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“Maybe it was on purpose,” he admitted. “Maybe I want to be a good neighbor. I have to redeem myself from the food thief thing, after all.”

Claire laughed. She didn’t mean to, but she did. “Did you poison this?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or take a bite first?”

“Nope.” He grinned at her.

“You didn’t have to make me dinner.”

“I know.” He paused. “But I wanted to.”

I wanted to. That stopped her in her tracks. She wasn’t used to people doing things just because they wanted to. Just to be nice.

Not “It’s not a big deal.”

Not “Don’t worry about it.”

But “I wanted to.”

Claire could not comprehend why he would want to make her dinner. He didn’t even know her.

She was used to favors that came with expectations. Networking. Professional relationships. People helping because they wanted something in return.

But Noah had just made her dinner because he wanted to.

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at her bookshelf, still not finished. “I mean it. If you need help with that, let me know.”

“I can do it.”

“Okay. See you around, Claire.”

“Bye, Noah.”

She shut the door and found herself smiling again. She quickly wiped the smile off her face. She did not have time to be distracted. She had to stay focused on her career. She didn’t have room for distractions. She had worked too hard to get to where she was at, and she wasn’t going to risk messing it up.

Even if it meant being a little bit lonely. There would be time for friends and relationships later. But for now, Claire had a career to build.

She refused to let anyone or anything stand in her way.

Especially an annoyingly kind neighbor who brought her dinner and made it very hard to remember she was supposed to be doing this on her own.

She carried the bowl into her kitchen and set it carefully on the counter.

Steam drifted upward, filling the apartment with the smell of garlic and parmesan. For the first time since moving in, her apartment smelled like someone had actually cooked there instead of cardboard boxes and vanilla candles.

Her stomach growled.

If Noah was kind enough to make her dinner, it would be rude not to eat it.

She found a fork, sat down, and took a bite. It was really good.

Annoyingly good.

She frowned at the bowl. Great. Now her neighbor was attractive and could cook.

That felt unfair.

Somewhere between packing boxes, job interviews, and planning a cross-country move, she’d forgotten what it felt like to come home to real food. She didn’t know how long it had been since her last homecooked meal.