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The next morning, Claire woke up feeling miserable. Noah saw her in the hallway. Messy hair, no makeup, and most importantly: no iced coffee. Clearly sick.

“No,” he said simply.

“No, what?”

“You are not going to work.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not. Not like that.”

“I am absolutely going to work.”

“You look like you got run over by a bus, you are absolutely not.”

“Noah—” she tried to protest.

Noah stepped into her path before she could reach the elevator. “Claire.”

She tried to move around him. He gently took her by the shoulders and turned her back toward her apartment.

“Fine.” She sighed in defeat.

She went back into her apartment and laid down on her couch. If she was being forced to stay home, she may as well take a nap.

When she woke up, she had several texts from Noah Carter.

Noah: I’m at the store.

Noah: I’m getting you medicine.

Noah: And tissues.

Noah: I’m bringing you soup also btw.

Great, so he had decided he was taking care of her.

Shouldn’t he be working, anyway? Whatever.

Her phone buzzed again.

Noah: I’m outside. Are you alive?

Claire: Unfortunately.

Noah: Open the door.

Claire: It’s unlocked. I’m not moving.

She set down her phone and unknowingly fell asleep again. A while later she woke and slowly sat up, disoriented. She looked up to see Noah in her kitchen, a pot on the stove.

“Noah, what the heck?” She yawned.

“Good morning,” he responded.

“Why are you cooking in my kitchen?”

“My stove wouldn’t turn on.”