Page 46 of Blood and Buttercups

But money aside, the good news is the market ended five minutes ago, and I didn’t see Ethan all night. That doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t see me. Was he here, watching?

If he was, hopefully he saw me with Noah, and he’ll get the point. He can find some other girl to rule the night with.

Noah is quiet on the drive back to my house, but that’s not really a surprise. He has that dark and broody thing going for him.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” I say when I pull into my drive.

“I’ll come next week, too.”

“Friend-date number four?”

“Unless we do something over the weekend, and then it’ll be five. Maybe six.”

“You’re just trying to race to ten so I’ll tell you about my mystery illness.”

He chuckles, and I swear my heart is programmed to leap at the sound of it.

We get out, and Noah surveys my house in the dark. “Maybe you should stay with your brother for a while.”

“What?” I ask, startled. “Why?”

He rounds the truck and begins unloading buckets. “You have a stalker.”

“You’re a little clingy, but I don’t think I’d call you a stalker.”

He lets out a scoffing laugh, just as I was hoping. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not going to abandon my home because I went out with some creep. I’ll be careful though, okay?”

He looks like he wants to argue, but he finally nods. “Okay.”

We walk around the house and into the back, heading toward the cellar. The night air is pleasant, and I left the outdoor lights on so we’d be able to see without using our phone flashlights. But the light above the cellar must have burned out.

I feel for the door. Once I locate it, I push it open and turn on the inside light switch. “Watch your step.”

The fluorescent lights flicker to life, illuminating the space. We carry the leftover flowers and buckets, and I deposit my supplies on the workbench.

“You hungry?” I ask. “I have steak, steak, and more steak.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I yawn, exhausted from staying up late to read the pamphlets.

“You look like you need to turn in early tonight,” Noah says.

“You’re just trying to get out of cooking.”

He chuckles again, and I think that’s at least the fourth or fifth time tonight. We head to the top of the steps, and I flick off the light, leaving us in pitch-black darkness.

When I step toward the path, I smack into a hard-as-rock torso.

Noah’s hands catch my shoulders. “You have a lot of trouble staying upright, don’t you?”

“Only when you’re around.”

“I have that effect on women,” he rumbles.

I bark out a surprised laugh.

“I meant I make their knees weak.” He laughs, his tone slightly mischievous. “What were you thinking?”

Ignoring the question, I respond, “If that’s true, you could have warned me before I got so close to the stairs.”

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