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“Brat,” Noah said with so much affection it melted even more cold. “I worry about the online thing,” he said. “Drink? I have…” He peered into the refrigerator. “Wine for later, but for now, lite beer or soda, or I could make a milkshake if you like?
“Soda is fine for now, as long as I get a milkshake later.” I smiled as I settled on the same stool because my competency kink demanded I stare at him while he worked. I thought he’d lean through the hatch to pass me my drink, but he came out of the kitchen and stood next to me, half leaning on the counter.
“My milkshakes are dangerous,” he deadpanned. “It’s been known to bring all the boys to the yard.”
I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. I reached out and carded a hand through his hair and tugged him toward me. I’d been staying away for far too long, and I wanted another kiss like the one in the dark.
Then it hit me, we were in a brightly lit diner.
On Main.
With anyone walking past.
I glanced at the main windows, and the blinds were pulled down—I’d never even noticed there were new blinds, or that they’d been shut, and no one could see in.
I kissed him, and he cradled my face and kissed me right back. As our lips met, there was a small hesitance, a testing of waters, and the first was soft. But it deepened fast, becoming something more than a hello and crossing right over into passionate. He shuffled forward a little, and I widened my legs so he could slip between them, then we locked lips as if we’d never have to breathe again. My heart raced, and the world around us seemed to fade into a blur. I was at the point where I didn’t care if the entire town saw this. As we parted, he pressed his forehead to mine, and we were both breathing heavily. His eyes opened, and we shared a smile, and I felt as if something significant had just happened, as if this was the kiss that changed everything, marking the beginning of something that could be beautiful.
“Are you hungry?” Noah whispered.
I scooped some of his shirt into my hand, keeping him close. “Hmmm.” I kissed him again.
He chuckled.
“For food,” he admonished as we separated.
I pretended to pout because what I needed was more kisses, which earned me another tongue-tangling, groaning inside, embrace. This time when we parted it was on the tip of my tongue to suggest we go somewhere and…
Anywhere and…
Yeah.
Noah tied his chef’s apron around his waist and was in his element, moving around the kitchen with that sexy grace and efficiency I found so damn attractive and mesmerizing. He was completely in his zone, and that confidence and competence was undeniably hot.
“I hope you like salmon,” he said.
“Love it.”
“Okay, cool, with risotto and winter squash.”
The salmon sizzled in the pan as Noah flipped it skillfully, and he constantly tasted and adjusted the seasoning of the risotto. Every now and then, he would look up and catch my eye, giving me a smile that sent my heart racing.
At one point, he motioned for me to lean through the hatch. “Taste this,” he said, offering me a spoonful of risotto. The flavors burst in my mouth—the rich creaminess of the rice was gorgeous. “It’s incredible.”
Noah’s face lit up with pride and satisfaction. “I’m glad you like it,” he replied, turning back to his cooking.
I got the impression food was his love language, and I was here to learn every word of it, and the fact that he was doing all this for us, for this quiet evening together, made it all the more special.
“Are you okay to sit over here?” He’d come around next to me, carrying a bottle of white wine. Then, crossed to a booth at the back of the diner, in the darker part, with a candle he lit. I went straight over, easing into the booth, which was set with fancy plates and cutlery. “This is a chardonnay, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love some.”
He opened it, and given the bottle hada cork, I’d I bet it was better than the screw tops I was used to, and then, he poured some into two wine glasses and waited.
After a pause, I realized he wanted me to try it. I took a sip. “Delicious.”
“Okay then.” He seemed nervous, and I wondered how stressed he’d gotten organizing all of this. “Dinner,” he announced, then disappeared into the kitchen.
When he came back, it was with the side dish. “Winter squash,” he announced, “just with seasoning, baked.” Next, he brought over two plates, risotto in the center, piled with the salmon on top and garnished with pea shoots and a scattering of seeds. He placed one in front of me, moving it a few degrees so it faced the way he wanted it to, and then he slid into the facing bench.
