Page 52 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Finally, it’s just Noah left. He lingers uncertainly, still glancing around. After a minute, he appears to make a choice and heads off.
In the wrong direction.
I perk up in my seat. I had assumed he would have walked in this direction, which is where he’d go to head home. Even after I lose sight of him, I sit for a moment and wait, wondering if he might circle back around. Is he looking for me?
Or did I just miss my chance?
I am clearly losing my mind here. I waited a full hour just for a slim chance of getting to see him again, and now he vanishes. We don’t even have to pick up where we left off. I’d be content just to chat for a little bit. Laugh about our misfortune. Say goodnight.
We don’t have to kiss again.
Even if every cell in my body is yearning for it.
Now that I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, everything’s spilled out, and no force on the planet can stuff it back in. Maybe it’s wise that I stay here before I go and thoughtlessly open any more boxes.
Even if I’m dying to know what’s on his mind.
Even if I’m desperate to kiss him again.
Even if—
I open my eyes, sensing something, and turn.
Noah is standing outside my window, staring blankly through the glass at me, one eyebrow lifted, face scrunched up.
But our eye contact seems to spook him, and he steps back.
I’m out of the car the next moment. “Noah?”
“I thought you left,” he says, surprised.
I leave the side of my car without shutting the door. “Nope. I waited. Like a creep sitting in a car in the dark. For an hour.”
Noah frowns. “Sorry. They kept talking. Apparently they want to run the story tomorrow already. To get the ball rolling.”
“Oh. The one about the festival? Or about the pageant?”
“Both. They’re lumping them together. The story I already wrote about the festival is now how they’re introducing you as one of the bachelors.” He looks at me. “You’re the hero bachelor.”
“Oh. That’s … so soon.”
Suddenly his cute eyebrows pop over the rims of his glasses as a thought strikes him. “Are you okay? After you fell off the car? I was so worried. I thought you might’ve fallen on your bad arm.”
I did—and it hurt like hell. But the last thing I want him to feel is guilt, so I shake my head. “Lucky fall. Fell on my good side.”
He seems to sigh with relief. Then he frowns again. “But now you’ve fallen on both your arms, and—”
“Noah,” I say, cutting him off. “I was hoping we could …”
Then I grow quiet.
What was I intending to say, exactly?
That I was hoping we could pick up where we left off? That I was hoping to jump his bones? That I want him to crawl on top of me like he did an hour ago? That I want to softly cradle his face in my hands like I’d just found long-lost treasure?
Noah lifts his eyebrows again. “Yes …?” he murmurs, a note of hope in his soft voice.
That’s when “confident me” loses all confidence. And instead of asking what I really should ask, I blurt: “Can I drive you home?”
