It's my first time seeing Noah like this—just a loose shirt and soft-looking grey sweatpants. No coat. No boots. No scarf wrapped around his neck like armor. His hair's slightly tousled, like he towel-dried it and let it be. It's the most casual I've seen him since the day we met.
He looks … normal. Not mysterious, not composed. Just a guy in his own home, comfortable in his skin. The quiet confidence he always carries is still there, but softer now. Less like a wall, more like a blanket.
I sit on the carpet with Mellow curled against my side, rolling her rubber toy toward her nose. She yawns like this is the most exhausting task in the world. I'm warm, maybe too warm, from the heater and the way the living room traps the heat like a cozy pocket.
"Why didn't you open part-time shifts starting in late November?" I ask suddenly, casually, like I'm not thinking too hard about it. "Holiday season starts then, doesn't it?"
He pauses.
