chin—the gentlest possible hey, buck up .
I meet his eyes as his fingers tilt my face to his. Can he tell how stupid and frustrated I feel? Why can’t I hide anything from this man? Why can’t I stop exposing my weak points?
Noah’s sympathetic expression is both comforting and humiliating. I’m torn between the urge to relax, to let him support me, and the urge to jealously guard my dignity.
“No, I’m sorry too,” Noah says in a much softer tone than before. “I know this situation really sucks for you, but we’ll figure out ways to make it easier. Like our dads always said, we can accomplish anything if we’re together.”
I take a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Already my mind is starting to quiet. On the way back to my cool, collected self.
“You’re right,” I say. “We have to make this courtship look real. So, living together will kill two birds with one stone—keep up appearances and let us get more familiar with each other.”
Noah cocks his head with a salacious half smile. “Really? You’ve changed your mind about . . . ?”
“I haven’t, so get your mind out of the gutter,” I huff. Leave it to the immature horndog to purposely misunderstand me. “I meant that there’s certain things we need to know about each other. Trivia, fun facts, stuff that could come up in conversation.” We may have grown up together, but we haven’t spent much time getting to know each other as adults.
“Like yesterday, when you just assumed I drink coffee.” Noah raises his eyebrows in mock outrage.
“Right. If anyone had been watching, we would have looked like total strangers.” Then I try to joke, “Although I still think that was a reasonable assumption on my part. I mean, who the hell drinks only tea? Tea is for relaxing; coffee is for waking up.”
“Excuse me, Snowflake.” Noah grins in the crooked way that I’ve come to learn means game on . “You’d prefer me to be a twitchy addict like you? I’ve seen the sludge you drink. Pitch black . . . just like your heart.”
“Actually, it’s not,” I reply coolly, smiling despite myself. “I take sweetener. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Fair point. We both have a few things to learn about each other.” He thrusts his hands into his pockets and glances away for a second. “About the tea thing . . . my mom was English, and she really lived up to that particular stereotype. She loved ‘a good cuppa.’” His voice lifts to imitate her lilting accent. “So I drink tea to . . . honor her memory, I guess you could say. It’s my way of taking a moment every morning to think about her.”
My jaw almost drops. His mom passed away when he was just ten. God, I remember that year like it was yesterday. It was such a sullen time. So dark and so quiet, like all the life had been sucked out of Noah and his dad in an instant.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I know his mom was British, but somehow it never dawned on me that he may have a special connection to her home country.
Noah shakes his head, looking a little embarrassed, and walks around me to perch on the edge of his desk. Leaving me to feel like a total bitch.
Biting my lip, I turn to face him again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you like that. I think your little tea-drinking memorial is . . . really sweet.”
He shrugs. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it. I wasn’t offended. Especially since I know you’ve also lost your mom.”
“Yeah, but I was practically an adult when she died. You were only ten. Just a little kid. You needed your mother.” A sweet memory of him on her lap—when he was too big to fit, but not too big to want to be there—flashes through my brain.
“You could argue that being older just makes your pain fresher.” Noah sighs. “Look, let’s not get into some kind of weird Grief Olympics here, okay? Of course I miss Mum, but your experience wasn’t
I meet his eyes as his fingers tilt my face to his. Can he tell how stupid and frustrated I feel? Why can’t I hide anything from this man? Why can’t I stop exposing my weak points?
Noah’s sympathetic expression is both comforting and humiliating. I’m torn between the urge to relax, to let him support me, and the urge to jealously guard my dignity.
“No, I’m sorry too,” Noah says in a much softer tone than before. “I know this situation really sucks for you, but we’ll figure out ways to make it easier. Like our dads always said, we can accomplish anything if we’re together.”
I take a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Already my mind is starting to quiet. On the way back to my cool, collected self.
“You’re right,” I say. “We have to make this courtship look real. So, living together will kill two birds with one stone—keep up appearances and let us get more familiar with each other.”
Noah cocks his head with a salacious half smile. “Really? You’ve changed your mind about . . . ?”
“I haven’t, so get your mind out of the gutter,” I huff. Leave it to the immature horndog to purposely misunderstand me. “I meant that there’s certain things we need to know about each other. Trivia, fun facts, stuff that could come up in conversation.” We may have grown up together, but we haven’t spent much time getting to know each other as adults.
“Like yesterday, when you just assumed I drink coffee.” Noah raises his eyebrows in mock outrage.
“Right. If anyone had been watching, we would have looked like total strangers.” Then I try to joke, “Although I still think that was a reasonable assumption on my part. I mean, who the hell drinks only tea? Tea is for relaxing; coffee is for waking up.”
“Excuse me, Snowflake.” Noah grins in the crooked way that I’ve come to learn means game on . “You’d prefer me to be a twitchy addict like you? I’ve seen the sludge you drink. Pitch black . . . just like your heart.”
“Actually, it’s not,” I reply coolly, smiling despite myself. “I take sweetener. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Fair point. We both have a few things to learn about each other.” He thrusts his hands into his pockets and glances away for a second. “About the tea thing . . . my mom was English, and she really lived up to that particular stereotype. She loved ‘a good cuppa.’” His voice lifts to imitate her lilting accent. “So I drink tea to . . . honor her memory, I guess you could say. It’s my way of taking a moment every morning to think about her.”
My jaw almost drops. His mom passed away when he was just ten. God, I remember that year like it was yesterday. It was such a sullen time. So dark and so quiet, like all the life had been sucked out of Noah and his dad in an instant.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I know his mom was British, but somehow it never dawned on me that he may have a special connection to her home country.
Noah shakes his head, looking a little embarrassed, and walks around me to perch on the edge of his desk. Leaving me to feel like a total bitch.
Biting my lip, I turn to face him again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you like that. I think your little tea-drinking memorial is . . . really sweet.”
He shrugs. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it. I wasn’t offended. Especially since I know you’ve also lost your mom.”
“Yeah, but I was practically an adult when she died. You were only ten. Just a little kid. You needed your mother.” A sweet memory of him on her lap—when he was too big to fit, but not too big to want to be there—flashes through my brain.
“You could argue that being older just makes your pain fresher.” Noah sighs. “Look, let’s not get into some kind of weird Grief Olympics here, okay? Of course I miss Mum, but your experience wasn’t
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