Monday afternoon came and went uneventfully. It was hard to concentrate on my tasks with those butterflies fluttering around my stomach, but I forced myself to put my phone away — our text conversation was finished anyway — and managed to grind out an hour or two of focused work. On Tuesday night Gabrielle and I went to the cinema to see a live-action version of an animated movie that we'd both loved in our childhoods, after a long dinner spent talking mostly about her weekend away to visit her family.

It wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that I heard from Noah again. I'd gone straight back to checking my phone at least once every ten minutes since Monday evening, but I hadn't sent him another message either, so I could hardly blame him for not contacting me.

His text now was purely practical, asking me for my address. I gave it to him with a picture of the wine aisle I was looking at in the grocery store, asking which bottle would go well with the gnocchi. Just like before, he replied within seconds.

Noah: If you insist, go with that chenin blanc on the right, third shelf from the top. But don't worry, I've got it all covered.

The message contained a picture too, of his hand — wow, his nails were impeccable — holding a fancy-looking bottle with 'Exultet Fiano di Avellino' written on the label. I'd never heard of it. I looked from my phone to the shelf and back to my phone, debating whether to buy the expensive bottle of chenin blanc; eventually, I grabbed it from the shelf. He was bringing dinner and fancy wine. The least I could do was get this, and I didn't want to look cheap.

Back home, I tried on three different outfits, finally settling on a denim skirt and a black top. I tidied the kitchen, placed my stuffed bunny in my nightstand drawer, and artfully arranged some smart books on my coffee table before shaking my head to myself and putting them back into the bookcase.

When the intercom rang, I took a deep breath, brushed a nonexistent fleck of dust off my skirt, and crossed the hall to open the door. "Hi," I said, smiling a little nervously once he'd climbed the stairs. My confidence over text needed a little more time to translate to real life.

"Emma, hi." Noah looked at me intently, reminiscent in a way of how he'd looked at me that very first time I saw him. Then he broke eye contact to kiss me on the cheek. "It's good to see you."

I stepped aside. "Come in. Um, the coat rack is here on the right." I watched him as he took off his leather jacket and hung it up — god, would I ever get used to how gorgeous he was?

He walked in and looked around. My third floor walk-up apartment was small enough to look a little crammed with all its furniture (though I hadn't even collected that much stuff over the years), but I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Once I'd finally started making enough money to afford a rental of my own, I'd said goodbye to my roommates and made the move to this neighborhood on the other side of the river. While the area wasn't as buzzing as where I used to live, I did enjoy its quaint streets and green parks.

Noah smiled as he took in my gallery wall. Posters of various art exhibitions alternated with photographs of my friends, family and me. A special spot in the middle was reserved for a picture of my father and me on our last vacation together, a year before he'd died. It was one of the few things I would certainly save if a fire ever broke out.

"You have a nice place," Noah said. "Shows your personality."

I chuckled, a little more relaxed now that he was actually here, and followed him inside. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should." He lifted the bag in his hand. "Your supper, milady. Where to?"

Suppressing a giggle at the word 'milady', I led him into the kitchen. "So what do you want me to do?"

He started unpacking the bag. "I need a large clean surface, but other than that I'll do all the work. And just so you know, I'm not using the most classic recipe today."

"Hm." I smiled as I quickly ran a wet sponge over the counter even though I'd already cleaned it. "I guess you'll have to cook for me again."

"That will depend on whether I succeed today. Do you have a dish towel for me?" I put one in his outstretched hand. He dried the counter carefully and tossed the towel over his shoulder. "And I would love a glass of wine."

"Okay." I poured each of us a glass of the fiano and leaned against the counter, watching as he opened cabinets and drawers to collect the necessary equipment. "Are you making the n… noc… the things yourself?"

Noah laughed and looked up from the sink, where he was emptying a large container of ricotta into a sieve. "Gnocchi," he said in a perfect Italian accent. "Nyoh-kee. Comes from the word for knuckle. And yes. It's not that difficult."

