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“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
When I turn to look at him, he pushes his glasses up his nose. Still wearing them, I guess.
Noah crosses his ankle over his knee, and I realize the guy is wearing dress pants. I shake my head and chuckle. “You’re really holding to that dark academia aesthetic, aren’t you?”
Noah’s brow furrows. “It’s working. I had a date yesterday.”
My brows raise; my interest thoroughly peaked. “How’d that go?”
“Awful, but it doesn’t matter.” Noah waves a hand. “What about you and the girl? What are you guys doing?”
“Like dating?”
Noah looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Yeah, Griffin. Like dating.”
I twist away from him, messing around on the monitor again. “I’m not sure, but I’d like to keep this thing going.”
I can hear his judgment echoing through the room despite all the sound treatments I worked so hard to put up.
“You should ask her out,” he responds. “Ask her out officially. Make it crystal clear.”
“You think?” I ask, but I already know what his answer is. There’s no reason to pretend I’m not going to do it. After last night, there’s no way I couldn’t. Not when my mind keeps circling back to every smile–every laugh that decorated her beautiful mouth.
Damn.
“Don’t answer,” I say, holding a hand up to stop him. A smile crosses Noah’s face, and unfortunately, it’s nowhere near as devastating as Ellie’s. “I’m going to.”
Noah reaches for the popcorn bag propped up on my desk and pops a piece into his mouth, his smile still firmly fixed on his face. “Good,” he says.
Twenty-Two
Ellis
The Christmas tree farm is terribly picked over, and I’m certain Lennon and I are about to end up with a small stick instead of an actual tree.
“This was a terrible idea so close to Christmas,” I say as we walk through the mud and grass mixture on the farm. The field of tall trees stretches out before us–towering pines that make me realize just how big the world is–how big it’s felt since I met Griffin.
Unfortunately,thosetrees are not available to cut. We could, technically, but then we’d be paying a ridiculous amount per foot. While my marketing job pays enough, I don’t make enough to go breaking the rules.
Lennon halts, giving me a flat look. Her red braid hangs over her shoulder, only restrained in the wind by the winter hat on her head. “Ellie,” she says, clearly annoyed. “We go this close to Christmas every year, and it’s always the same. It’s literally been our tradition since college.”
I chuckle, shoving my hands in the pocket of my coat as the breeze whips through the farm, carrying strands of my hair with it. I start to wish I’d chosen a winter hat instead of a winter headband instead. It might rein in my hair a bit more.
“I guess you’re right, but it doesn’t help that I had to work today. We’re showing up an hour before closing, and I swear the workers were giving us dirty looks.”
“You’re just overly sensitive,” Lennon states before holding up the handsaw she’s carrying. “They can’t give us dirty looks. We have a weapon.” There’s a pause–a brief moment that sends my mind drifting back to the car and the feel of Griffin’s–
“Ellie?”
I turn to Lennon, a flush painting my cheeks pink. Hopefully she thinks it’s from the cold, but somehow I doubt it. Lennon’s been around a while. She can read my reactions well.
“What?” I say.
“First of all,” she starts, pointing the saw at me. I step away. “If you’re reliving what you told me you did with Finn yesterday, stop. That’s a private thing I want no part of.” I laugh. “Secondof all, how are you feeling about your job now that it’s been a few days?”
“I couldn’t focus at all,” I complain.
Lennon doesn’t let me finish. “I can see why, and you better get that under control. You’re no better than a horny teenager.”
