Page 6 of Until Then

“A Christmas movie?”

Noah gives me the sly smirk that’s becoming a new obsession. “December, June, I don’t care. It’s a good movie and a good reminder.”

“Of what?”

His eyes simmer with a playful sort of gleam. “That our lives are worth living.”

Okay. I think my heart is screaming at my brain something about love and soulmates and wedding bells. Brain promptly tells Heart to calm herself before we freak him out.

“You’re unexpected, Pretty Boy.”

His brows shoot up. “Pretty Boy?”

“Are you saying you aren’t?”

“No.” There’s a playful curl to half his mouth. “I definitely like hearing it from you, though.”

Conversation never lulls. Soon, I know his dad and stepmom moved out to California and his twin lives in Las Vegas. I know he loves strategy board games like Chess and RISK®. I know he lost his mom when he was a little kid, and we commiserate on being raised by single parents. The only difference was I had my grandparents until Pops died. Now, it was me, Mom, and Nan left.

I strategically avoid talk of my dad.

Let him assume the man was dead—he might as well be.

The night has been a perfect first date.

I hate to admit when I saw his neighborhood, I didn’t anticipate perfection. Caution built hurried walls, and I anticipated heaps of boasting and dull conversation filled with his own accolades.

Instead, I’ve had laughter, inside jokes, and a strange, intoxicating heat in my blood whenever our fingers brush.

A ripple of anxiety creeps up the back of my neck when I glance over at Noah, currently licking away the last bite of sorbet off his spoon. Crap. Now, I’m looking at his tongue and thinking things I shouldn’t think on a first date.

And I’m back at the original question—is this a date?

“So, you have a ranch.” Noah’s smooth voice cuts through my rapid thoughts. He twists on the swinging bench he keeps on his balcony. “I have a confession.”

“Oh, no. Don’t break the bubble of a perfect day by telling me you hate horses.”

He chuckles. It’s a deep, soothing sound. I’d like to bottle it up and use it as my morning alarm.

“No.” He stands, sending the bench swing rocking. “Hold on. I’ll show you. I think you’ll appreciate this.”

With long strides, he slips back through his glass door and fades somewhere in the labyrinth of his definitely-a-penthouse condo.

I abandon the bench and lean over the rail of his balcony. Across the horizon a deep, blood red sun sinks over the ocean. The breeze is heavy with brine. Couples and families saunter along the beach, sandal straps hooked on their fingers as they take in the gentle California evening.

Okay. Screw the question if this is a first date—it’s a freaking date because I’m not sure another will compare to this.

Never have I felt so seen or at ease in my own skin.

Not even with Jasper.

I glance down at my gentle curves. I’m top heavy, have a corset waist, and hips that are fit for sprinting on stallions. My wardrobe consists of tees and tattered jeans with one or two pairs of sweats. I rotate through three hairstyles—braid, ponytail, and humid-bird’s nest.

None of my familiar insecurities have even had time to rear their ugly heads. Noah has cast them all away with every laugh, every secret glance that says he’s reallyseeingme, and the stolen touches to the small of my back or knuckles that popped straight out of my own rom-com.

The sliding glass door shifts. I spin around, back to the railing, and prop my elbows on the top.

He looks like a movie star. Sharp jaw, perfect stubble, messy hair that looks natural. I can’t get enough of this man’s eyes and the way his veins pop on his hands and forearms.

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