, but I promise not to tell.” With my free hand, I made an X across my chest. “Cross my heart.”
“So I went to Hawaii, trying to vacation.”
“Trying to vacation?” I couldn’t help but interrupt. “How does that work?”
“My agent wanted me to relax, but it didn’t work so well for me. I’m one of those people who needs to be doing something, working, or else I get in my own head, and that’s not good. Anyway, I went down to the hotel bar the first night, and the bartender recognized me and gave me their house special. It was a piña colada.”
I gasped with joy. “Please tell me you drank it out of an actual pineapple and that a tiny pink umbrella was involved.”
He held up one hand, as if telling me to slow down. “No, it was in a regular glass. I didn’t want it, but I tried it just to be polite. But it was literally the best drink I’ve ever had. I kept ordering them and then had to be helped back to my room.”