Chapter Twenty-Nine
NOAH
Noah: Can I see you tonight? I miss you.
The message whooshes away and the sound creeps along my spine to settle on my shoulders. I want to recall it.
Amira said she needed space. But she also said she wanted us to be together. And boyfriends take their girlfriends on dates. Right?
Even with the logic in the forefront of my mind, I’m still wary. I don’t want to do anything that might freak her out. So, I kept my message vague asking no more than if she wanted to catch up. Even still, I fire off a second text just to make sure she knows she has the power.
Noah: No pressure. x
Nothing about my feelings for Amira have changed in the week since I’ve moved out. Every night I fall asleep without her in my arms is like another hole forming in my heart. But then, this whole moving out thing wasn’t for my benefit. I’ve spent the past week hoping that a little time apart was doing what we both had hoped. Creating a little longing so she can trust that what she is feeling has nothing to do with our proximity.
I start pacing around the dining room, counting laps as I wait for Amira to respond. Kitch winds through my legs with every step. She’s never been this affectionate, and I’m sure it’s because she got used to all the love Amira showed her. We both did.
My phone finally vibrates in my hand, and I freeze. It’s not like we haven’t spoken in a week, but this one feels different. I suppose it is. After months of fake dating, I’ve finally asked her on a real date. And I’m terrified she’ll say no.
Amira: What did you have in mind?
I don’t want to tell her, though. It’ll be better if it’s a surprise and I know she’ll love it.
Noah: Do you trust me?
Amira: Of course I do. Should I?
Noah: You should. I’ll pick you up before dinner.
She doesn’t reply, just gives a thumbs up and leaves me to freak out for the rest of the day. I potter around the house, unable to focus on anything other than tonight. Tidying rooms that are already clean, mindlessly scrolling on social media, and triple checking all the places I want to take her tonight.
The beach is crowded, but after collecting our hot chips and grilled flake, we find a bit of space to lay out the picnic blanket I bought on my way to pick up Amira. We’re not the only ones who thought to come here tonight, but it’s nice all the same. The sun sets over the ocean in a sky of pinks and oranges, reflecting a ladder of bright light across the deep teal of the bay. It’s a beautiful sight, but it has nothing on the woman next to me.
“I can’t believe I’ve never thought to do this,” Amira muses before popping another hot chip in her mouth.
I watch her intently as she closes her eyes and faces the sun. The wind whips her hair across her face and the lace hem of her denim dress flaps around her legs. Even after her father’s disapproval at the wedding—or maybe in spite of it—the lace tickles the tops of her thighs, and the straps barely cover her shoulders. She’s more than a vision, she’s a work of art
A peaceful look spreads across her face, then her nose scrunches up as the hint of a smile twitches in the corners of her mouth.
“Stop watching me.”
“I’m just admiring the view while I can.” I shuffle my body towards her, shielding my face from the sun. “Once the sky is a little darker, we have somewhere to be.”
Her heavenly demeanour shifts, and she bounces on the spot. “I thought this was the surprise.”
“Cupcake, for our first real date I’m doing more than a blissful evening and some natural beauty. This is only the beginning.”
Giving in, I reach out to tuck the long strands of her hair behind her ears. I let my fingers linger on her cheek, then down her neck, my touch feather-light. Testing. Waiting. Amira holds her breath for a beat, before leaning into my hand. Her eyes drift shut again, and she lets out a heavy, content sigh.
My gaze drops to her lips, and I wonder if she wants what I want. A week ago in the park, I thought the lines we drew were crystal clear. But in this moment, they blur more than I think they ever did.
I’m still mentally debating if I should kiss her when she opens her eyes. I get lost even more, falling into their deep brown tones like I could drown. Without thinking, I pull my lower lip between my teeth. Her eyes drop to my mouth to track the movement and maybe I’m crazy, but I swear she leans a little closer. I should just do it. Close the gap and show her what I’m thinking, what I want, what we could be. But that’s part of what scared her off before and I refuse to do that again.
“Can we go now?” she asks, oblivious to the debate going on inside my mind.
I’m jolted back to reality and look across the bay. The sun has dipped below the horizon, but the sky still holds a tinge of purple. By the time we get where we’re going though, it should be dark enough. I stand, then offer my hand out to help Amira up.
She asks where we’re going plenty of times while we drive into one of Melbourne’s outer suburbs. Especially when the traffic picks up near the entrance to the semi-gated golf club estate. I avoid the question as much as possible. My vocabulary for the entire drive might as well be made up of “just wait” and “you’ll see” and little else.
I find a place to park just inside the estate and check the map on my phone before we get out. My heart beats in time with the footsteps of the families and dogs who are heading in the same direction as us. Racy and haphazard. The crowd grows thick the closer in we get.
“Seriously Noah,” Amira whines, stepping closer to me. “What are we doing here?”
