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levels me with a look. “You into the whole role reversal thing?”
    “Role reversal?” I say, shocked. He better not be implying what I think he’s implying.
    “Ya, you know, you got your man in the kitchen while you kick your feet up, beer in hand.” He’s got that devilish little twinkle in his eye that means he’s joking.
    “Oh, you mean, because it’s a woman’s place in the kitchen.” I purse my lips and raise my eyebrows.
    “Typically, I’d agree with you.” Noah turns back to his cooking. “But I’ve seen what you do in here. The kitchen is most definitely not your place.”
    “Hey!” I look for something, anything to throw at him and come up with nothing. I settle for flinging a little magic at his hair, setting it on end in a weird series of static-y spikes.
    He laughs and runs his hands over his head, trying to set things back to rights. I’m laughing too, the tension of the early part of the day forgotten. This is just life with Noah. Happy. Silly. Right.
    And the sex is fantastic.
    And the man can cook.
    The meal he sits in front of me is fantastic and we talk, and eat, and laugh until the candles are burned down to little waxy nubs and we have to turn on the lights.
    “So, how was your day? You as sore as you thought you’d be?” I ask after we put dishes in the dishwasher and curl up on the couch. I blush a little, thinking about what we just did right here.
    “Not a bad day, basically just waiting until I got to see you.” Noah stretches his back, a tentative look on his face. “Ya. I think I’m gonna be so sore I’ll be miserable tomorrow.” And then he laughs and I love the way it sounds and I almost regret not living with him. Being with someone has never been this easy.
    Even Becca, who literally had spells on me to keep me constantly in need of her, made me uncomfortable most days. I can’t think of one time that I’ve regretted spending time with Noah. Not one time I’ve regretted having a conversation with him.
    He plops his feet into my lap and wiggles his toes. With a smile, I start rubbing his feet and he throws his head back and groans. “How about you? What’d you do today?” he asks after a minute.
    Well, this is a conversation I might regret having. For some reason, I’m hesitant to tell him what I found, hesitant to tell him where I was and what I was doing.
    I don’t have a good reason not to want to tell him except, well, what if he’s working for Daya? What if he’s still getting missions and I’m not? What if he knows about the pages missing from the books? What if he’s not as good as he seems? Too good to be true? I mean, when has anyone actually been what they seemed?
    “Not much,” I finally say and inwardly cringe from the lie. Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t live together after all. And that thought makes me sad. “Basically, just marked time until I could be with you again.”
    And now I officially feel like a creep. Unless he’s the creep, and then I feel smart. Ugh. There’s a reason I moved out to a house alone near the woods. I just don’t do people well.
    I move the conversation to less dangerous topics and we snuggle up and turn on a movie. Turn off the lights. Doze off in each other’s arms. I wake to find him carefully trying to extricate himself from me without waking me.
    “Shhh,” he says, reaching for a blanket. “Why don’t you just sleep here tonight?”
    But I’m already pulling myself up into a sitting position and rubbing my eyes. “Can’t. I need to check on the cat. He gets weird and unravels the toilet paper rolls if I leave him alone too long.
    Noah shakes his head. “Should have gotten a dog.”
    “Still would have had to leave to let him out.”
    He grabs my keys and starts my car so it can warm up while I wake up enough to drive. Kisses me goodbye and traces his thumb over my cheekbone.
    “Thanks for coming over,” he says, looking down at me with so much love, it ignites all kinds of wonderful