I had no choice but to call Rachel.

“You’re so lucky,” she answered. “I just went to the bathroom; I was about to go back into the movie. What’s wrong?”

“Noah’s making dinner and I have nothing to wear.”

I was really only after her advice about what outfit to put together and how to dress it up appropriately, since she knew practically the entire wardrobe I’d brought to the beach house.

What I didn’t expect her to say was “The white halter dress in my side of the closet. Wear those cute black sandals you brought too. Now I have to go—the guy at the popcorn stall is frowning at me. Bye!”

“I owe you,” I said, even though she’d hung up already. Hurrying, I found the dress she was talking about. I didn’t have enough time to do much with my hair, so I threw it up into a ponytail. But when I looked in the mirror, I smiled. I actually looked pretty good, especially considering I’d only had thirty minutes to get ready.

I paused outside the kitchen, though, taking a deep breath and smiling to myself. When I breathed in, I could smell Noah’s cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled great—if maybe a little burnt.

The kitchen light was off, but the soft light outside threw Noah’s silhouette against the glass doors. Still smiling, I walked out but lingered in the doorway.

“It’s not that burnt,” he said, looking back at me. “I swear.”

I laughed. “I never said a word!”

He’d changed since I’d seen him earlier on my way to shower. He wore a pair of black jeans and a gray shirt that strained over his biceps. Even his dark hair was a little tidier than usual—like he’d run a comb through it. I found myself thinking he looked cuter and more carefree with it all messy, almost in his eyes. But of course, he looked as hot as ever.

“You were thinking it,” he argued. “I know it smells burnt. At least you can’t really see it, though, because of the sauce.”

I laughed again. “Who knew you were such a chef?”

He winked, a smirk stretching over his face. “I’m a man of many talents, Elle, what can I say?”

“Don’t get too arrogant,” I warned him.

“Yeah, you’re right. Could give us food poisoning.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” I teased, and went round him to sit down. The food looked good—no, it looked delicious, and it actually smelled fantastic too. It was some kind of chicken casserole with vegetables and a thick reddish sauce.

The evening passed in a hazy blur of good food and laughter, my stomach fizzing every time Noah reached his hand out to mine.