Heart Tunes

THE INVITE

CHAPTER 7

SCARLETT

I hear the doorbell ring and practically skip to the door. Before pulling it open, I glance down at myself one last time. Perfect. I knew the red tailored shorts were the right choice. Not too formal. Not too casual. Just enough to say I put effort into looking nice without making it obvious that I put effort into looking nice. I already know who's at the door before I open it. I open the door and Noah stands there in all his glory.

For some reason, I've found myself always wanting to look at him.

Not in a weird stalker way.

Okay, maybe slightly in a weird stalker way.

I watch him on the security cameras from my office sometimes.

I'm usually in the office by seven every morning, and by eight, he comes downstairs either to jog or walk around the block. If I get lucky, he'll come out again later to deliver pastries to Mrs. Peppers.

Honestly, I think she loves him now.

The woman barely tolerates human beings and somehow Noah Carter has managed to become her favorite person. Whenever he offers her pastries, her face lights up into the biggest and brightest smile which is so adorable. I've only seen her smile twice, no kidding. When we signed the lease for the apartment and when I told her that her peppers were growing rem0arkably well. Since Noah Carter moved in, I have seen her smile not less than seven times.

"Hi," he says, offering me a small smile.

"Hey," I reply nervously.

His eyes drift over me and I suddenly become painfully aware that I'm not wearing my usual pencil skirts and blazers. He's always teasing me about my love for cooperate wear and I decided to do something different today. Although I'm beginning to rethink my option. Tailored shorts are still tailored.

"No suits today?" he asks teasingly.

"What can I say? It's the weekend."

His lips tilt mischievously.

"I've seen you wear a suit during the weekend" he reminds me.

"That was a one time thing. I just got back from work and I had no idea you were coming" I argue.

"You'd have put more effort if I informed you I was coming" he asks with a sly smile and my cheeks go hot instantly. I don't need a mirror to know that I'm as red as a tomato.

"That's not what I meant" I say, my voice a bit higher than usual. I check myself quickly. I'm supposed to play it off as casual and not show any emotions.

"Sure Red, sure" he says obviously trying to hold back a laugh.

"Why are you here? I'm sure you have other hobbies asides frustrating me in this hallway every weekend."

"I have to admit that this is my favourite hobby" he says thoughtfully and adds "right now the colour of your face matches the colour of your hair."

I let out a gasp. "You!"

"Did you buy me an oven?" he asks ruining the atmosphere.

Well.

I definitely didn't expect that question but I nod anyway.

"Why?" he asks.

That catches me completely off guard.

"Well… you mentioned your oven was acting up and you baked me cookies…" It comes out sounding more like a question than an answer and it's then I realize that I don't actually have an answer.

He stares at me for a second.

"I didn't bake you cookies because I expected you to buy me an oven, Red."

His voice is soft.

"I know."

"You're sure?" he asks gently.

I nod slowly.

"Sorry. I was just trying to do something nice."

My voice sounds shakier than I intended.

"And I appreciate it," he says softly.

"That's lovely. You're lovely."

My cheeks immediately grow warm.

He pauses.

"But you don't have to reciprocate every kind thing that's done for you."

Something about that sentence makes my chest tighten because nobody has ever said that to me before. People always expect something even when they don't ask directly. Nothing comes free. Everything has conditions. Everything has hidden meanings. That's how my world works and I'm used to it.

Business favors.

Networking.

Social obligations.

Even gifts come with expectations attached. Kindness has always felt like a transaction.

Something to repay.

Something to earn.

Something dangerous to owe.

And somehow Noah says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like I don't owe him anything. Like I don't have to constantly keep score.

"Well… I… thank you." I stutter smiling awkwardly.

"This means a lot to me."

His easy smile makes its first appearance tonight.

"You're welcome."

"Yeah."

"Elevator music. Seriously?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

It takes me a second before I understand.

Then I burst out laughing.

"I hope your elevator trips are better now."

"They are. I can sing all the way up and all the way down."

"Wonderful."

"I know. Ten out of ten customer service."

"I should put that on the website" I say with a smile.

His eyes light up.

"You have a website for the building?"

"Of course."

"That's adorable" he coos.

"It's professional."

"It's adorable."

"It's professional."

"It's adorable."

I glare.

He grins.

"I'll leave a five-star review."

"You literally live here."

"Exactly. I'm your most loyal customer."

I giggle like an i***t.

Actual giggling.

Good Lord.

When the laughter dies, silence settles between us. Not uncomfortable, just quiet.

"What do billionaires do on Saturday nights?" he asks.

I answer without thinking.

"Probably go through unnecessary paperwork and wait for the weekend to go by."

He looks horrified.

"That's depressing."

"What do musicians do?"

"Upcoming musicians," he corrects immediately.

"Don't be modest."

"No, seriously. Humble beginnings make biographies cooler."

I laugh.

"Fine. What do upcoming musicians do?"

"We binge-watch movies, beat ourselves up for not writing new lyrics and occasionally spiral over our careers."

"Sounds awful."

"It is awful."

"Then why do you do it?"

His smile softens.

"Because I love it."

No hesitation. No embarrassment. Just certainty.

