Chapter 5 – Second Morning Clash

I don’t usually consider myself a morning person, but if I’m awake, I want the morning to be alive. Music, coffee, maybe a little dancing around in my pajamas—nothing crazy, just… not dead silence.

The thing about Liam Carter’s house? It feels like a library. Even the floorboards seem to creak politely.

So, at eight-thirty, after a long hot shower and a caffeine kick from the extra-strong coffee he left in the pot, I decide it’s time to add a little life to the place. I pull up my playlist—bright, poppy, perfect—and crank the volume on my phone’s speaker.

It’s not ear-splitting, but it’s definitely not background noise either. I’m halfway through making scrambled eggs, dancing barefoot in front of the stove, when I hear it—the heavy tread of footsteps coming down the hall.

A moment later, Liam appears in the kitchen doorway, hair mussed, T-shirt rumpled, and eyes narrowed like I’ve just committed a federal crime.

“Is this some kind of test?” he asks, voice low but sharp.

I grin, flipping the eggs with exaggerated cheer. “Good morning to you too.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“And?”

“And people sleep on Saturdays.”

I tilt my head toward him. “You were sleeping this late? I thought you were the kind of guy who wakes up at dawn to run six miles or wrestle a bear.”

His jaw ticks. “Emily’s at a sleepover. I was catching up.”

“On what? Your grump quota?”

He steps into the kitchen, the smell of sleep still clinging to him in some unfairly attractive way. “Rule two. No loud music. We went over this.”

“Technically,” I say, pointing my spatula at him, “you said no noise that wakes people up. Emily’s not here, and you’re already awake. So I’m not breaking any rules.”

His gaze is flat. “You woke me up.”

I press my lips together to hide a smile. “Then I guess you were the people the rule was about. My bad.”

“You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to erase me from his morning. “Can you just… turn it down?”

I sigh dramatically, walking over to my phone and lowering the volume. “Fine. Happy?”

“Not even a little.”

I hand him a plate with half the scrambled eggs. “Here. Protein might improve your mood.”

He stares at the plate for a second, then at me. “You made breakfast?”

“Yeah. Don’t look so shocked. I can cook, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because I was hungry. And because I’m nice. And because feeding a man might keep him from kicking me out before my apartment is fixed.”

He takes the plate, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “We’ll see.”

We sit at the table, and for a few blissful seconds, there’s only the sound of forks scraping against plates. But of course, I can’t leave well enough alone.

“So,” I say between bites, “about this no touching rule…”

He groans. “Not this again.”

“I’m just saying—it’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? We’re adults. We can survive the occasional accidental brush of the arm.”

“It’s not dramatic,” he says flatly. “It’s simple. No touching means no lines get crossed.”

“But what if I trip and fall into you? Do I get evicted on the spot?”

He gives me a look. “If you’re tripping, maybe watch where you’re going.”

I smirk. “You’re really fun in the morning, you know that?”

He finishes his eggs, sets the plate in the sink, and starts rinsing it without looking at me. “You’re really loud in the morning. Which brings us back to the original point—keep it down.”

“I did turn it down,” I remind him.

“After I came out here and asked you to.”

“You make it sound like I was blasting heavy metal at five a.m. It was pop music. Cheerful pop music. You could use some cheerful pop music in your life.”

“I could use more sleep,” he mutters.

I sip my coffee, watching him as he dries his hands on a towel. He’s all sharp edges in the morning—brisk movements, clipped words, like he’s trying to keep the day at arm’s length.

And for some reason, I want to poke at those edges until they soften.

“Tell you what,” I say. “I’ll keep my music in my room with headphones until at least nine. In exchange, you stop looking at me like I’m a stray cat who wandered in and started shedding on your furniture.”

His eyes narrow. “That’s not how I look at you.”

“Really? Because that’s exactly how it feels.”

He doesn’t answer, which is basically an answer.

I lean back in my chair, grinning. “Fine. I’ll keep it down. But you’re missing out. I was going to teach you my famous breakfast dance.”

“Breakfast dance?”

“Yeah. You dance while you cook. It makes the food taste better.”

He shakes his head like he’s not even going to dignify that with a response.

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

The rest of the morning is quiet—too quiet. I put my music in my earbuds, but it’s not the same. Still, a deal’s a deal. I can almost feel him upstairs, probably reading or working, perfectly content in his little bubble of silence.

It’s late afternoon when I pass by his office door on the way to grab laundry from the dryer. The door is half-open, and I catch a glimpse inside—dark wood desk, stacks of papers, and Liam, leaning over something with his brow furrowed.

I should keep walking. I know I should.

But before I can stop myself, I knock lightly on the doorframe. “Hey.”

He looks up, surprise flashing across his face before it shutters again. “Need something?”

“Just… wondering if you wanted coffee. Or maybe to take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

I nod, but don’t move. “You know, too much work and not enough dancing is bad for you.”

“Zara,” he says slowly, “if you come in here, you’re breaking rule four.”

“There’s a rule four?”

“There is now.”

I grin, but back away, holding my hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your grumpy cave.”

By the time I’m back in the kitchen, the urge to push his buttons is buzzing under my skin. It’s ridiculous, but part of me likes getting a reaction out of him, even if it’s irritation.

I’m halfway through folding laundry when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. I glance up, expecting him to head straight for the fridge, but he stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“About this morning,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Which part? The music, the breakfast dance, or the part where you glared at me like I’d committed a crime?”

His mouth twitches—just barely—but it’s there. “The music. I’m serious about keeping the noise down.”

“I said I’d wear headphones,” I remind him.

“Good. Because if it happens again…” He trails off, eyes meeting mine in a way that sends an unexpected flicker of heat through me. “…we’re going to have a problem.”

I smile sweetly. “And what kind of problem would that be?”

He doesn’t answer. Just turns and heads back upstairs, leaving me staring after him, my pulse a little too quick for comfort.

And that’s when I hear it—faint, but definitely there—my phone playing music again.

Only I didn’t turn it on.