35. Noah
THIRTY-FIVE
NOAH
Having her smile at me like that is intoxicating and a feeling I’m unaccustomed to.
Bry, Nate, and Max appreciate me, my students rely on me, the faculty value me, but having Rosy look at me like that? To trust me to support her and be there for her, it’s a completely addictive feeling I’m coming to crave.
Her eyes drift down to the menu, nose scrunching. “I’m torn,” she eventually huffs, a delicate pout pursing her lips.
It’s cute.
“What did you narrow it down to?”
“Hmm, so the starter is an easy option, assuming you want one?” At my nod, she continues, glancing back down to the list of dishes. “Panelle, because it sounds so good, and I’ve never tried it before.”
I read the description: crispy chickpea fritters. That does sound pretty good.
“Then for the main, I’m trying to figure out whether to have the Pasta alla Norma or the Pesto alla Trapanese. Decisions are too hard. What do you think I should get out of the two?” Her eyes lift to mine, her eyebrows tugging together as she waits for me to respond.
A throat clears next to us, then Matteo says, “Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”
Rosy opens her mouth, most likely to ask for the latter, but I quickly start first. “No, we’re ready.
To start, a Panelle and a mushroom Arancina.
For mains, we’d like a Pasta alla Norma and the Pesto alla Trapanese, please.
Then to drink, I’ll have a limonata and…
” I trail off, looking at Rosy expectantly.
“Oh, um, limonata for me too, please,” she rushes out, glancing at Matteo quickly before staring at me.
He reads back our order, but I don’t pay too much attention as I smile at Rosy’s bewildered look. Does she actually think I’d make her choose?
Thanking Matteo as he takes our menus and walks away, I wait for her to say what she needs to.
“You didn’t need to do that.” Her eyebrows crinkle together again as she nibbles on her lip. “You should have something you want to try. Now I feel bad.”
My hand gravitates to hers, and as I cover it with mine, her fingers twitch, so I thread our fingers together. “I did get something I wanted to try. Now we can share and neither of us misses out.”
Her mouth twitches into a smile. “Okay, I’d love that.
Thank you,” she says softly, and we continue to look at each other, lost in a world of our own.
She truly does look breathtakingly beautiful.
It’s what she always is, regardless of what she wears or how she does her hair.
It’s curled down her back tonight, glinting in the low lighting, and I desperately want to run my fingers through it.
“So, books. Have you been into them long?” she blurts. “Into reading, I mean. Have you been into reading books for very long?” A mixture of panic and mortification etches across her face, and her fingers laced in mine clutch tightly.
Tipping my head slightly, I try to keep a straight face, resisting the desire to smile at her and risk increasing her embarrassment.
“For as long as I can remember,” I comment, trying to sift back through my childhood memories, enjoying the contentment the reminiscing brings.
“My dad used to enjoy reading too and would read bedtime stories to me every night. When I started reading more, he’d take me to the local library so I could find new stories to read.
Then he’d ask me to tell him about the ones I’d read, what I’d enjoyed about them or what I didn’t.
As an adult, we’d gift each other books for birthdays and Christmases, looking for new ones each of us thought the other would enjoy. ”
Her elbow rests on the table, face cupped in her palm as she listens with a wistful smile. “That’s so wholesome. He sounds like he was really special. What was the last book he gave you?”
I chuckle, clearing my throat before responding.
“Well, the last one he gave me face-to-face was Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz. Great story, a lot of suspense and cleverly done. But the very last one I received was one he had preordered, and it arrived after he’d passed.
It’s called The Seven Deadly Sins of Evelyn Hardcastle.
I’ve read both many times, and now it feels nostalgic. ”
Matteo’s arrival halts any further conversation as he places the starters in front of us, having already silently placed our drinks down a few minutes before.
“This smells unreal,” she breathes, picking up her utensils and cutting off a piece of the fritter before placing it in her mouth. Her eyes fall closed as she hums around the flavour. Cutting another piece, she offers her fork to me. “Did you want to try some?”
Instead of taking it from her hand, I lean in and close my mouth around it, slowly pulling back and chewing the food.
Her eyes widen, and her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip.
“It’s really good. You picked a great starter,” I praise, trying not to get too distracted by her mouth, but it’s hard when it’s making my pulse race.
It takes an inordinate amount of effort to pull my stare away from her so I can start on my own food.
“She really did that?” I ask, words bouncing with my laugh as I lean forward in my chair, mimicking Rosy’s pose so our faces are positioned closer together.
