Chapter Three Goldie #2
He secures our helmets and smirks. “Taking candy from a baby . . . I’m game. But you said ‘conditions,’ plural.”
A light breeze blows a strand of my hair over my lips, so I sweep it away as I walk toward him. Stopping in front to look up past the patterned tattoos and the chiseled jaw directly into his eyes, I uncharacteristically say the exact thought in my head.
“You’re right. It was plural . . . It has to be unforgettable.”
He searches my eyes. “What does? Tonight or the theft?”
I shake my head. “The kiss you give me at the end.”
Without a thought or an answer, Noah grins and takes my hand, leading me around the barricade into our very first date. And I swear I’m already hoping it won’t be the last.
Half an hour later, we’ve been weaving our way around, talking about everything and nothing. Mostly how we share a side-eye attitude toward Halloween.
He shifts his body to avoid some little kid dressed as Chucky.
“Like I said, I’m here for fall, but all the gory stuff isn’t for me. Everyone wants to pretend to be a killer. Real life is scary enough.”
I pop the last of my Skittles into my mouth.
“Agreed, but like, a little witchy vibe is fun sometimes. I’ll rock out to some Practical Magic, but I’m calling it with anything truly scary. I’m too fragile.”
“Oh, I believe you.”
He smiles, dramatically wincing as he touches his shoulder because a few houses back, as a giant skeleton came to life, I nearly climbed him like a tree.
“Whatever,” I grumble as he winks. “That thing was horrifying.”
I’m suddenly hit with a shiver since I’m not exactly dressed for the weather.
“Here,” he offers, shrugging off his jacket.
I shake my head, but Noah’s already putting it over my shoulders, letting me slide my arms in and drown in it.
“What about you? You’re only wearing a T-shirt.”
He’s adjusting it on me, and it takes everything I’ve got not to dip my face and inhale until it’s burned into my nose forever. As weird as it sounds, it’s literally the most reasonable response to his scent.
He shrugs and slides his hands into his front pockets, which makes his already-defined biceps look even bigger. But I don’t just notice that. My eyes are glued to the snake that’s tatted around his left arm.
“I run hot. I’ll be fine.”
Yeah, you do.
He looks at me, then looks away again.
Wait, I didn’t say that thought aloud, did I? No? Did I?
My eyes grow owllike for a few seconds of worry as I stare forward before I pivot and try to rebreak the ice.
“So, where are you originally from? Because I don’t hear an accent. And I don’t meet a lot of guys here who don’t have one.”
“Stop meeting a lot of guys,” he teases.
Oof, he’s too good at this. Because everything he says is grin producing, as well as addictive. But I maintain my cool as he continues.
“I’m from a nowhereville little fishing town between here and Maine.”
“So, New Hampshire,” I say flatly.
He smiles, not looking at me, and points to a house with giant spiders all over the front.
“Eww, I’d never sleep,” I laugh, stepping in closer to him. “I hate spiders.”
“Even the cute ones?”
He says it without any recognition of the insanity laced within that statement.
I do a double take and stare at him. “There isn’t any such thing.”
“Excuse you. Tarantulas are adorable. All furry-legged.”
As he says it, his fingers crawl up my neck under my hair, making me squirm and squeal as I inadvertently curl my body closer to his.
“Stop,” I fake whine before shaking my arms like I have the heebie-jeebies and shoving his immovable shoulder, making him chuckle. “What’s your animal hard pass?”
“Cats.”
“So, it’s a no for pussy, check.” His mouth drops open, and I laugh. “Sorry, dirty jokes . . . too soon? Am I cut?”
“I might like you even more.”
The way he looks at me makes me nervous, so I try to refocus.
“Nobody dislikes cats. You’re making that up.”
“I don’t dislike them. I hate them. Real disdain.”
I gasp, stopping in my place as he does, too, just in time for him to double down, crossing his arms.
“They’re superior, condescending, and disloyal. I refuse to house and feed something just to be judged by it.”
My smile tries to stay suppressed but fails as we start walking again. “Wow, who hurt you.”
He nods in full acknowledgment, cracking one of those sexy smirks again.
“Her name was Princess Peach. She shit in my shoes and left me to live with my neighbor. I still have the heartbreak and the laser toy I got her.”
We share a matched laugh before he takes my hand again, guiding me around a group of teenagers stopped in the middle of the street, comparing their loot.
