Page 87 of Blood and Buttercups

“Yes, but imagine how many we can have after it. Let’s get it out of the way.” I open my eyes when he gently presses his lips to my forehead, giving him a wry look. “You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

He shakes his head, smiling gently as he rubs my tense neck muscles. “Tonight, it’s enough to know you want me to.”

“That’s not enough—notnearlyenough.” I run my hand up to his neck, rubbing his muscles like he rubbed mine. “How about we negotiate?”

He steps back, away from my touch, and slides his hands into his front pockets. “I like you, Piper.”

My heart soars. “Yeah? Is that why you’re not kissing me?”

He lets out a soft laugh. It’s genuine, warm, and full of affection. “Yeah.”

“You’re okay, too.”

He smiles. “Wanna go home?”

“Are you going to kiss me there?”

“Not tonight.”

I sigh, leaning against his SUV. “Then not really.”

He laughs a little louder this time. “What if I cut up a cucumber for you?”

I study him, my heart happy, even if I am a little frustrated. “Yeah, okay.”

Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger side door for me and then goes to his side.

I think the drive home is going to be awkward, but Noah stretches his hand across the console and sets it on my knee, palm up.

Biting my lip, feeling like I’m back in high school and going on my first date, I slide my hand into his.

I can just make out his smile in the sporadic glow of the streetlights as we pull out of the parking lot, and I grin, looking out the window so Noah won’t see how giddy I am.

He interlaces our fingers, pressing our palms flush. It’s comfortable and a little surreal. I’ve never dated anyone as handsome as Noah, nor anyone as intimidating. But he’s started opening up to me, and he’s kind and funny under that gladiator exterior.

Though I panicked when I found out he was my conservator, I’m thankful for it now. I don’t have to hide my illness from him, and he’s not freaked out by it like other guys certainly would be. Maybe we might work. Maybe I don’t have to live a spinster life after all.

I’m so blissfully happy, I’ve managed to put all my other very present worries out of my mind…until I spot a familiar orange sports car in front of my house.

“That’s not good,” I whisper, icy dread washing down my spine.

“Who is it?” Noah demands, but I think he already suspects.

I squeeze his hand before I pull mine onto my lap and nervously twist my purse strap around my finger. “It’s Ethan.”

19

My eyes moveto the porch, where Ethan is on the swing.

But wait…no. It’s not Ethan. And it’s not justoneman.

“Stay here.” Noah reaches into the back and grabs a stake from his duffel bag. Then he slides out of the car and locks the door.

A stupid girl would follow him. And, I admit, I’m having stupid girl impulses. But nothing good can come of me exiting the safety of this vehicle and getting in Noah’s way.

I want to hear, though. So I roll down the window a touch. It’s barely cracked, but I can make out the conversation.

“We don’t want any trouble,” one of the men says.

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