She’s giggling, eyes twinkling with mirth and happy memories.
“Yup, I was mortified for her. Honestly, I think Nanna was born without an embarrassed bone in her body. The postman was stricken, which was understandable. Having a mostly naked seventy-six-year-old woman open the door to you…I’m not sure he’ll ever forget it.
But after that, I learnt to always keep the bathroom well stocked with full-sized towels and a spare robe.
” She snorts, covering her mouth as she continues to laugh.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but as we continue to laugh together, they slip free, cresting and falling down her cheeks.
Grabbing my clean napkin, I lean across the table and wipe them away. “It sounds like you have so many happy memories with her, and it’s clear to see you were loved too.”
Her laughter fizzles, the moment poised and heavy with a bittersweet emotion. She nibbles on her lower lip, her eyes taking on a hint of blue as her tears dry up. “I was really lucky to have her,” she whispers so quietly I almost don’t hear it over the noise in the restaurant.
“No,” I disagree with a small shake of my head. “You deserve a life full of love, and that means having people around who love and care for you. It’s what life should be for everyone. But I’m especially glad I get to be here, finding happiness with you.”
Her hand presses into her chest, mouth parting as she stares at me before she inhales slowly.
“Talk to me? Is that not what you want? Or you don’t think you deserve it?” I push, wanting to know what’s going on in her mind so I can put her at ease.
“It sounds self-deprecating if I say it’s the second. It’s just a little hard to believe you’re all here, wanting something with me.” She laughs; it’s a little high-pitched and awkward.
“It doesn’t. You sound human. Plus, I can keep reminding you how much I’m enjoying spending time with you, being with you.” I grin, giving her a quick wink to help reassure her. I’m all in with this, with her and us.
“I have your desserts,” Matteo interjects as he approaches our table, placing the first dish in front of Rosy. “The Sicilian ricotta cheesecake. And for you, our tiramisu,” he adds, placing the plate in front of me.
“Thank you,” we say in unison.
Our eyes catch, and her lips tugs up into a smile, pulling one from me too.
She pulls her focus away, looking down at the food in front of her, but I keep mine locked on her, not ready to stop.
She picks up her spoon, carefully sliding it through a section of the cheesecake and scooping it up.
She raises it to her mouth, and I’m transfixed, unable to move.
The spoon glides through her parted lips, and they purse around it before the spoon is pulled free.
A low, almost indistinct moan comes from her. “That’s the best cheesecake I’ve ever tasted. It’s so light and soft. Did you try yours?”
It takes a second to clear my throat, as I’m feeling unusually unbalanced and tongue-tied. “No. Not yet. I was…waiting for you to try yours first.”
If she notices my voice is a little husky, she thankfully doesn’t comment. Picking up my spoon, I follow suit, experiencing the same awe she did when she tried hers. She’s right. They are unbelievably good.
“I’m regretting my life choices right now,” Rosy groans. “I didn't need to eat all of that. It feels like you could push me, and I’d roll home.”
There’s a slight chill in the air now that we've left the restaurant. It’s so easy to be in her company, and we stayed until most of the other customers had left.
“I’m not regretting any of my life choices right now,” I reply, reaching out and sliding my hand around hers. “Come on, I can tug you home.”
She laughs, falling into step beside me. It’s not a far walk back, but now I’m wishing I’d picked somewhere a bit farther away.
“Corny, but cute. I’m not regretting being here with you either.” She grins.
Our eyes meet as I glance down at her, and I can’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.
Her breath hitches, and I find myself unable to pull away.
I tug on her hand, and her body curves around so we’re pressed into each other.
Her chest rests against mine, and even through our coats, I can feel the rise and fall of it.
My other hand wraps around the nape of her neck, gliding through the soft strands of hair. Her nose is cold against my cheek, just as I imagine mine is on hers. But in contrast, her mouth is warm, wet, and tastes of citrus. Sinking into the deep heat of her, our tongues slide and caress each other.
The loud clack of heeled shoes nearby has us pausing and breaking away from one another. Soft pants fall from her, and her cheeks are flushed. Another couple walks just past us, a low chuckle between them as they continue in the direction we were originally heading.
Rosy squints up at me as the wind whips strands of hair across her face. Brushing them back, I attempt to tuck them behind her ear, but as the wind tugs them free again, we both laugh.
“Come on. Let’s get you home and warm,” I tell her, dropping one more kiss before I spin us around and start walking again. She doesn’t say anything, but hooks her hand in my elbow, resting her head on my arm as we walk back together.