“You know who to call if you want company.” Noah’s voice was easy, but the renewed awkwardness between them was a living, breathing entity.
Kit didn’t know what to say, so she just ate a spoonful of ice cream to cover her nonresponse. “What are you and the rest of the guys planning to do now the tour’s over?”
“Work on a new album. We’ve got some material and ideas already, but it’s time to sit down, start putting the pieces together.” He shrugged. “Fact is, we could put out an album next week if we wanted to, but it wouldn’t be us.”
Kit understood what he meant. Schoolboy Choir was so successful not because they released album after album, but because the albums they did put out were stellar. “That song,” she said. “About the sparrow. Will it be on this album?” Noah had sung it to her when they’d been friends but had said it wasn’t ready for recording.
“No. It’s not exactly Schoolboy Choir material.”
“What are you talking about? It’s amazing.” A harsh, beautiful ballad of such heartbreaking vulnerability that it had made her cry.
Noah just shrugged.
Before, she would’ve pushed, but she didn’t have that right anymore. Couldn’t have it for her own emotional health. “Well,” she said, “if you don’t release it, record it for me. I’d love to hear it again.”
“You’ll just have to put up with me.” A devastating smile. “I’ll sing it to you anytime you want.”
There was a time when Noah’s offer would’ve made her go all melty inside. Now it just hurt.
“Sorry,” she said with another forced smile. “I think I’m beginning to fade. Had an early start.” It wasn’t a total lie; she’d been at the studio at four a.m. as usual, but she wouldn’t be going to sleep so soon after eating.
Which, she belatedly realized, Noah knew after her comment the night he’d made her spaghetti. Instead of calling her on it, however, he got up. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“Don’t worry about it.” A yawn cracked her mouth. “Drat, sorry again.”
This time, his smile reached his eyes. “You really are beat.” Leaving the dishes, he walked to the front door, her by his side. “Do you think you’ll be up early again tomorrow?”
She made a face. “Three twenty on the dot, I’m guessing.” It would take at least a week to break out of that rhythm.
“Want to come do something with me?” Shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Since we’ll both be awake at that hour.”
Kit frowned. “What would we do in the middle of the night?” It wasn’t until the words were out that she realized how suggestive they sounded.
Thankfully, Noah didn’t seem to notice. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “I was thinking I’d pick you up at four thirty, and it’d be just before six and getting light by the time we got there.”
Kit wasn’t certain she was reading him right—Noah was never hesitant or nervous… but he was sure giving that impression right now. “Where?”
Shoving both hands back into his pockets, he finally met her gaze, a slight flush on his cheekbones that floored her, smashing right through her defenses. Noah never blushed. It was simply not in the Noah St. John repertoire. Except he was rocking on his heels and that color hadn’t receded.
He was impossibly gorgeous.
“To go for a flight.”
Kit felt like a parrot, but all she could say was, “A flight?”
“Yeah, I, um, got my pilot’s license, bought a small two-seater plane.”
Her mouth fell open. “Since when have you been taking flying lessons? Do the guys know?” No one had ever mentioned it.
“A while.” He ran a hand through his hair, gave her that lopsided grin, only this time it held a piercing edge of vulnerability.
At that instant, he looked younger than she’d ever seen him.
“You’re the only one who knows. I didn’t want to say anything until I actually did it,” he added. “Had the license, I mean.”