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“I don’t mind,” he says in that same quiet tone.
He tugs me along like we didn’t just have an honest-to-Godmoment—and I trail behind him, trying to remember what words are.
I’m afraid that if Noah doesn’t do something annoying—like mention model trains on this date—I might be in real trouble of not minding myself.
?“You’re really notgoing to tell me where we’re going?”
It’s a mild night, for Denver; the temperature is just warm enough that Noah and I are able to walk the sidewalks downtown without shivering in our coats. He’s still holding my hand, something that is definitely new for us, but since I haven’t made any sort of move to extricate my fingers, I have to assume that I like it.
“You’ll see in a second,” Noah chuckles.
“I think now would be a good time to tell you I don’t like surprises,” I grumble.
“Even a good surprise?”
“That’s the thing, how does anyone ever know? Someone says, ‘Oh, it’s a surprise,’ and we’re just supposed to take them at face value that they’re going to, I don’t know, throw us a surprise party instead of stealing our kidney.”
Noah’s eyebrow arches even as his lips twitch. “Idohave ready access to the tools, I suppose.”
“Wow. You’re just going to admit it, huh? This whole thing was all an elaborate setup to get a kidney,” I tsk. “There’s probably noAlbuquerque job. Just some bad guys you got mixed up with in the black market who—”
We come to a halt after rounding a corner, and nestled under a covered pavilion lined with well-manicured shrubbery are several rows of small food trucks, lined up in a square shape with tables put out in the center of everything.
I quirk a brow at Noah, who’s still smiling softly. “Remember when I said I wasn’t a cheap date?”
“I think you’ll make an exception,” he says confidently.
“What is this?”
“Local food-vendor market. They do this every other weekend. All the cuisines are different, but there’s usually a theme for what menus they offer.”
“A theme?”
“Mhm.” I feel his thumb trace across the back of my hand, and I think to myself that I might let him feed me out of the dumpster if he keeps doing that. “Can you guess what tonight’s theme is?”
I’m still distracted by the slow back and forth of his thumb. “Um... Taco Tuesday?”
“It’s Friday,” he laughs.
“Just spill. I told you, surprises are bleh.”
Noah tugs my hand again, and I fall into step beside him as he casually tells me, “It’s soup night.”
“You’re fucking joking.”
Noah barks out a laugh, and the sound of it makes my chest feel funny. It might be the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh like that. “I am not.”
“Oh my God.” I might actually be bouncing up and down. “I’m getting one of everything. Can I get one of everything? Do they have mini sizes? I want to try it all.”
Noah looks incredibly pleased with himself, and let’s face it, he should be, pulling my hand to his mouth again to brush his lips across the back in a move that is quickly becoming addictive. “You can get whatever you want.”
“All right,” I warn, trying not to sound as breathless as his innocent kiss makes me feel. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Noah just continues to smile, never letting go of my hand.
?There are elevenlittle cups of soup at our table. Eleven. I should probably be embarrassed by that, but I just can’t find it in myself to feel anything other than giddy excitement. There’s miso, pho, taco, and even some gazpacho I’d been chomping at the bit over—and Noah seems content to let me try each one, taking my overexaggerated moans and delighted sounds in stride as he nurses his own bowl of minestrone and sneaks the occasional bite of something I force him to try.
“I had no idea this was a thing,” I say eventually, after he recounts a difficult stent he put in the day before. “How did I not know this was a thing?”