"Impressive. Do you like to cook?"

He began zesting a lemon as he spoke. "I like that it's… tangible. Something to do with my hands. I don't get to do as much as think these days." He set down the lemon and zester and lifted his glass. "Saluti. To a lovely night."

"Cheers." I took a sip. Despite its fresh color, the wine was surprisingly strong and full-bodied — and delicious, too. "How come you don't get to do if you're a soldier? Isn't doing kind of the point?"

"Can you dust some flour on the counter? Thanks." Noah took his time pondering his answer to my question while he rapidly mixed ingredients in a bowl with his hands. "My job… has changed over the years. Technology has taken over much of the work." He looked up from the bowl and wiped his hands on the dish towel on his shoulder before carefully picking up his glass for a large sip of wine. "We're edging into the things I can't tell you about, though."

"Right," I nodded.

"Here, you can help me if you like. Divide this into six even pieces." He handed me the bowl with dough, washed his hands, and set a large pot of water on the stove. "We're going to boil the gnocchi while I make burro e salvia, and they'll be done when they start floating in the water."

"Okay. Hey, you didn't tell me that you speak Italian," I said with a smile, and started doing as he asked.

He leaned against the counter just like I had a moment ago. "It didn't come up. But you are very easily impressed, Emma," he said, grinning, and drank from his wine. "It seems that all I have to do is do some basic cooking and say a few words in Italian."

"Oh, come on," I laughed. "Everyone knows that anything can sound sexy in Italian."

"Sexy, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Va bene. Buono a sapersi."

"See? Anything. I have no idea what you just said. I'm done here, by the way." I gestured towards the six lumps of dough.

He took my place at the counter, his arms barely but tantalizingly touching mine as he moved around me, and started rolling the dough and cutting the rolls into smaller pieces. I watched him while he worked in silence, carefully dropping the gnocchi in the salted boiling water and then preparing the sage-butter sauce. But even though he looked focused on his hands' labor, as the seconds passed I started to notice his gaze growing more blank and the grin disappearing from his face.

"Hey, Noah, don't fall asleep on me now," I joked, pooled a bit of flour from the counter into my hand, and flung it at his face in a lighthearted attempt to pull him out of his mind trip.

And it worked: a little startled, he looked up from his hands — but his eyes were wide and an astounded stare had appeared in response, and I couldn't stop myself recoiling a little. He was so big, and so strong, and so damn intimidating even with his cheek covered in white flour — what the hell was I thinking trying to start a food fight with him?

But then, slowly, his lips spread into a wide smile, one that radiated joy and wonder, and I instantly relaxed. "You'll pay for that, Emma," he said, and lightning-fast reached his hand into the bag of flour and threw an excessive amount in my direction. I ducked, but couldn't avoid a large cloud of flour staining my hair, shoulder and top.

"Oh, you're bringing the big guns?" I grinned.

"Of course. I have some honor," he said, reaching for the bag again, but I snatched it from the counter just in time.

"I think they're starting to float." I pointed towards the pot of gnocchi, and when his face was turned, I pulled out another handful of flour — but he was fast, and he grasped my wrist before I could throw it towards him.

"Cheat," he said with a smile.

I shrugged. "I never said I had honor."

He nodded pensively. "I suppose you do need some competitive advantage."

"Hey!" I nudged his robust upper arm with my free hand. "No food fight was ever won with just muscle."

"Tactics, then?" He let go of my wrist.

I set the bag down and emptied my hand. "Yours may be force and big bullets, my tactic is being sneaky."

He laughed. "What you call being sneaky, I call playing dirty."

I shrugged, then jerked my chin in the direction of the stove. "They really are floating now."

Noah didn't let me out of his sight while he stepped backwards, grinning, to ascertain my claim. This time I hadn't lied, though, and he carefully plated the gnocchi and sauce.

I knew he hadn't exaggerated once we'd sat down and I had put the first piece of food in my mouth. Although I didn't have anything to compare it with, I could tell that this probably was the best plate of gnocchi I would ever have, in all its simplicity.

