Chapter Three
Noah
The bell over the café door jingles, and my head snaps up before I can stop myself.
It’s not her.
I exhale through my nose, shake it off, go back to cleaning the espresso machine. Of course it’s not her. She has my number. If she wanted to see me again, she’d text me.
Wouldn’t she?
I scrape a stubborn coffee stain off the counter, but I’m not really thinking about work. I’m thinking about her.
Juliet.
I can’t get her out of my head.
She’s absolutely perfect. Like she stepped out of a dream, soft, delicate, too sweet to be real. And those eyes.
The way she looked at me last night, like I was something special. Like she saw something in me worth admiring.
It’s been a long time since someone looked at me like that.
And now, I can’t stop wondering, when will I see her again?
I reach for the rag on my apron, and wipe down the counter. I’m working slower than usual. Distracted. I can feel Evan watching me from the register.
“You good, man?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
I force a chuckle. “Yeah, just tired.”
He grins. “That, or you got a girl on your mind.”
I huff a laugh, but I don’t deny it.
Because yeah. I do.
We exchanged numbers last night, but I haven’t texted her yet. I don’t want to rush. She’s the kind of woman who deserves to be courted. Adored.
I want to get this right.
It’s not every day a woman like Juliet walks into your life.
And I have a feeling…
She’s about to change mine.
The bell chimes a few more times before closing.
Not her.
I wipe down the counter, slower than usual. Not in a rush to finish, not really thinking about anything except the way she looked at me last night.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A couple notifications. Group chat. A spam email.
Not her.
I exhale, roll my shoulders, shake it off. It’s been less than a day. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she’s waiting for me to text first.
I hesitate.
I could. I could text her right now. A simple, Hey, it was great seeing you last night. Nothing too much. Nothing desperate.
I pull my phone out, thumb hovering over her contact.
I type: Hey, had fun last night. Hope you’re having a good day.
I stare at it.
Then delete it.
Too soon.
I should wait. Let her come to me.
But damn, I hope she does.
There’s no text when I wake up in the morning. I contemplated it again as I head for work, but decide I’ll give her more time.
I’m wiping down tables when the bell chimes. I don’t even look up at first.
Then Evan says, “Hey, welcome in,” and I glance over and…
It’s her.
Juliet.
For a second, I forget what I was doing.
She’s wearing pink again. Soft, delicate, glowing. Like she doesn’t even realize how much she stands out in a place like this.
She looks right at me and smiles.
My stomach does something weird.
“Go ahead,” Evan says, nudging me, like he knows. “Take her order.”
I don’t have to be told twice.
I step up to the register, wipe my palms on my apron, and try not to sound too eager.
“Hey,” I say, voice coming out a little too soft. “Good to see you again.”
She tilts her head, all sweetness and warmth. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
Oh.
Oh, hell.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to get a coffee order so right in my life.
Juliet leans on the counter just slightly, arms resting against it, eyes bright.
I shouldn’t be this happy to see someone. But I am.
“So,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “What can I get you?”
She hums, glancing at the menu, tapping a delicate pink fingernail against her chin. She already knows what she wants. I can tell.
But she’s drawing it out.
“I think…” She tilts her head, smiling. “I’ll try whatever you recommend.”
Oh.
Oh, that’s not fair.
I feel my ears go hot. I don’t even know why. She probably does this with everyone. She’s just sweet. Friendly.
I clear my throat. “You like coffee, right? Not just the sweet stuff?”
She leans in just a little, like I’ve asked something deeply personal. “I love coffee.”
“Alright,” I say, thinking too hard about this. “I’ll make you a honey cinnamon latte.”
Her smile grows. “That sounds perfect.”
God. She’s perfect.
I make it myself, carefully steaming the milk, adding just enough cinnamon. When I hand it to her, her fingers brush mine.
She doesn’t pull away too fast.
She lifts the cup, takes a small sip.
Then she makes a soft, pleased sound.
And I almost drop dead on the spot.
“This is amazing,” she says, looking at me like I’ve just changed her life.
I should not feel this proud about making a damn coffee. But I do.
I rub the back of my neck. “Glad you like it.”
She takes another sip, then tilts her head. “Hey, I was wondering…”
Oh, shit.
She hesitates, like she’s nervous, and my heart kicks up a little.
“My friends and I are having a movie night tomorrow,” she says, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Would you want to come?”
I blink. That’s not what I was expecting.
“Uh,” I say, scrambling for words. “Yeah, I, yeah, that sounds great.”
She beams.
Of course she invited me with her friends. She’s too sweet to just invite a guy over alone.
She probably thinks it’d be weird. Unsafe. Because she doesn’t know me yet.
And that makes sense.
She’s smart. She’s careful.
“I’ll text you the address,” she says softly, tapping her nails against her cup.
Her phone is already in her hand. Already unlocked. Like she was ready for this.