I look at him at the same time he looks at me.
“Your turn,” he prods, rocking his side into mine. “Where are you from originally?”
“Oh man, questions like this are so loaded because I don’t really know . . .”
He looks at me, puzzled, as I keep explaining. “I’m adopted, so I’m working with very little info. All I know is that I came to live with the great Camilla and Stephen Monroe when I was twelve hours old.”
“Twelve hours old?”
I nod. “Well, kind of. I was left at a police station in Portland, Oregon, without a birth certificate or anything. It was by the grace of god that my mom and dad even saw me. They just happened to be at the station, filing a report about a stolen bike, and my mother found me in a bag by the door. She heard me, actually. She swears it was the only time I ever cried as a baby . . . as if I was calling her name. It took them almost a year to actually adopt me, but I guess it was meant to be. I came here for college and never left.”
Silence spreads out between us before he chuckles.
“Wow . . . that’s something. But nothing I wouldn’t expect from the most interesting girl I’ve ever met.
And I have to say I’m glad you told me because I’ve been trying to figure out how you and your sister were born to the same people. You don’t exactly look alike. At all.”
I can’t help but laugh because my sister is a gorgeous biracial treasure created by our Black father and Spanish mother, with naturally bronzed features that perfectly complement her warm brown melanin complexion. And we couldn’t look more different.
“Yeah, she’s a bio kid and a perfect blend of our parents.
Evie was my single five-year-old’s wish written to Santa trying to manifest a baby sister.
But we do get asked why I look like the national spokesperson for Irish airlines a ton.
Which sometimes sucks because, unlike Evie, I’ll never know who I favor. ”
Noah runs his fingers through his hair. “Have you ever thought of doing those genetic testing things? The ones that can link you to relatives?”
I nod. “Yeah, my mom even bought me one once. But . . . I don’t know.
It’s stupid because I wish that I knew more, but I kinda don’t want to know either.
I just want my sister to be my sister and my mom and dad to be my mom and dad .
. . no extras or little asterisks next to their names.
I guess I’d rather live in my current version of life and keep wondering if my eyes are only this pretty because they’re a mixture of people I’ll never know. ”
Noah frowns and stops me as his eyes scan my face.
“Nah, as someone who’s only known you for five seconds, I can’t imagine you looking like anyone but you. Some people are meant to stand out as independent creations.” His finger feathers over my cheekbone. “I guarantee nobody’s ever had freckles on their cheeks exactly like this.”
Noah’s kind.
And he just called me “pretty.” In the slyest way.
My lips part, but nothing comes out, so I opt to tug him toward a cider stand, suddenly feeling more flushed under his stare.
“Your turn. Tell me about you . . . sisters, brothers? Are you close with your parents? Give me the dirty details now that you know my life’s story.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand as he pulls out his wallet, holding it out to me so we can work together to grab some cash for the drinks.
“There’s nothing to tell,” he fills in. “I’m an only child from a boring town, and now I’m here, trying to make the most of my life. Now is the most interesting part.”
I raise my brows. Okay, onion, make me peel those layers.
“And your parents? Are they still in New Hampshire? Do you see them often?”
It’s impossible to miss how he straightens a bit and rolls his shoulders back, avoiding my eyes as he pockets his wallet before accepting his drink.
“I never met my dad, and my mom never talked about him. I lost her a few years back in a car accident.”
“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Noah.”
He smiles forgivingly at me. “No, don’t be. It’s fine. I’m good. It’s just not the razzle-dazzle I was going for to leave you impressed and awed by me.”
I take a sip, strolling next to him as our hands lightly swing.
“Okay then,” I breathe out, peeking up at him. “Redo. Impress and awe me. But be forewarned: I’m a tough judge, much like Princess Peach.”
He chortles. It’s cute.
“Oh man. Okay, no pressure. Let’s see . . .” I can feel his eyes on my profile before he says, “I can juggle fire.”
My face whips to his. “Shut up. Do it right now.”
“I thought you’d at least fake apathy. You were supposed to make me work for it. Damn, Princess would be so disappointed.”
I spin my body toward him with faux incredulity on my face. “Cats usually are though, right? You know what, forget the razzle-dazzle. We’re rapid-firing. Getting all the bullshit first-date talk out of the way.”