We talked comfortably while eating and easily finished the fiano — good thing I had bought that extra bottle. I savored the food as much as I could but even so, my plate was already much too close to empty when Noah looked at me thoughtfully and asked, "I've been wondering, Emma, do you have any relatives in England?"

"Huh?" I looked up. Strange question, but not entirely out of left field. I'd heard it before. "Are you referring to my last name? Yeah, I think my great-great-grandfather was born in England. The name was passed down."

"Hm. Any idea where in England?"

"Not a clue." I laughed. "Are you going to do a background check on me or something? Is that part of your mysterious spy training?"

He smiled, but it was a little tight-lipped and I caught a glimmer of what looked weirdly like disappointment before he composed himself. "So you've decided I'm a spy?"

"Well," I said, an eyebrow raised, "it's not like you're going to tell me, are you? You can't blame me for letting my imagination run wild."

His grin grew more genuine. "What else have you come up with?"

I tilted my head. "The other scenario is that you're a master assassin. But I bet that the reality is a lot more boring. It always is."

He leaned back in his chair, still smiling, and rested his elbow on its back. "Oh, so this is just another Wednesday for you?"

My eyes narrowed and I watched him for a little while, but all he did was look me right back into my eyes. "Damn it!" I said eventually, but chuckled. "You're too good. You're not giving anything away."

He shrugged and sat straight again, sipping his wine. "If it were that easy, I would be a terrible spy. Or master assassin."

"What if I did find out?"

Noah's grin disappeared and his chestnut eyes, warm as they were, turned icy. I sucked in a breath. "I can't have a civilian walking around with that knowledge," he said in a low, monotonous voice after a second or two.

I forced myself to meet his stare. "So you would have to…?" I whispered eventually.

Exasperatingly slowly, he nodded, but he didn't say a word. My eyes involuntarily flew towards the full set of cutlery next to his plate — and then he grinned widely again, all frostiness disappeared, and he picked up his fork to pick up the final bite of his food, entirely casually as if he hadn't just pretended to threaten my life.

"That's not funny," I said quietly.

He looked up, a little surprised. "Not even a bit?"

"No. You know that's easy to believe, coming from you."

"You're right." He put down the fork. "I'm sorry."

I nodded with acknowledgement of his apology. "You know, this only reinforces the idea that you might be a spy."

"How so?"

"You're a really good actor. That's got to be part of the job."

"Hm," he said, his eyes twinkling, "I suppose it is."

I sighed. "Oh, well, if you're not going to tell me anything, I guess I'll just have to keep inventing fun backstories for you."

"You do that," he laughed, "and let me know what you come up with."

"And you wouldn't even tell me if I'm close to the truth, would you?"

He shook his head. "In all seriousness, actual lives depend on my discretion. Not least of which, my own."

"Okay." I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. "I won't dig. I promise."

Noah's gaze fell on my hand resting on the table, and he reached for it, touching my palm so softly with his fingers that a shiver ran down my spine. "Thank you," he said softly. "I would hate to have to neutralize you." But when my glance shot up to meet his, I saw sparkles in his eyes and the corners of his lips turning upward, and he squeezed my hand. "Kidding. Sorry."

"God, Noah, stop it," I chuckled. "You're not really sorry, are you?"

"I am sorry," he said, bringing our hands to his lips and gently kissing the back of mine, "for scaring you."

The touch of his lips was delicate, but of course it reminded me of Sunday, of the way his lips had touched mine then, of that all-encompassing, overwhelming, mind-boggling kiss.

"What are you not sorry for, then?" I asked quietly.

"I am not sorry—" another kiss on my hand — "for messing with you, because you, Emma, are so much fun to mess with, and besides, I have a feeling you don't even want me to stop. You don't want me to tiptoe around you."

He looked into my eyes, and his glance was so intense that I wondered if he realized that he had just hit bullseye — I had only realized it myself just now when he'd said it. And I didn't know if he felt it too but something shifted between us then, and as he came closer I felt the heat of his body; he let go of my hand but instantly brought his to the nape of my neck. There was something like a craving, a yearning in his eyes.

