Chapter 9 #2
Noah nodded, swirling the ice in his glass. “So, what happens if a guy like me pulls you close in the parking lot after dinner and kisses you again?”
I felt my face go hot. “Depends.”
“On? ”
“Whether I let you.” I glanced up. “And whether I hate myself after.”
He held my gaze, something fierce and unreadable in his eyes. “You won’t.”
“You sound awfully sure.”
“I’m not,” he said. “But I’ve never wanted to get it right so bad in my life.”
That shut me up.
The waitress arrived with our plates just in time to save me from answering—shrimp and grits for me, blackened snapper for him, both of us too quiet as she set the food down and walked away.
I picked up my fork with hands that still trembled, heart thudding against my ribs like I’d invited the devil to dinner and forgot to pray first.
Noah just watched me over the rim of his glass, his voice low and rough as he said, “I don’t go to church, Hallie Mae. I don’t pray before meals. But right now? I’m thanking God you said yes.”
And Lord help me, I didn’t have a single good reason to regret it.
Dinner was easy—easier than it should’ve been.
We laughed more than I expected, talked about everything and nothing.
He told me just enough about his time overseas to make me go quiet, and I told him about my classroom and my favorite book to read at story time and how the kids always mispronounced Jonah and the whale as “Donut and the whale.”
“I’d read that story,” he said with a smirk.
We lingered long after our plates were cleared, sipping our drinks, the warm Lowcountry air wrapping around us like a slow tide. Every now and then, our knees would brush beneath the table—and neither of us moved away .
It wasn’t just dinner.
Not anymore.
And we both knew it.
When the check came, he waved the waitress off before I even reached for my purse.
“I said I’d spoil you,” he said. “And I’m a man of my word.”
“You’re something, all right.”
He leaned in, eyes steady on mine. “If I kiss you again tonight, Hallie Mae, I’m not gonna pretend it’s just because the food was good.”
My breath caught.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say anything at all.
After dinner, we walked along the dock behind the restaurant, the boards creaking beneath our steps as we moved toward the edge where the Adirondack chairs faced the water.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting everything in dusky gold and softening the world around us until it felt like a dream.
Boats bobbed gently in their slips, strings of lights twinkling overhead like low-hanging stars. The scent of salt and grilled seafood lingered in the air, mixing with the hush of the water lapping at the pilings and the quiet buzz of night settling in.
I wasn’t ready to go home.
Apparently, neither was he.
“This where you take all your girls?” I asked, pretending to sound casual even though my heart was doing somersaults.
He chuckled. “You think I’ve got a rotation?”
“I think you’ve got a way about you.”
He stopped walking and turned toward me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe. But I’ve never brought anyone here.”
I didn’t believe that for a second—but the way he was looking at me made it hard to care. I opened my mouth to deflect with something clever, but before I could say a word, he took my hand.
Not in a rush. Just like he wanted to know what it felt like.
I let him.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, hand in hand, until we reached a pair of chairs at the end of the dock. He sat first, then tugged gently on my hand.
“C’mere.”
I hesitated, but the pull was stronger than my nerves.
I let him guide me into his lap, the arms of the chair wide enough for both of us, barely. His arms slid around my waist like they belonged there, his chest warm against my back.
I should’ve pulled away.
Instead, I settled in.
“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low near my ear.
“No,” I whispered.
His laugh rumbled against my spine. “Liar.”
We sat like that for a long moment, the breeze lifting the hem of my dress and the heat of his hands spreading like wildfire where they rested on my hips.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I said honestly.
“This?”
“This … being close to someone. Letting it mean something.”
His arms tightened slightly. “Then let it mean nothing for tonight. Just feel what you feel.”
I closed my eyes, trying to follow the rhythm of the water, the breath in my lungs, the weight of his body against mine.
“I shouldn’t want this,” I whispered.
“But you do.”
I turned my head just enough to glance back at him. His face was inches from mine, the last light of the evening catching the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes.
“I’m not good for you,” he said. “But God, I want to be.”
And then he kissed me.
Soft at first, like he was asking permission with every inch.
Then deeper.
Hotter.
I curled into him, one hand at the base of his neck, the other clutching his shirt like I didn’t want the world to exist beyond the four corners of that dock.
It wasn’t just a kiss.
It was a breaking.
A falling.
And something in me knew—nothing would be the same again.