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Ooh, he’s upping the ante.
“Fine. They’d care, but not if they don’t know.” The threat is implied, or at least, I hope it is. "Now, if you’ll please excuse me.” I dismiss him, hoping that Mark hasn’t seen me talking to someone else. That’d be a definite faux pas on a first date.
“Sure, sure. Have a good . . . date,” Noah says, stumbling over the word. He looks around and sees a woman sitting at a table alone. He smiles broadly, something I’ve never seen him do. It changes his entire face from harsh and brooding to something brighter, and dare I say . . . happier?
Good for him, I think, though I feel sorry for her.
That’s tacky, Riley, I scold myself, not liking the ugly thought.
I can’t help but watch as Noah makes his way through the maze of tables. He takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders lifting and lowering as he straightens his back. Almost like he’s nervous.
But the great Noah Daniels does not get nervous. I know that much from River. He goes on and on about how stone-cold brilliant Noah is, getting entire boardrooms of people eating out of the palm of his hand with his brains by never leaving a single detail to chance. He’s a perfectionist to a dangerously unhealthy level, only leaving the office when River drags him out.
Arielle says Noah was a great big brother growing up, but as she’s gotten older, he forgets she’s a grown woman who does whatever the hell she wants, whenever she wants to. He’s always trying to talk her into getting a better-paying job, investing in mutual funds, and saving for a rainy day. As if he knows what she needs better than she does.
I might be being a bit dramatic, but I don’t hold Noah Daniels in high regard. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just an uptight, grumpy, money-driven one.
Noah comes around to face one of the other women sitting alone. I see his mouth move but can’t read what he says. The woman nods, gesturing to the chair, and Noah sits down with a smile.
Of course, his date’s already going great. He probably planned it that way.
Meanwhile, Mark said three minutes and it’s definitely been at least seven. I hope he’s not lost. I really hope he didn’t see me talking to Noah and leave. And more than anything, I hope he didn’t catch sight of me and bail.
I lick my lips. Nope, not thinking like that. No negativity. You don’t need that vibe for even a moment, Riley. Happy thoughts, positive thoughts.
Mark will come up the stairs any moment, see you, and it’ll be all sunshine and rainbows. A happy, ninety-six percent match. One River and Noah never need to know was assisted by their app.
Time drags, and I start to feel stupid. I mean, I ditched my socks, I ditched my Docs, and I got dressed up, only to apparently get stood up. In front of an audience, no less. Namely, Noah.
I’m about to get up and leave when I see Noah rise from the table with his date. She reaches out to him, and he shakes his head, thunder written on his face. Guess it’s not going so well, after all. His smile has disappeared as if it never was, to be replaced by his usual Grumpasaurus grimace.
Noah sits down at an empty table, fidgeting with his phone. He glances up, and his gaze spears through me, pinning me in place. Those dark eyes dare me to say one word about whatever messy mistake his date was.
I don’t feel any joy in that, though, so I offer a small smile of pity and go back to looking around. Should I wait any longer? Should I message Mark?
I know if I don’t message him, I’ll always wonder what happened, so I pull up my big girl panties—which, again, are clean, Mom!—and message him.
R: Get lost? I’m waiting in the café upstairs.
I watch my phone closely, needing an answer.
M: Me too.
Huh? I scan the room, looking for someone looking for me. Looking for a guy in a blue tie. Looking for someone who looks like their name is Mark, though I don’t know what that ‘looks’ like.
R: Where are you sitting? I got us a table, but I can come to you.
I watch the three dots appear and then . . .
M: Raise your hand, Rachel.
I blink. That would make it easier for Mark to find me, but it seems embarrassing somehow. I glance back at Noah, but he’s staring at his phone intently, probably deleting his date’s name and number.
Slowly, I raise my hand and scan the room, looking for my dark-haired stranger to make his way to me.
But no one is coming. I look around once more to find Noah’s eyes locked on me. For as dark as they are, they seem to shine bright in this light, lit from within by some type of fire. His jaw is tight as he grits his teeth. I watch, rapt, as he stands from the table and covers the space between us in marked strides.