It's strange. People like Ethan and I were taught to pursue security but Noah talks about dreams like they're enough. Like loving something is reason enough to chase it. I envy that. I think.

"How about we watch movies at my place and bake afterward? We can use the oven together for the first time. You bought it afterall" he suggests.

"I thought we aren't supposed to return good deeds" I say, c*****g an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, trust me, that's not what we're going to do. They're just responsibilities we're forced to share because we're oven parents now." I burst out laughing.

"Oven parents? Is that even a thing?" I ask.

"It is now. And Wendy wouldn't be glad to hear you laughing at her" he says solemnly.

"How come I didn't have a say in her naming since we're 'oven parents'?"I ask, with air quotes.

"Well, you dumped her at my front door so you don't get naming rights" he explains. He even has the audacity to look hurt.

"That makes so much sense" I say, my voice laced with sarcasm.

"Thank you" he says with a bow and we both burst out laughing.

"Ready to use our baby?" he asks again then quickly adds "That's if you're open to it, of course."

My heart immediately starts beating wildly.

Did Noah Carter just ask me on a date?

Not exactly.

But close enough. Baking together is really something.

Why would he choose to spend time with me, the boring billionaire with a colourless life when he could find someone better? Why me?

"Sure" I answer before he changes his mind.

Unable to hide my smile, I add "that sounds much better than paperwork."

His face lights up with a smile.

And I swear something flutters inside me.

"Great. Does eight work?"

I nod.

"See you at eight, Red."

"See you at eight, Carter."

Then he's gone. I close the door.

Stare at it. Stare some more. Then run into my apartment and scream into the couch cushion. I grab my phone.

Marie answers immediately.

"You died."

"What?"

"You haven't called me all day. I assumed you died."

"You think highly of yourself. I mustn't call you everyday."

"And here you are" she mocks.

I hear typing in the background.

"Now tell me why you're calling. I have a meeting with Owens in thirty minutes."

I bite my lip.

"Noah invited me over."

Silence.

Then—

"He WHAT?!"

I yank the phone away from my ear.

"Lower your voice!"

"No."

"Marie."

"NO."

"You're dramatic."

"He invited you to his apartment?"

"Yes."

"At night?"

"Marie—"

"Why?" she asks.

"That's what good neighbours do" I tell her.

"Be for real, dude" she yells again.

"Well, we're baking and watching a movie but it's no bi..."

She gasps loudly, cutting me off.

"That's domestic."

"How is baking domestic?"

"Scarlett Beaumont, people do not bake together casually."

"Yes they do."

"No they don't."

"People bake all the time."

"Not with all that tension."

I choke.

"WHAT?"

"Did I stutter?"

"There is no tension between us."

"Oh sweetheart."

I can hear the pity in her voice.

"You're adorable."

"I'm twenty-five."

"Exactly."

I laugh.

"You're impossible."

"No, sweetheart. You're hopeless."

"He said I didn't have to get him an oven and called me lovely " I say, blushing.

"You know what? I'm heading to Pinterest to check out a wedding dress and my bridesmaid outfit" she squeals.

"What makes you think you'll be my chief bridesmaid?" I ask.

"You don't have any other friends" she says smugly. I open my mouth to argue but no words come out.

"That has to change soon. Your audacity is startling."

She laughs loudly. "Good luck with that, diva. Call me after your date."

"It's not a date.." I begin.

"Of course it isn't. It's just two people baking, watching movies together and probably sticking their tongues down each other's throat. Definitely not a date. Anyways, I have to go now before Owen starts to lecture me about how unprofessional it is to be late. I swear if he lectures me one more time, I'll resign and become a stay at home best friend which means you have to pay me for being your best friend. Have fun bae."

"I will. Don't murder Owens" I say with a line. She laughs right back and the line goes dead.

...

By seven-thirty, I've changed outfits three times.

The first one was too formal.

The second one looked like I was trying too hard.

The third one made me look like somebody's accountant which is offensive to accountants but really they have a horrible sense of fashion.

Eventually I settle on jeans and a cream sweater.

Normal.

Simple.

Casual.

At seven fifty-five, I stare at myself in the mirror. Why am I nervous? It's Noah. We're friends. Or acquaintances.

Friends watch movies. Friends bake. Friends definitely don't spend twenty minutes deciding whether their hair should be up or down.

I leave it down.

Tie it.

Untie it.

Retie it.

Untie it again.

By seven fifty-eight, I've officially lost my mind. At exactly eight o'clock my phone alarm buzzes.

Yes. I set an alarm.Psychotic behavior. Sue me.

Showing up exactly at eight would seem desperate and I'm definitely not desperate. I'm only going there for Wendy I tell myself.

At eight-oh-three, I decide three minutes is socially acceptable.

At eight-oh-four, I panic again.

At eight-oh-five, I finally get up. My alarm rings again. Yes, I set an alarm for five minutes later to be safe.

I stare at my reflection one last time.

"I can do this."

Pause.

"I can do this."

Another pause.

"I can definitely do this."

My reflection looks unconvinced.

I grab the bottle of wine.

Housewarming gift because it's my first time visiting his apartment and because arriving empty-handed feels rude. And because apparently my love language is financial compensation.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

I take a deep breath and step outside.

I can do this.

Right?