Chapter 28 #2
“Her head would have exploded.” I placed a raspberry on my tongue. It was good … but not as good as the berries we got at the festival from Mrs. Miller.
“Speaking of champagne.” Noah popped the top off the bottle and poured us each a glass. “To unexpected adventures.” He held up his glass, hitching the curtain toga back up his hips with his other hand.
“To adventurous expectations,” I toasted back, pulling my blanket tighter, very much aware that it was the only thing separating Noah’s eyes from full frontal nudity.
I took a long sip, hoping to douse the fire burning inside my body. The champagne was crisp and bright, with notes of citrus and minerals that danced across my tongue like tiny bubbles of sunshine. Before I knew it, half my glass was gone.
“Careful now.” Noah topped me off with another generous pour from the bottle. “Better keep our wits about us.”
“Oh, I think my wits left me a long time ago.” I pressed the glass to my lips.
Outside, the storm raged on, but in the cabin, beside the fire, sipping champagne and nibbling on truffles, a different kind of storm was brewing, one just as wild but infinitely more inviting.
As I looked again at the single bare mattress, I couldn’t help but laugh, perhaps the champagne starting to have an effect. “This really isn’t how I imagined my luxury resort gig turning out.”
Noah set his glass on the floor and leaned back, arms propped behind him. The bottom of his curtain skirt had hiked up one leg. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
I looked over, watching the reflection of the flames dance in his eyes. “Could be worse.” I hitched my blanket back over my shoulders. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this authentic luxury influencer stuff.”
“I think you’re cut out for anything you set your mind to,” said Noah.
“Stop.”
“I’m serious, Sam. You’ve got … grit.” Noah took another drink of his champagne. “You surprised me. You’re not the person I thought you were when I first met you.”
“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”
“It’s a good thing.”
Noah must have been sitting too close to the fire, because a bead of sweat had formed just beneath his collarbone. It tracked down between the muscles in his chest, weaved through the hard lines of his abdomen … then … lower still.
I forced my eyes back to my glass, downing the rest of it in one gulp. Before I could tell him no thank you, Noah refilled it.
“Like I said, this whole thing started off as a side project.”
“Seems to have worked out.”
I shrugged. “Yet here I am, drinking champagne in a cabin in the woods. Naked. Questioning my life choices.”
The wool blanket was starting to chafe my side boob, and between the fire and the heavy material, I began breaking out in a sweat too. “Maybe Mom was right. The responsible thing is to just go back to school, perfect my dim sum making, and settle down with Edgar.”
Noah paused mid-sip. “Edgar? That’s not the Pilates guy …”
“No, Edgar’s just a family friend. We went to Stanford together, except Edgar actually graduated and got his MBA.
Now he runs his family’s business, the bakery next to my parents’ restaurant.
He’s ...” I paused, picturing Edgar’s perfectly pressed suits and manicured nails.
“He’s very put-together. The kind of guy who color-codes his closet and has a ten-step skincare routine. ”
Noah’s mouth twitched. “Sounds organized.”
“His apartment looks like a West Elm catalog.”
“So you’ve seen his apartment …”
“Many times.” I paused, giving Noah’s mind time to wander. “He drives a BMW and prefers cold-pressed juice.” I wrapped the blanket tighter. “He sends my mom pictures of his latest pastry creations. She probably frames them.”
“Sounds like a great guy.” Noah’s voice was carefully neutral.
“He is. Really. He donates to charity, remembers everyone’s birthdays, loves his parents … loves my parents.” I sighed. “He’s just...”
Outside, a distant rumble of thunder rolled across the night sky.
“Just?”
I couldn’t tell if Noah’s eyes were flaming, or it was simply the reflection of the fire. “Not what I’m looking for.” The champagne made my head fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way Noah looked at me.
He was quiet for a long time, studying me in that intense way of his. “What are you looking for, Sam?”
I met his gaze across the flickering firelight, my heart thundering even louder than the real thunder booming in the sky. The question lingered, heavy with possibility.
Noah’s eyes dropped to my lips, and I found myself wanting to lean forward, as if drawn by some magnetic force.
“Well, Sam?” Noah asked again. “What is it you want?”
I stared into the fire, surprised to find I didn’t have a ready answer.
“I used to know. I wanted to tell stories. Real stories. About real people. People like my parents. Not just what looks good on a plate, but the hands that made it, the traditions behind it.” I sighed.
“Somewhere along the way, I got caught up in the filters and follower counts. And now my apartment is full of crap no real person would ever really want.”
“You could still do that,” Noah said. “Tell those stories.”
“Maybe.” I forced a laugh, then busied myself with arranging the remaining food, very aware of how the blanket slipped on my shoulder. “Right now? I’m looking for a man with dry socks and underwear.” I helped myself to another truffle, needing a distraction.
“You’ve got a little ...” He gestured to my mouth.
“Where?” I swiped at my lips with the back of my hand.
“No, here.” Noah leaned forward, his thumb brushing softly across my bottom lip to wipe away a smudge of chocolate. His touch lingered for just a moment too long.
My breath caught in my throat. Even in the dim firelight, I could see the intensity in his eyes as Noah’s gaze dropped to my lips, and the air between us seemed to thicken. He leaned forward slightly, the movement so subtle I might have imagined it.
“Sam,” he said, my name barely more than a breath.
The blanket slipped slightly from my shoulder. Noah’s eyes followed the movement, darkening as more skin was revealed. His hand reached out, fingers hovering just above my collarbone, not quite touching.
“Maybe I should check on the horses,” he said, but made no move to get up.
Time seemed to stretch in slow motion. My heart hammered so hard that I was sure he could hear it over the storm. I leaned forward, closing the distance between us by the smallest fraction, a question in the movement.
Noah’s hand finally made contact with my skin, his fingers tracing the curve of my shoulder. Soft. Gentle. The touch sent electricity racing through me.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmured, even as his hand slid to the nape of my neck.
“Definitely,” I agreed, tilting my face up toward his. “Terrible idea.”
“We hardly know each other.” His fingers tangled in my damp hair.
“Practically strangers,” I whispered against his lips.
And then he was kissing me.