“I promise it will be worth it.” The temptation to hold her becomes too hard to resist. I wrap my arm over her shoulders. Amira nuzzles into the spot she fits so perfectly, nestled just under my collarbone. Somehow, we continue walking through the crowd and around a bend.
Amira stops in her tracks when she sees it, and I nearly trip on her feet from how close together we were walking. After correcting my balance—thankfully without stepping on Amira’s ankle—I look over her head to the house that has caught her attention.
Fairy lights in every shade imaginable cover the exterior. They’re wrapped around poles and trees, draped over doorframes, and laid across the roof tiles. A projector sends elves dancing across the garage door, and a speaker somewhere plays Christmas music.
“The lights,” Amira gasps, hardly loud enough for me to hear over the music and the cheering of little kids.
We might just be the only child-free couple here, but I don’t care. Not with the way Amira is captivated by the display. And if what I read online is correct, this is only the beginning. Amira tugs me closer to the house until her face flashes from the multicoloured display.
“I love them,” she says. “How did you know?”
“I took a hunch based on the giant Santa on your balcony.”
Turning to me, Amira’s face is silhouetted by the bright house behind her, but I can still make out the way her cheeks puff up as she smiles. “Thank you.”
“Oh Cupcake, we’re just getting started.” I drop my arm from around her, instead threading our fingers together. “Let’s go.”
The crowd begins to thin as we make our way through the estate. There are houses with crazy amounts of lighting displays down every street, and each family seems to choose their own route to see them. We don’t follow a set path. After the third or fourth display, Amira clued on to the fact the whole estate has gone all out on the decorations and begins leading me through the streets to see them all. I steer her away from one particular house though. That one we are saving for last.
We walk and walk, until the houses begin to blend into one giant multi-coloured blur of light. But Amira is in awe regardless. Or maybe she can spot the individual beauty in each set up. Either way, she’s having fun, and that was my goal tonight.
Finally, when I think we’ve been down every street at least twice, I take the lead. Guiding Amira down one last street to the main attraction. Past the orange cones blocking off anyone who might have wanted to drive past, we head in the same direction as most of the crowd. We hear the laughter first, and even that seems to make Amira giddy with excitement. Her steps become a little quicker, a little springier. She rushes along the middle of the road, weaving between families and prams. Then sleigh bells drift across the heavy chatter. The closer we get, the more they begin to make tunes. ‘Jingle Bells’ first, then ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ as we squeeze our way to the front of the crowd.
And even I can admit it’s something else. If the other houses were ten out of ten, this is at least an eighty. Fake snow covers the ground and a fake hedge has been put up about two meters back from the footpath. The lights covering it are softer, a warmer white rather than the bright tones of the LEDs. Every so often a small train chugs through an opening on one side of the hedge before travelling along, around mini Christmas trees and oversized candy canes, before popping back behind the bush.
Amira follows it, apologising to everyone she steps in front of to do so. At the far end of the property, she points to a small sign propped against the hedge.
North Pole this way it says, with an arrow pointing through a narrow but prominent arch. And underneath the sign, clearly an afterthought addition, an extra piece of wood has been nailed to the post. Entrance is painted in loopy handwriting.
“Do you think that means we can go in?” Amira asks. She turns to me but keeps her eyes on the house as the train reappears at the other end of the track.
“Only one way to find out,” I chuckle, holding my hand out to lead her down the path. Technically, there are at least two ways to find out, because I already know we’re meant to go in. The whole reason I manipulated our way into saving this house for last was for the ‘walk through extravaganza’ the online community group boasted about.
I’d love to capture all the giddiness in Amira, to bottle it up and use it every time she’s having a bad day. But the photo I try to sneak on my phone is all fuzzy from the lights. So, I give up, choosing instead to be present. I jog to catch up to Amira then pull her hand back into mine.
The music rings around us, lights flash in every direction. A golden Santa spins on his stand, reindeer nibble on grass, and elves wrap presents. There’s even a small, but respectable nativity scene near the end of the path. Amira hesitates before stepping out, pivoting to, I assume, take in the scene one last time.
But her eyes don’t fall on the Santa or the reindeer or the elves. They don’t follow the train around its path or shift up to the stars all over the roof.
They find mine. And I’ve never seen Amira this happy, but I wish I could make it so every single day.
“Thank you,” she says for I think the hundredth time this evening. “I didn’t know people did this.”
“Just don’t get any ideas. I doubt Callum would appreciate this many people climbing those stairs every December.”
I’m sure some of the crowd must have paused behind us by now, considering we’re blocking the exit. But I’m finding it hard to care. Amira steps forward, closing the gap between us and throwing her arms over my shoulders. I wrap my own around her waist, holding her close.
“Thank you for being my boyfriend, Noah. I needed this,” she whispers, her mouth so close to mine I can feel her breath skirting along my lips.
“And I’ve told you Cupcake, I’ll be whatever you need, always.”