Saturday at 9:42 a.m. was not a reasonable time to have your birthday plans go astray.

  Noah Bennett held that opinion with the calm conviction of a man standing over a frying pan, watching bacon crisp into something that smelled like safety and normalcy. Coffee was brewing. A second plate sat out. The bedroom door was closed. Rachel was still asleep—at least, he was pretty sure she was still asleep—and if the universe had any decency, it would leave it at that.

  Then someone knocked on his front door like they'd been personally wronged by it.

  Noah froze mid-flip, spatula hovering.

  The knock came again, louder, followed by Josh's voice carrying straight through the thin wood. "Noah! I know you're awake! I can smell bacon!"

  Noah's eyes slid toward the hallway—toward the bedroom—like he could will Rachel into a coma through sheer desperation.

  "Also, happy birthday!" Josh added, infuriatingly cheerful. "I brought bagels and I'm not leaving until you let me in!"

  Noah stared at the door.

  This was, objectively, a problem.

  He couldn't turn Josh away. Not on his birthday. Not when Josh had clearly made an effort and brought food. Josh had a bloodhound's instinct for when Noah was hiding something, and "I can't hang out on my birthday morning" would trigger every alarm.

  But letting him in meant maintaining a performance. It meant pretending the second plate was optimistic meal planning. It meant hoping Rachel stayed asleep, stayed quiet, and stayed hidden.

  Noah exhaled slowly, turned the burner down, and padded to the door with the careful quiet of a man approaching a live explosive.

  He opened it just enough to be polite.

  Josh Sullivan grinned like a golden retriever who'd successfully infiltrated a restricted area. He was holding a bag from the good bagel place and a coffee carrier, radiating entirely too much energy for a Saturday morning.

  "There's the birthday boy," Josh said, his nose lifting theatrically. "I brought breakfast. Are you going to let me in or are we doing presents in the hallway? I got you that space book you mentioned. It's in the mail."

  Noah did not move, his brain rapidly calculating odds and outcomes.

  Josh squinted at him. "Why do you look weird? It's your birthday. You're supposed to look... I don't know, birthday-ish."

  Noah opened the door wider, because the alternative was explaining why he couldn't, and that was somehow worse. "Come in."

  Josh walked in with the easy comfort of someone who'd been here a dozen times before, setting the food on the counter. Then he stopped, looking around with mild curiosity.

  His gaze snagged on the second plate.

  Noah's stomach tightened.

  Josh pointed. "You expecting someone?"

  Noah's brain supplied several answers, discarded all of them, and settled on one that made absolutely no sense: "I wasn't sure what I wanted."

  Josh gave him a look that suggested this explanation was both accepted and completely unconvincing. "Right. Normal behavior, as always, Bennett."

  He wandered toward the table. Noah immediately returned to the stove, because bacon required attention and also gave him a highly justifiable reason to not make eye contact.

  "So," Josh said, sitting down and pulling a bagel from the bag. "Birthday plans? Are you seeing the neighbor today?"

  Noah's spatula stilled for a fraction of a second. "Maybe later."

  "Maybe?" Josh took a bite, speaking around it. "Unless you already celebrated. Did you do something yesterday?"

  Noah flipped a piece of bacon with the intense, calculated precision of a surgeon. "We spent some time together."

  This was true. It was also catastrophically insufficient as a description of the previous eighteen hours.

  Josh nodded, satisfied, completely oblivious. "Good. She seems great. I mean, based on the fact that you took her home for Thanksgiving and survived, she's clearly doing something right. You should bring her around sometime. I want to meet the person brave enough to deal with your family stuff."

  Noah's grip on the spatula tightened. "Maybe."

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  "You're so weird about her," Josh laughed. "It's like you think if you talk about her too much she'll evaporate. She probably has a name, right?"

  Noah stared at the popping grease. "Rachel," he said finally, because refusing to answer would be worse.

  "Rachel," Josh repeated. "Nice. Normal name. Very girl-next-door coded. Seriously, any special plans with Rachel?"

  "Probably."

  "Probably," Josh echoed. His eyes narrowed slightly, that bloodhound instinct finally activating. "You're being weird."

  "I'm not being weird."

  "You're being extremely weird." Josh leaned back in his chair, studying Noah with the intensity of someone solving a puzzle. "Is she mad at you? Did you forget to make plans? Why are you—"

  And then the bedroom door opened.

  Noah's entire body went rigid.

  Josh heard it too. His head turned toward the hallway, surprise flickering across his face.

  Noah's stomach dropped through the floor.

  Rachel appeared in the living room like a small domestic ghost: barefoot, hair everywhere, glasses slightly crooked, wearing Noah's pajama bottoms and hoodie like she'd been doing it for months.

  Her eyes found Noah first, and her face softened—sleepy, private, warm. "Morning," she murmured.

  Noah's brain did the unhelpful thing it always did when she looked at him like that: This is real.

  Then Rachel's gaze slid to the table.

  To Josh.

  She stopped so abruptly it was like someone had hit pause.

  Josh stared at her, bagel halfway to his mouth.

  Rachel stared back.

  Noah stood at the stove holding a spatula like it might be a shield.

