Chapter 63 Talking Over Dinner
Eden's POV:
I've made this meal more times than I can count but I've never felt so nervous. We're actually sitting at the table unlike every other time Noah has eaten in my apartment. Usually we eat as we work but not tonight. It's strange and there's a weird atmosphere between us. This feels far more like a date than two colleagues working late together.
Searching for something to say, I try to draw the conversation to safe territory but Noah is having none of it. When I ask his opinion on some of the data we've been working through, he tells me not to even think about it. It's frustrating and out of character. He's supposed to be a workaholic and yet here he is throwing it all aside and for what... to have dinner with me?
"This is delicious," he says enthusiastically.
"It really is the only thing I can cook," I say, not exaggerating.
"Well, you could just eat this every day."
Looking up at him from my plate, I notice that his eyes are teasing. He's enjoying this.
"I think I'd get a little bored," I grumble.
"So, that's why you eat so much takeout..."
"Yup." I brush it off. "You're lucky I don't burn coffee."
"Who says you don't?" he asks, completely deadpan.
"I don't. Do I?" Momentarily, I panic that maybe that's why he has been bringing coffee in for us both.
"No," he says, shaking his head as he struggles not to laugh. "No, you don't."
"Oh. Good."
"Don't look so worried, Eden."
"I thought maybe that's why you keep bringing me coffee..."
He shakes his head again.
"No. I just like bringing you coffee."
The way he says it makes it sound like it's far more than just a coffee and I don't know what to make of it. There's a lot of that going around right now. This whole situation seems surreal.
"So, you grew up with your grandma?" he asks, suddenly changing the conversation.
He's asking questions about me, my life. I'm not used to this. Mason didn't give two figs about my life. He couldn't even remember my grandma's name, no matter how many times I reminded him.
I shouldn't be comparing Noah to my ex-boyfriend though. For one thing, he's my boss, not my boyfriend. But also because Noah and Mason are completely different people. Mason is insanely selfish but even when Noah is being a jerk, I don't think I can call him selfish. He's actually a pretty decent human being and that makes him a million times better than Mason.
"Yeah," I say before putting a forkful of lasagna in my mouth. As much as I like how interested he is in my life, I'm not sure we should be talking about my grandma. I'm bound to say something I shouldn't.
"What is she like?"
"She's amazing," I tell him honestly. "I can't imagine a better grandma." I tell him what I can without giving away my identity. I'm scared because I don't know how much my grandma has ever spoken about me to her colleagues. I tell him a couple of tidbits, little stories that hopefully my grandma has completely forgotten.
He's smiling like he genuinely cares but I don't want to overshare. I've never really been one for talking about my feelings with people. It takes a lot of trust to bare your soul to someone else, more than I've ever really had.
"It must have been hard losing your parents," he says, his eyes gentle.
"It would have been far worse without grandma," I tell him, smiling slightly. "It was the first time I really felt lonely, you know? At the funeral? Surrounded by people I didn't know, wearing a dress I hated, and knowing that my parents weren't coming home."
He tilts his head slightly, listening closely.
"Then she took my hand and we went home and watched old movies together, and I didn't feel quite so alone."
We talk for several hours. He tells me more about himself than as his assistant I could ever expect him to share. And I do the same. I tell him things I've never told a soul, except perhaps grandma. She's always had a knack for making me talk.
When it comes time for him to leave, I don't want him to go but it's far later than I had realised and so I can hardly ask him to say. And even if I could, on what grounds could I do it? I can hardly tell him I just want to keep talking to him.
I walk him to the door, suddenly nervous.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him casually.
He glances back at my living room where all the paperwork is still sitting on the coffee table.
"Don't let all of this get to you, Eden," he says firmly. "We can afford to take our time."
I know he's right but it does little to calm my nerves. But he won't understand that, not without knowing who I am.
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