Chapter Eight Goldie
Chapter Eight
Goldie
December
“A dunk tank?”
I say it mostly to myself, but Noah nods. “Yeah, and I plan to spend every cent I have in my wallet right here.”
Our heads turn at the same time, our eyes locking, a shit-eating grin on his face as he adds, “It’s for a good cause.”
When Noah invited me to the “little Christmas market” thing Chase was participating in, I never anticipated arriving at the set of a Gilmore Girls winter festival.
Besides the ball pit dunk tank that said best friend is currently fighting for his life in, every carnival ride a person could imagine litters the wintry park square, surrounded by stark trees strung up in lights.
Rows of quaint vendors are sprinkled over cobblestone streets, selling trinkets and jewelry, adorned with cute hand-drawn signs that read A portion of the proceeds go to Feeding America.
All set in the neighborhood next to our first date.
I shake my head as we move up in the long line we’re standing in for a chance to dunk Chase. Which I can’t help but notice is made up mostly of women. My money’s on his exes.
“I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this event . . .” I pause to smile, only because Noah’s hand slips into mine. “How have I lived here, for . . . like, ever and been missing out on this?”
Noah grins down at me.
“Because it started this year, that’s how.
” My forehead wrinkles with curiosity as he continues.
“Chase was doing some chef guy meeting with a bunch of other restaurant owners in the area, and I guess the conversation led to the local food banks and Christmas, so they decided to raise some money.” He shrugs.
“I just put them in touch with Feeding America because I did some pro bono work for their website.”
“Just put them in touch” . . . shrug . . . “pro bono work” . . . shrug . . .
Jesus, this man’s a master class in humility and sex appeal. My stomach does that little flip it’s been doing more and more over the last few weeks.
Which is dangerous because everyone always says to date someone who likes you more than you like them, but unless Noah’s totally obsessed with me the way Bill Nye likes science, I’m fucked.
I think I started falling for him the night we met. And now I’ve found myself doing that thing girls do who are down bad. I find ways to bring him up in every conversation, making my sister hate me. I also go about my days at my new job pretending that I’m not daydreaming about him.
Except I am. A lot.
Worse yet, he’s spent almost every night at my house since the first time we rang that dinner bell. The urge to let him leave a toothbrush behind feels seriously intrusive.
This crush is crushing me into a lovesick fool.
I’m still staring up at him, lost in thought. But I can’t help it because he’s fine as hell and pretending not to notice me. It’s cute.
Noah lazily tilts his head before narrowing his eyes on me.
“You’re such a little stalker.” He leans down closer. “Wanna sneak in my window later and do dirty things?”
I grin harder. He kisses me.
A quiet, breathy laugh leaves me before I pull away, teasing, “Your windows are all nailed shut. How exactly would I do that? You know what, scratch that. It’s no fun if you know I’m coming.”
So gently that it makes me shiver, his thick fingers find their place right around my throat as his eyes fix on mine.
“Killer, I always know.”
I swallow because that felt dirty before I’m kissed for the second time.
As his hand lowers, I’m struck by a thought. Something I’ve come to realize about Noah is that he’s a man of few words, but the ones he chooses always hit the mark.
I sigh as I open my eyes, still stuck in a bubble.
He lifts our joined hands, brushing his thumb over my cheek, where I know I’m blushing, but damn if he doesn’t always make me. People cheer from next to us, reminding me we’re not alone, so I clear my throat, hoping to pull myself out of my Noah haze.
Thankfully, I’m saved by the ding . . . the ding of my phone.
We both step away to a more respectable distance, smiling sillily, as I let go of his hand to see who’s texting me, already knowing it’s my sister.
Evie: I’m here. Just parked. I stole a spot in front of some news vans.
And this is why she should be labeled “Evil,” not “Evie,” in my phone. She’s a demon.
I chuckle and look up at Noah. “My sister said there’s news vans. That’s great, right?”
He nods, glancing over his shoulder but saying nothing before shoving his hands into his pockets.
Me: Hurry up. We’re in the middle at the dunk tank.
Evie: Ten four.
Noah’s voice nabs my attention, pulling my face up to his.
“Does she know you’re setting her up?”
My mouth falls open, and I pretend to be shocked over such an accusation, even though Noah’s onto me.
I’ve hung out with Noah and his bestie more than a handful of times now, and each time, I’m more and more convinced Chase is perfect for my sister. But that’s stayed my little secret, especially since when they first met, it didn’t exactly go swimmingly.
