Page 85 of Blood and Buttercups

Pretending his presence in my home isn’t messing with me, I open the closet door. He gave me permission to snoop, so I’m going to do it. I make a tsking noise, shaking my head. “All you brought is T-shirts.”

“I like T-shirts,” Noah says from behind me. “They’re comfortable.”

I thumb through the few hangers. “What else do you like?”

“Narrow the question down a bit.”

“Favorite zoo animal?”

“Starting with the really important questions, I see.”

“Instead, you could tell me about your deepest, darkest fear and how you plan to overcome it.”

“I like monkeys.”

I flash him a grin over my shoulder, and then I cringe. “Monkeys, though? Ew.”

He laughs. “You’re a judgy flower farmer.”

“Favorite food?” I go back to his closet, pretending to look through the options again.

“Steak.”

“That’s why you cook it so well.” I nearly jump when his knuckle grazes the curve of my side. “Not cucumbers?”

“I’m sure they’re a close second.” He runs his knuckle down to the waistband of my jeans and then brings it back up again, stopping at my bottom rib.

“Liar,” I breathe. I’m frozen in place, desperate for him to press his hand flat against my waist so I can feel his firm grip.

“Ask me something else,” he says, his voice deeper. He lowers his head until his lips are bare centimeters from my neck.

I swallow, knowing I’m one decision away from being in his arms. “Why didn’t you like me when we first met?”

He chuckles, his breath feathering over my skin and making goosebumps rise on my arms. “Because Britta was being pushy, and it annoyed me you were as pretty as she said you were.”

I turn to face him. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You’re all right,” he says with a crooked smile, having the audacity to shrug. “But you were downright hot the day I showed up with your steak and sparkling water—” He laughs as he doubles over, recovering from the sharp jab of my elbow in his stomach.

“I’m not dressing up for you,” I say as I walk out of his room. “Wear whatever you want.”

But fifteen minutes later, I leave my room in heels. They’re sandals, cheap but cute as heck, and they look amazing with my black eyelet summer dress. My outfit is a step up from casual, but not fussy. I hope Noah likes it.

He waits for me downstairs. I walk down the last step and hold my breath.

Noah looks up from his phone when he hears me, and his eyes flare. As he stares, his lips part, and his eyebrows creep up.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more desirable. The look on his face is worth the future foot pain.

“I thought you weren’t dressing up for me,” he says.

“Who said this is for you? I’m hoping we have a handsome waiter at the restaurant.”

Smirking because he knows I’m lying through my teeth, he pushes himself to his feet, looking devastating, as usual. He’s added his favorite leather jacket to his jeans and gray tee. “If that doesn’t pan out, you could set your sights on one of the college-age popcorn boys at the concession stand.”

I snort, walking across the living room and grabbing my purse from the hook. My nerves sing, sparking with sweet anticipation.

I don’t know how, but something tells me that tonight, things are going to change.

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