Page 80 of Play On

I’m about to tell him what I have planned for the day, but he speaks first. “Violet, I wanted to apologise to you for last night,” he says, leaning forward in his chair, his inked forearms resting on the old wooden table.

Confusion fills me. “What? Why?” I ask.

Noah rakes a hand through his thick, dark-brown locks. “I dumped way too much on you,” he confesses. “I—I never should have done that. It was far too soon for that conversation, and I regret that you had to take all of that on during our date.”

I reach for his hand, putting mine over it and squeezing it gently. “You’re going to take that damaging thought right out of your head and throw it in the bin.”

Noah’s mouth curves in surprise.

I remain firm. “We are here because we want to know more about each other, and that includes the past. Painful things. Parts of ourselves that disappoint us or embarrass us,” I say, thinking of the things I’ve revealed to him. “I want the real Noah Darby. I want to know what has shaped you. I’m honoured that you told me the things you did last night. And I promise they will always be safe with me.”

Noah’s hand doesn’t move underneath mine for a moment, but then he reaches up and removes his sunglasses so I can see his eyes. Then he leans across the table and removes my sunglasses, setting them aside.

“I like when I can see your eyes,” he says softly. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Even if I have to squint through the sunlight to see it.”

I grin at him.

“I trust you, Violet,” he says softly. “I can’t believe how much I trust you already. There’s something about you that makes me feel … well, as if I can tell you these things. I was scared to, of course. I’ve had the narrative in my head for so long that I caused everything, and I was afraid you’d think that, too. But you didn’t.”

I shake my head firmly, sending my red locks swishing across my shoulders. “No. It helped me understand so much more about you. I mean, it’s obvious we have chemistry,” I say.

Now the smile on his mouth is sexy and playful. “Yes, we definitely do.”

I feel myself blushing, once again amazed that this man is making me react this way. I haven’t felt like this inyears.

I grin at him. “But there has to be more than chemistry unless you want a hook-up. Which I don’t believe you do.” I frown for a moment as Mila loudly laps her water out of thebowl the café has provided for her. “Because I don’t want a mere hookup with you.”

Noah’s eyes burn bright. “No. I wouldn’t come all the way to Dorset and stay on holiday for a hook-up.”

He draws my hand to his lips and brushes a kiss across my knuckles, sending warmth through me from his gentle touch.

“As that is the case,” I say, “then I’m glad you shared that part of yourself with me. I promise I’ll protect it, Noah. Just as I hope you do with the things I’ve shared with you. These are the conversations I always imagined I’d have if I met someone truly spectacular to date. Thank you for making this come true.”

Noah’s eyes don’t leave mine, and I feel a shiver sweep down my spine.

“I’ve never had the kind of date that I had with you last night,” he confesses, his voice low. “It was fun. Sexy. But then it took a turn to a place I didn’t expect, with me talking about my dad. Yet afterwards? It all felt right.”

It all felt right.

“It felt right to me, too,” I say.

The waitress approaches our table again, this time carrying a tray with breakfast on it. A plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, tomatoes, beans, and toast is set in front of Noah. Meanwhile, I get a petite jar with a baked egg in it, and strips of sourdough toast and creamery butter beside it.

“Is this not the cutest thing?” I declare, turning my tiny jar around on the table.

“If eggs can be cute, yes,” Noah says, smiling as he picks up his fork.

“Yes, when they are served in a tiny little jar, they are cute.” I pick up one of the long sticks of sourdough toast and slather it with butter. “By the way, I need to warn you of something. Not only do I love sweets at the cinema, but I’m obsessed withtoast. OBSESSED. I eat toast every day, and if I don’t want it, something is very wrong with me.”

Noah considers this, his eyes dancing at me as he takes a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s Noah Darby!”

I’m pulled from our conversation as I see some people from a neighbouring table whip out their phones and begin to take pictures of us.

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath.

I see the anxiety that immediately filters across his face. I can tell this is part of his life he still struggles to manage, even after being a Premier League star for a few years now.

---