Evie’s an acquired taste . . . although Chase’s refusal to dine on her every word wasn’t the problem.
“I’m not setting her up . . . I would never. How dare you accuse me of such nonsense. I’m just not not setting her up.”
He shakes his head as we step forward in line again. “You’re just gonna throw them together again and see what happens?”
“Exactly.”
“You know who else famously did that? The Romans. You didn’t bring any lions, did you?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Hear me out . . . Evie’s like a hot guy in a girl’s body—allergic to commitment, immune to being love bombed, and food is her love language.
And Chase is, well, the ultimate sarcastic dudebro chef.
They’re the same person. They just need a little nudge. It’s a perfect match.”
“Or a potential bloodbath.” He winks.
I shove at his chest, but Noah catches my hand there, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Let’s make a deal. If they hate each other—”
“Which they won’t,” I interject, but he ignores me, continuing.
“—and she eats him alive again, you’re staying up late with the baby to dry his tears.”
I scoff and shift sideways so my body faces him as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I tease up to his profile. “This could be the meet-cute to their happily ever after. And twenty years from now, we’ll all sit around at dinner, laughing about how I set-not-set them up.”
Oh no . . . words go back in my mouth.
My eyes bug out for a second, thankful he’s not looking at me. Until he does, so I whip my face sideways, staring at nothing, my lips folded under my teeth.
Holy shit. Did I just forecast us into our future life together? I long-hauled us all the way to fifty.
I’m chewing the inside of my cheek when his voice hits my ears, and I feel the tickle of his five o’clock shadow.
“I bet you’re fucking hot at fifty. You think I have a beard?”
Fuck it. I let the smile on my face bloom as my eyes meet his, and I shrug coyly before I lift the tips of my fingers to his chin.
“I hope so. They do it for me, ya know.”
Noah immediately laughs, deep and rich. Yeah, I’m not falling. I’ve fallen.
“Oh yeah,” he sexily rumbles down. I can hear the grin all over it. “Maybe I’ll grow one out now? But whaddya gonna give me if I do?”
Before I say anything else, my phone dings, and I begrudgingly extricate myself from him again.
Evie: All black. Really? So slutty. Tell him put that bde away when he’s around me.
It’s kind of disrespectful.
Me: No but how did I get so lucky? He’s like a Golden Retriever in a Doberman disguise.
Evie: I mean, not to be incestuous but your boyfriend’s hot.
“Tell Evie I said thanks.”
My face swings to his, my eyes bugging out because we’ve been caught, but he’s smiling at a sweet teenage girl behind a table lined with orange balls. Apparently in the midst of my texting, we’ve made it to the front of the line.
He hands her a hundred-dollar bill before grinning back at me.
I chuckle. “So rude. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to read other people’s texts.”
He winks. “Luckily I have a girlfriend who doesn’t keep any secrets.”
“Or do I?” I tease, only for him to let out a little growl as he reaches to tickle me.
I’m giggling just as I hear my sister’s voice behind me.
“Dunk the chef? Really?” she laughs. “And with balls that look like tomatoes. That’s next level. Who’s the unlucky victim?”
Oh shit.
I spin around, realizing she hasn’t put it together yet.
“Where have you been?” I rush out, immediately hugging her like she’s been away at war.
“Hey,” she greets Noah, who just says “Spartacus” under his breath before she pushes me off her.
But not before I strategically turn her away from seeing my secret. Now Noah and I can see Chase, but her back is to him. This suddenly feels like a bad idea.
Evie scrunches her nose before her lips purse, sarcasm readied. “Golds, why does your face look like that? Did you eat spicy food again?”
“Shut up,” I groan, and glance over her head, trying to figure out how to introduce this spontaneous yet completely planned setup. “I need to talk to you about something . . .”
Her frown lines form before her voice rises nervously. “Shit. Mom told you. That’s why you’re so weird right now.” She lifts a hand. “It wasn’t really my fault, but I do feel bad.”
My brows lift, and I don’t even have to look at Noah to know what Evie just said has piqued his interest too. The best part about little sisters is they always confess their crimes before they’re even up for interrogation.
“Uh, told me what . . . ?” I lean in toward her, watching her swallow the realization that she’s fucked up.
“Shit.” She winces and I nod, motioning with my hand for more.
The background sound of girls cheering for the chef to be dunked makes me smile but doesn’t distract me from my sister. I know she’s going to try to escape from this conversation like Houdini out of handcuffs. It’s not happening.
“Nope. Out with it, right now, or I’ll—”