“Slowly.”
“Why?”
“You were nervous.”
“About kissing you?”
“About being seen.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“Did anyone see?”
“A fisherman.”
“What happened?”
“He asked us to move because we were blocking his tackle box.”
Noah laughed.
The sound filled the apartment and made Marlowe lift his head from the rug.
“So our first date involved an unpleasant guide, a broken bathroom, cold food, and an irritated fisherman.”
“Yes.”
“Was it good?”
“The best date of my life.”
His laughter faded into something gentler.
“Because of me.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at our hands resting near each other on the couch.
“I want one.”
“A fisherman?”
“A date.”
My heart began to pound.
“When?”
“Not tonight.”
“Good. You are barely awake.”
“Tomorrow.”
“You may feel exhausted.”
“Then we do it here. Dinner. A film. No medication charts for one hour.”
