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Noah grabs it from me and uses his one hand to block the cake as he lights the flame. We both stare at it.
"I think I would've liked to have met your mother," I say.
His eyes hold mine. "She would've liked to have met you, too. She always had a gift of being able to see the best in people. It wouldn’t have been too hard for her to find the good in you. She would have loved you."
My cheeks flush at the inference that his mom would have loved me in any capacity. If she was still alive, I know that I would have wanted her approval. I’m not entirely sure why it’s important to me, but it is.
"Should we sing?" I ask, trying to divert his attention.
Finally, the corner of his mouth tips up, the first semblance of a smile I've seen since I first came across him here.
"Yeah, let's do it."
We both begin to sing softly, our voices getting louder as we get through the song, until we’re belting happy birthday at the top of our lungs by the end.
He moves his hand from covering the candle and the light immediately extinguishes. But before I can say anything, he grabs my face, cradling it with both hands as he stares at me. His chest is rising and falling heavily, and he moves forward until his lips are just a breath away.
"What are you doing to me, little stalker?" he whispers, and a tear trickles from my eye and slides down my face. He watches it, fascinated, rubbing the path where it's fallen, and then he leans forward that last little inch, and his lips softly brush against mine.
The world around us fades with just that small touch. Fire lights in my veins, spreading warmth and working away the chill settled into my skin. If magic were real, the soft brush of his lips on mine would be what convinces me. There's a pulse of electricity between us, a feeling that his lips were always meant to be on mine.
I wonder if in a different life, a different world, he maybe… would've been…mysoulmate.
Maybe it's the writer in me, seeing magic where there isn't, but the moment feels far deeper than the soft, comforting, grateful kiss that I'm sure Noah imagines it to be.
He doesn't try to deepen it. Instead, he continues to hold his mouth there, until we’re just breathing in each other's breaths. I feel…immeasurably precious in this moment. Something I've never felt before in my life. I wish there was a way to take a screenshot of the moment, so that you truly could hold it with you as it really was. Because there's no way that my faded memory of this could surpass how it actually is.
When he finally moves away, I swear he takes a piece of me with him, and I almost cry out from the loss of it.
"The cupcake is ruined," he remarks in a rough voice, his gaze flicking to the pile of sodden cake below us.
I reach down and take a dollop of the frosting on my finger and then streak it against his cheek.
He rolls his eyes but makes no move to get it off…then again, I guess the falling rain will take care of that.
“Thank you,” he says softly, and my cheeks flush again at the depth of emotion in his voice.
I know when we leave the cemetery, it will go back to usual. The bubble we’ve created for ourselves will pop and disappear.
But at least for a moment, I had this with him.
Chapter 18
Skylar
Eighteen years old
It feels wrong to be eating lunch with Kyle the following day. He takes every chance he gets to move in on me more. It’s felt like a cat and mouse game with him since school started, and with every passing day, his frustration with me grows.
We’re seated with some different friends than he usually sits with, ones that Noah isn't going to commandeer and want to sit by. Not that it matters. I can still feel the weight of Noah's glare for the entire lunch though.
We’ve just started lunch when I realize I have a couple of science problems I still need to do before class. I try to make an excuse to go to the library to study, but Kyle somehow guilts me into grabbing my notebook from my locker, so that I can work on it here with him at the lunch table. Not wanting to start a fight with all his friends watching over us, I just nod and accept defeat. I dash to my locker and grab what I need, and then take a much slower walk back to the cafeteria.
Everyone's chatting about Friday night’s game when I sit down, and I halfheartedly listen as I shovel some of my salad into my mouth so I can finish eating before I start my science problems.
It takes me a couple of bites to realize something’s wrong.
Really wrong.