  Josh's expression went blank for one stunned beat. Then his eyes widened as recognition hit. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

  "Miss..." Josh started, his voice strangled.

  Rachel's cheeks went violently pink in an instant.

  Josh's brain was clearly working overtime, and then the name fell out of him like it physically hurt. "Miss Ellis?"

  Rachel made a small, mortified sound. "Hi, Josh."

  Josh didn't answer her. His head turned—slowly, mechanically—toward Noah. Then back to Rachel. Then back to Noah.

  There was a beat of pure, stunned silence.

  Then Josh's face split into the most disbelieving grin Noah had ever seen. "You dog," he whispered, quiet and awed.

  Noah's face went hot.

  Josh started laughing—a genuine, breathless sound of pure shock. "You absolute—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I can't—Miss Ellis?"

  And then Josh's brain caught up to the timeline.

  The laughter died instantly.

  Josh's eyes went wide again, his hands coming up to his head. "Wait. Wait."

  Noah flinched.

  "You took her to meet your mom?" Josh's voice climbed an octave. "Your teacher? You took your teacher to Thanksgiving?" He spun back to Noah, looking genuinely frantic. "Did your mother ask her about her syllabus? Are you insane?!"

  Noah managed weakly, "Yes."

  "Oh my God," Josh breathed. Then his eyes sharpened, connecting the final, most devastating dots. "Wait. Wait wait wait. Those first two weeks of the semester. You were miserable."

  Noah closed his eyes and nodded.

  "You said things went wrong with your neighbor," Josh continued, his voice rising into near-hysteria. "The girl you were having meet-cutes with over the summer. You looked like someone had kicked your dog for two solid weeks—"

  He pointed a shaking finger at Rachel. "That was her? You were moping about Miss Ellis? In the lab she was teaching?!"

  Rachel put a hand over her face in a failed attempt to merge completely with the drywall.

  Josh made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I was watching you be miserable about a girl while she was standing right there in a lab coat explaining titration procedures—"

  "Josh," Noah said, desperate. "Please. Calm down."

  Josh lowered his volume by exactly one decibel. "Are you kidding me right now?"

  He looked at Rachel again—really looked at her, standing there in Noah's clothes, clearly having spent the night on Noah's birthday—and the shock finally gave way to a sudden, ethical panic.

  "The ethics," Josh said, his hands gesturing wildly. "Do you understand the—"

  "Yes," Rachel managed faintly.

  Josh turned sharply to Noah. "Noah. Noah!"

  Noah held up his free hand, palm out. "We're careful."

  "Careful?" Josh's voice cracked. He looked between them, taking in Rachel's mortified expression and Noah's rigid, protective stance by the stove. The sheer absurdity of it seemed to settle over him, and his voice dropped to a loud, serious whisper. "Are you guys actually... serious? Because this isn't just a slap on the wrist, Noah. If this blows up, it's probably more than just a problem."

  "We're being careful," Rachel said, finding her voice and standing a little straighter. "Dr. Clarke knows. It's—we have safeguards."

  Josh blinked. The name of the department head seemed to act like a bucket of cold water. He studied them both for a long, heavy moment.

  Then he exhaled, his shoulders dropping in immediate relief. "Okay," he said, much quieter now. "Okay. I'm going to be normal about this."

  Noah didn't believe him for a second.

  Josh held up one hand like an oath. "Your secret is safe. I swear to God, I will take it to the grave. I'm a real one." He swallowed, glancing at Rachel's oversized hoodie again before looking away quickly. "I'm just going to need like one business day to mentally recover from this."

  Noah let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

  Josh nodded decisively. "Right. So. I'm leaving. You two can... continue..." He backed toward the door, looking like his brain was currently buffering at 99%. At the threshold, he paused and looked at Noah again, his voice entirely sincere. "For real though. I've got you."

  Noah nodded once. "Thanks."

  Josh's gaze flicked—briefly, respectfully—to Rachel. "Morning, Miss Ellis," he said carefully, then immediately winced at himself. "Sorry. Uh. Rachel?"

  Rachel managed a tiny, incredibly embarrassed smile. "Rachel is fine. When it's not... you know. Lab."

  Josh nodded seriously. "Right. Okay. Rachel. Got it." He pointed at Noah. "Happy birthday, you lunatic. I'll text you later."

  Then he was gone, and Noah closed the door gently, like slamming it might accidentally summon an ethics committee.

  Silence filled the apartment.

  Noah turned slowly.

  Rachel stood in the hallway like a person who had accidentally walked into an alternate timeline.

  Noah turned back to the stove, because bacon at least could be managed.

  Behind him, Rachel's voice came out very small. "I'm going to die."

  Noah's dry humor resurfaced, shaky but present. "Not today. Josh promised to take it to the grave."

  Rachel made a strangled little laugh, half horror and half relief. She crossed the room, still wearing his clothes, still thoroughly mortified, and wrapped her arms around him from behind. She pressed her face into his shoulder.

  "Happy birthday," she murmured. "I'm sorry your first present was traumatizing your best friend."

  Noah covered her hands with his own, his chest finally loosening as the apartment stubbornly continued to smell like breakfast.