He raised his other hand and slowly brushed his thumb along my cheek, its touch invigorating on my skin, and curled a strand of my dark blond hair around his index finger. I bit my lip and waited a beat, but then reached for his waist, and as he stood he pulled me up with him. His face closed the space between us, I closed my eyes, and his lips landed gently on mine.

There wasn't initially an electricity like there had been in that first kiss three days ago. Although I was engulfed in the kiss, in the soft touch of his lips and in his hand that was making its way again to the back of my head, and although it was probably the second-best kiss I'd ever had in my life, it didn't feel impossible to break away from him, it didn't feel as if we were welded together the way it had felt on Sunday.

I laid my hand between his shoulder blades, or rather at a point below them since I could barely reach that high, and inhaled his musky scent. His face pulled away a bit from mine and I opened my eyes to see him smile down at me. Then, his expression changed from tender to eager to hungry — I felt him grow against my lower abdomen — and I saw another quick flash of that strange radiance on his skin before he bent his head again to kiss me and suck on my lower lip, and I parted my lips as my eyes closed. I pushed myself against him, now fully allowing myself to be absorbed by the intensity.

His fingers were tightly entangled in my hair and with our passion came again that mesmerizing pull towards each other. Slowly, his other hand traveled down. He squeezed my butt once, then bent his knees to circle his arm round it and lift me up easily. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he carried me to the kitchen, still with his other hand pulling lightly on my hair, and placed me onto the counter.

I slipped a finger underneath the neckline of his white t-shirt, pulling a little on the hem but not outright taking the shirt off. I could barely think straight, but even so I found it difficult to take initiative. I wasn't like that, and no man, not even Noah, could break through that mental blockade so easily.

But Noah looked in my eyes, saw I was okay with it, and started to tug the hem upwards behind his head… then suddenly pulled away. His face hardened, his expression dimmed — almost literally, it seemed — and his eyes became distant.

"I shouldn't. I'm sorry," he said matter-of-factly. He pulled his shirt down and stepped back, fingers briefly rubbing along his mouth.

I frowned. "What? Why?" I looked down at my skirt and smoothed it with my hand even though there were no wrinkles to smooth. I couldn't meet his eyes, not now that he was rejecting me or whatever the hell this was.

He shook his head. "Let's not… Let's take this slow. Let's not do anything either of us might regret later."

Regret? I didn't think I could regret kissing or even sleeping with him. I could never regret something that felt as amazing as this. But did that mean that he didn't feel the same? That he wasn't feeling this incredible attraction between us?

He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to help you with the dishes?"

I hopped off the counter, still avoiding his glance. "No, thanks, I've got it."

For a long few seconds, Noah stayed quiet, his brow furrowed. I wasn't sure if he was frowning at me or at his own thoughts. "Okay. It's, uh, it's getting late. I should go home. Early rise tomorrow, work, you know."

It really wasn't that late yet. Even though I understood that his line of work might require a different waking time than mine, I was a hundred percent sure he was avoiding something and I couldn't help feeling hurt and honestly a bit embarrassed.

"All right…" I started. "Thanks for the nocky, then? And the wine?"

He chuckled at that. A bit of awkwardness slipped away. "Gnocchi. Emma, I'm… I'm really sorry about this. I shouldn't have led you on."

I shook my head, waved my hand, shrugged a little, completely overdid my casual response. "It's okay. Go. Sleep tight."

He stared at me and then took a step forward. Again, he hesitated — it looked like he was collecting his thoughts — but then he pressed a quick kiss on my cheek before leaving the kitchen and walking to the coat rack to pull on his leather jacket.

"Bye, Emma. Good night."

I stood there for a few seconds after he'd closed the door behind him, wondering what the hell had just happened. Then, I decided to just leave the dishes for what they were and go to bed. Much earlier than I would have on a normal night, and feeling very alone.