My phone vibrates and she smiles one last time before walking away, I already know, I’m in deep.
I have never wanted time to move faster than I do right now.
This is worse than waiting for my shift to end. Worse than waiting for summer break to start as a kid. Worse than anything.
Because I want tomorrow to come. I want it to be movie night.
I want to see Juliet again.
I don’t even know what movie we’re watching. I don’t care. I’d watch a three-hour black-and-white documentary about the history of paperclips if it meant sitting next to her again.
My phone stays in my pocket all day, but I check it too much anyway.
Nothing from her. Not yet.
I manage to resist texting her all night.
Today the shift drags, but I make it through.
I clock out, toss my apron in my bag, and get in my car. And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I pull into the florist down the street.
It’s stupid.
Maybe.
We barely know each other. This isn’t a date.
It’s just a movie night with her friends.
But she’s the kind of girl who deserves flowers.
I step into the shop, nodding to the older woman at the counter. I should probably just get a single flower. Something small. Low-pressure.
But then I see the roses.
Pink and white.
Soft. Sweet. The same colors she always wears.
I don’t even think about it. I get them.
Because Juliet is the kind of girl who deserves flowers.
And I want to be the kind of guy who gives them to her.
The address she sent me leads to a quiet street, just outside of town.
When I turn onto her driveway, my eyebrows lift.
Her house is… exactly what I would’ve pictured.
Big, but not in an over-the-top way. Warm. Pretty. The kind of house that has gardens under the windows and a front porch meant for drinking coffee on a slow morning.
I pull in behind her car. There are no other cars.
My stomach flutters.
Maybe her friends aren’t here yet.
Or maybe, I grab the bouquet from the passenger seat and shake that thought off.
It’s fine. I’m probably early.
I step out, roll my shoulders, and head up the steps. The house smells good even from outside. Like flowers and something warm, vanilla, maybe.
I knock.
A second later, she’s there.
Juliet.
Smiling, beaming, glowing.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
Her blonde hair is loose tonight, soft curls framing her face. She’s in a sweater, off-the-shoulder, pink, of course, and a white skirt that brushes against her thighs.
She sees the flowers.
Her lips part, and for a second, she just stares at them.
Then she says, “Oh my god.”
She reaches for them, hands delicate as she runs her fingers over the petals.
“You brought me roses?” she says, voice so sweet, so surprised, like this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for her.
Heat creeps up my neck. I almost feel dumb for bringing them. “Uh, yeah. Just, you know. Thought you’d like them.”
She presses them to her chest like they’re something precious. “Noah. These are beautiful.”
Jesus Christ, she’s gonna kill me.
She grabs my wrist, tiny fingers, warm grip, pulls me inside.
“Come in,” she says, already heading toward the kitchen. “I need to put these in water.”
I follow, taking in everything.
The whole house looks like her.
Soft and delicate, whites and creams and blush pink.
The furniture, the décor, it all matches her aesthetic perfectly. Everything feels clean, put together, cozy. Like the kind of house where someone lights candles just because.
And it smells so fucking good.
Not like a specific perfume, just warm, floral, fresh. Like her.
She’s at the sink now, filling a vase with water. Careful. Focused.
I lean against the counter, watching her. She’s so graceful in everything she does. Like she was made to be admired.
“I really love them,” she says again, looking over her shoulder. Soft and sweet and sincere. “No one’s ever brought me flowers before.”
I blink. “Wait. Really?”
She shrugs, arranging the bouquet, placing them on the counter like they belong there. “I mean, maybe once. A long time ago. But not like this. Not pink and white ones just because.” She looks up at me through her lashes.
I feel that look everywhere.
Before I can respond, before I can even process how crazy it is that no one has brought her flowers before I realize.
It’s just her and me.
No one else is here.
I glance at the empty living room. The quiet hallway. The complete lack of ‘friends’ anywhere.
Something tightens in my chest.
Not in a bad way, just in a way.
She sees me looking and bites her lip.
I swear to God she looks nervous.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Yeah, so… they kind of all cancelled last minute.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I should’ve told you sooner. I just.” She gestures toward the counter. “I have all this stuff ready. Popcorn, pizza, chips… I’ll never need all this by myself. But if you want to cancel too, I completely understand.”
She looks so apologetic.
Like she’s worried I’ll leave.
I shake my head. Fast. “Hell no.”
Her shoulders drop in relief.
Fuck.
Her whole face lights up.
“Really?” she asks, like she didn’t expect me to stay. Like she doesn’t realize I’d rather be here, alone with her, than anywhere else.
I laugh. “Of course. If your friends ditched, then I gotta step up and help you eat all this food.”
She giggles.
I feel that too.
She grabs my wrist again, pulling me toward the couch. “Good,” she says. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”
And then, before I can think about it, before I can overanalyze, before I can ask myself why this feels like the easiest yes I’ve ever said, I sit down next to her, and she presses play.