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Noah grunts. “Yeah, Gold Hill sucks.”
That’s not what I mean, but I chuckle appreciatively. I don’t understand the rivalry between these two towns, but I find it highly amusing. Everyone has a visceral, automatic reaction at simply bringing up the name of the other town.
“We need someone to build a hotel in Fate. Lot of weddings around here these days; it would make accommodating guests a whole lot easier.” I’m just a blabbering idiot tonight. Wow.
And weddings? Why did I bring up weddings? Maybe because there’s something in the water in Fate that’s making everyone scramble to fall in love and get married, and I’m starting to feel a little left out?
I look across the table as I finish my dinner and notice Noah’s posture. His flannel-covered shoulders look touchable in the soft, blue plaid as he leans in with rapt attention.
“What?” I ask dumbly, feeling self-conscious as his eyes bore into my soul.
“Weddings. Yeah,” he replies. “Sure are a lot of ’em lately.”
Why is he smiling at me like that? Why does he look like what I said was somehow full of meaning? Then he does something unforgivable—he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, which not only emphasizes the shape of his thick biceps but makes me look at his broad chest. I do not want to think about that chest. It’s a lot to think about. Noah has gone quiet and studies me like a specimen, head cocked to the side and the side of his thumb running over his bottom lip.
And why does that make me squirm?
That mouth, those lips. My throat dries up. I feel exposed but in an overheated kind of way.
“You okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?” Noah rasps.
That deep, slow voice with a slight tinge of amusement is going to be the end of me.
“I’m fine,” I manage to squeak, shifting in my seat.
I’m clamming up. I mentioned weddings for no reason, and now he’s not sure what to say next and neither am I.
“I told you I was an awkward weirdo,” I say, shoveling the last of my food into my face.
He stands and politely asks if I’m done before clearing my plate. I nod. “So does that mean we’re not planning our wedding?” Noah asks.
I jump right back into the teasing banter. “Let’s plan our first date and see how it goes.”
We go back and forth as we do the dishes. Well, Noah does most of the work by rinsing and loading the dishwasher. I mostly stand there and stare at his butt. So what? It’s a nice butt.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say, leaning against the countertop as he shuts the dishwasher. When he turns to face me, I realize how close he is. My breath stills as Noah slides a hand over my shoulder, easy as can be, and squeezes.
I move my opposite hand across to rest over his and squeeze back.
Don’t bat your lashes. Don’t be a silly schoolgirl, I chide myself. But what do I do? I bat my lashes and not only that, I lick my lips.
Did he just get closer? I think he did.
The next thing I know, our lips lightly touch. My stomach is cartwheeling in feral glee because this is the first time anyone has kissed me in years. I almost forgot how nice it was. Even just a short, dry, tentative kiss makes my spine tingle.
Noah pulls away, gauging my reaction.
Kiss him back, dummy!
But I don’t do that. Instead, I press on with the mission.
“We should go to your room now,” I say.
“Absolutely,” Noah says, still leaning in close, so close that all I have to do is angle this way and we’ll be kissing again.
“To…to look at your clothes. For the Christmas ball.”
“Oh right. That,” he says.
