“I thought you might want to go upstairs,” he says. “You’ll be more comfortable in your bed than you are here.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after eleven.”
“I don’t want to go upstairs,” I say as the last fog of sleep clears from my mind. “I was waiting for you.”
I shift and sit up, and Noah moves from where he’s crouching in front of the couch so he can sit next to me.
“I’m sorry I disappeared,” he says. “I just needed some time to think.”
“I figured,” I say. “But I was worried about you.” I look over at the cheesecake. “I ate a lot of my feelings.”
Noah lets out a little chuckle. “I’m sorry I missed it. But I’m most sorry I made you worry.”
He leans back into the cushions, then tugs me closer. I settle in next to him, my head on his chest and his arm wrapped around me.
“Where did you go?” I ask.
“All over,” Noah says. “Just walking. Thinking.”
“I almost came looking for you,” I say. “But I wasn’t sure if you would want me to. And also I thought I might get lost.”
He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I appreciate you giving me some space.” He’s quiet for a beat before he adds, “I dated a woman while I was in med school who didn’t know how to do that. The longer we were together, the more she made me feel like I was—I don’t know. Basically justwrongall the time. We would have these conversations, and she would want me to talk about my feelings immediately. On her timeline. I didn’t get time to think or even breathe. She wanted answers. Commitments. Feelings. On demand. All the time.”
“Sounds intense,” I say. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned a past relationship, and I’m surprised by the flare of jealousy the subject triggers. Apparently, my heart already believes Noah is mine.
“I recognize, in hindsight, that there’s definitely stuff I can work on,” he says. “I probablyshouldtalk to a therapist. Get better at opening up. But I also think we’re all built differently. And she could have given me more room to figure myself out.”
“She could have,” I agree. “It’s not wrong to need a little time to sort how you feel.”
“Here’s the thing though,” Noah says. “Had you come outside to find me, I would have welcomed your company. I wanted it, even. It’s a full moon and the night sky is beautiful, and I just kept thinking, ‘I wish Megan were here to see this with me.’”
I lean back, sitting up enough for me to see Noah’s face.
“It’s different with you,” he says. “A week of us knowing each other, and I already know it’s different. How is that possible?”
I lift a hand to his cheek, then lean in and press my lips to his. “I don’t know,” I say. “But I feel the same way.”
I still have so many questions. But with Noah sitting beside me, it’s easy to trust that whatever the answers are, it’s going to be okay. If Noah doesn’t want to practice medicine anymore, he’ll find something else to do. I don’t care what it is just so long as he’s happy. Which makes it easy to let go of needing an answer right this moment. It’s not a choice that’s about me anyway, so he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
We kiss until my mind grows hazy with desire, my blood running several degrees hotter than normal. But then Noah pulls back.
“Wait, wait.” He grips my arms and presses his forehead to mine. “I have to tell you something, and I’m going to lose my focus if we keep this up.”
I grin and bite my lip. There’s something intoxicating about the slight rasp in Noah’s voice, the realization that he’s this undone because of me. But I reallydowant to hear what he has to say, so I force myself to sit back, putting a healthy measure of space between us.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He looks at me like it’s taking all of his resolve to keep his distance, then he lets out a little growl and leans in to kiss me one more time. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says through a chuckle, his lips close to mine. “You have to stop smiling. I can’t resist you when you’re smiling.”
“Then stop making me smile,” I say, but I’m already kissing him again, so I’m not sure I really mean it.
Another few moments pass before I pull back. “Okay, for real,” I say. “Words. Sentences. We can do this.” This time, I stand and move to an armchair sitting perpendicular to the couch. “This will make it easier.”
“Good thinking,” Noah says. He takes a deep breath, then shifts and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “So, when we were talking the other night, I didn’t mention that the hospital where I’ve been working the last couple of years is Northvale General.”
My eyebrows lift. “You live in Charlotte? But that’s—that’s my program. That’s where I want to work.”