“Are we on a date?” he tosses back sarcastically.
I narrow my eyes and ignore him because he’s already nodding his agreement to my rapid fire.
I point to myself. “Thirty. And a Scorpio.”
“Thirty-one, and I don’t have a clue, but my birthday’s July first.”
Ooo, he’s a Cancer. It’s criminal how compatible that makes us.
He tilts his head, his fingers absentmindedly sliding up and down in between mine. “My turn? I don’t have any social media.”
“Stop love bombing me.”
He laughs, and it mesmerizes me for the millionth time.
“Favorite color?” I shoot out.
“Red . . .”
He lifts our joined hands to the end of my hair as he adds, “And yours?”
“Sapphire.”
He blinks, then takes over. “Favorite flower?”
“Baby’s breath . . . you?”
“Chives.”
I smile as his eyes drop to my lips, lingering and making me stall for a second.
“Favorite food,” I say, slower this time, as he locks his eyes back to mine.
He grins before answering. “A Belle Isle lobster roll.”
“Same,” I whisper.
Whoo. Whatever’s happening is making the world feel like it’s shrinking around us, locking us in a bubble.
People surround us, but they’re oblivious to the spin we’ve seemingly found ourselves in.
The round and round of two people with the kind of chemistry that leads to one-night stands where you break things as you make your way into the house because the kiss can’t stop.
Except I’m not sleeping with him, so we’re just going to have to stay trapped right here. Which, honestly, isn’t too bad.
We stand deliriously locked on each other until I forget if there’s a question on deck, so I throw out another for good measure.
“Favorite time of day?”
“Twilight . . .” I say first, but he just stares into my eyes.
So I raise my brows, waiting for him, and repeat my answer, quieter this time.
The sides of our mouths both pull as he nods, not at all answering the question. “Yeah, Team Edward for sure.”
“No,” I laugh, touching his chest with my free hand. “I was asking what time of day you love, not about the movie.”
“Can I kiss you now?”
My heart stops as he lets go of my hand. But I don’t get to speak because he’s already bending down as I nod.
Our lips fuse together in the middle of the cobblestone street, like a sigh of relief halting any thoughts, blurring out the world into frayed edges as the first touch of his mouth lingers, then melts deeper into the kind of kiss where I can’t tell whose breath is whose.
It’s romantic, not crude. He’s purposeful, not aggressive. It’s perfect.
Noah takes his time, teasing his tongue against mine before drawing back, letting the slickness of our lips slowly glide over each other’s. He’s not just kissing me with his mouth, either, but with his fingertips peppering along my jaw before he cradles it.
My body arches flush against his, my hand tangling, balled up in his shirt. I’m holding on for dear life because I’d said “unforgettable.” And if the measure is whether or not I remember my name, well, I don’t. So, he’s lived up.
He pulls away, his warm breath still igniting my lips as he stays close enough to kiss me again.
“That was my best shot. But I’ll keep trying if it didn’t make the cut.”
“Maybe once more for good meas—” I whisper back.
He cuts me off as he dives back in, leaving me even more breathless than before. My head’s spinning as he whispers, “Better?”
I nod, almost unable to speak. “Yeah. You should take your jacket back. I feel sweaty.”
He grins before pulling away-away, forcing me to unhand his shirt and open my eyes. Good god, my legs feel weak.
“Fuck,” he draws out, swallowing hard enough that his Adam’s apple bobs as he takes another step back. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
I look down at my watch, scraping my teeth over my bottom lip over and over. “Tomorrow is almost today. So, I guess you tell me.”
“Cool,” he says on an exhale and a pregnant pause before blurting out, “Wanna hang out with me for another sixish hours and watch my favorite time of day?”
Sunrise. His favorite time is sunrise.
“Yeah, I don’t really have any plans until Wednesday, sooo . . .”
It’s Saturday.
Noah takes my hand again, and somehow, we turn away from each other to meander back down the street, the silliest of grins plastered on our faces.
“Most interesting girl I’ve ever met,” he says under his breath before sipping his cider.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s definitely been one killer night . . . Now, let’s go find something to set on fire so I can watch you juggle.”
His laughter fills the sky as he drapes an arm over my shoulder and pulls me in close.
Cedarwood and vanilla. Delicious.
I take it back. I think Halloween is starting to grow on me.