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“Nope. And not only that, but it was some sort of ham salad sandwich, which she just figured was tuna. My dad had never tasted ham in his life.” Alex chuckled at the thought, having heard the story a hundred times but never having told it. Nora gripped his arm now, invested.
He wanted to spend the foreseeable future with her hair against his bare chest, telling her stories. Having her react in all the right ways.
“But that wasn’t what did it. It was the bread, some sort of multigrain. With sesames. And she didn’t know he was highly allergic.”
“Oh my God. That’s horrible.” She buried her face in his neck.
“Luckily, she got him to Drake’s student health center and they gave him epinephrine right away. It all worked out, obviously. Or I wouldn’t be here. So, happily ever after and all that.”
“Not if he can’t eat halvah!”
Alex laughed. “Ham, but no halvah.” He played with her hair, twirling it absently. A moment went by. Then another. She sighed against him, relaxing.
“I think sometimes,” he began, stifling a yawn, “it’s impossible to really know what’s best for someone – or even for yourself. Sometimes you just have to approach it together and figure it out…the hard way. But if the good intention is there…”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better about the sweater,” she whispered, “It’s totally working.”
If it was possible to laugh in your sleep – he was. Falling deep into it with his arms full of Nora and all the lights on.
ChapterTwelve
Nora woke up with two regrets: she had no cream for coffee in the apartment, and she still hadn’t told Beck about what was going on at Britesmith.
Well, she could remedy one thing immediately, at least.
“Beck…”
Would you believe me if I told you –
He didn’t stir at the whisper of his name, or the kiss on his shoulder.
You’re not going to like this, but –
She studied him in sleep. His fingers curled possessively around her pillow. Lips pursed, heavy brow relaxed.
Okay, maybe coffee first. Talk later.
The corner bodega was used to seeing her roll in at all hours for all things – in pajama bottoms and UGGs at three p.m. when she was in need of a can of chicken soup and tampons. After clubbing at one a.m. with her girls for Gatorade and string cheese. Today, she was a normal person buying normal things at a normal hour. Grabbing Half-and-Half, bagels,The New YorkTimes. In Beck’s Drake University T-shirt and braless because she had no idea where he threw it last night, mind you; plus yesterday’s leggings, which could be considered walk-of-shame attire. Nonetheless, it felt right for a Sunday morning.
Easy.
She loved walking through her quiet neighborhood, the empty streets at this hour. It was the time of day where she felt like she had Manhattan all to herself, and Manhattan had her back. She returned to find coffee on, and a shirtless man at her stove. Barefoot, and in just his jeans.
I could get used to this.
“So that’s where my shirt went.” He pointed a spatula at her. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over hard.” She shed her jacket. “How do you like your sugar?”
He leaned over his shoulder for a kiss. “With coffee and cream.”
“Cuteandhas Beastie Boys knowledge?” She reached into the cupboard for mugs. “I really underestimated Iowa.”
“Yeah ya did.” He grabbed her around the waist, one-handed, still wielding the spatula. “Mmm, hot city girl in my T-shirt with nothing underneath? I don’t think I ordered that with my coffee.”
She twined her arms around his neck. “So send me back.”
He gazed down at her, biting back his smile. “Never…unless it’s back to bed. And I bring you breakfast there.”
