“Not that.” She crawled forward on her hands and knees, ignoring the intentional bait of his word choice. “Count to three. One if by land, two if by sea…Three is the next step. Literally.” She reached under the third stair, feeling the rough plank from one end to the other, hope soaring in her chest until?—
There. She ripped the envelope free and held it up with a grin.
eleven
It’d only been two days, but it felt like two months since they’d signed papers in August’s office and started the hunt. And Noah wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to end this quickly.
He picked up the clue card from its spot on the coffee table next to a half-empty box of pizza, and spun it between his fingers. “No more stalling.” His fingers itched to rip open the envelope, even as he wished time would slow down. Just a bit.
“I’m not stalling, I just want to revel in the win a little longer.” Elisa pushed her hair out of her face, leaving a streak of tomato sauce across her jaw. They’d come back to the Blue Pirogue to eat dinner and review the next clue together, riding the high of their victory. Elisa had insisted they not open the next clue until they’d properly celebrated finding it. A large pepperoni and two-liter of soda later, here they were.
Sitting next to her on the floor, eating a late dinner, brought back a wave of nostalgia. How many times had they done that together over the summer? Like the time when she’d doctored up the cartons of Chinese take-out he’d bought with several spices, claiming they weren’t Cajun enough. And the time she’d presented him with hand-torched marshmallows, toasted to the perfect degree of crispness for s’mores skewers.
“Does reveling involve finger painting with pizza?” He leaned toward Elisa from their shared spot in front of the coffee table, then thought better of it and handed her a napkin. A truce—or even a fledgling friendship—didn’t require that level of intimacy. And being alone here in the inn, with his crew gone for the evening and the haphazard mix of construction dust, scattered tools, and lingering paint fumes, somehow felt exactly that—intimate. “Your face.”
She scrubbed north of the sauce, then arched her delicate jaw toward him. “Did I get it?”
Freckles dotted her high cheekbones, and her blond hair waved perfectly away from her ear, despite the heat of their earlier climb. And yep, she still smelled like vanilla and honey, even with cheesy bread sitting two feet away from him.
Noah cleared his throat, hoping she hadn’t noticed him staring. “So you can find a clue hidden in a hundred-year-old lighthouse, but you can’t find food on your own face?” He took the napkin from her. “Some puzzle master you are.”
“You’re just jealous I found the clue first.” She lifted her chin in mock arrogance.
“Only because of something I said. And you better be nice, or I’ll let you walk around town like this.” He gestured to the sauce still dotting her jaw.
“You did help back at the lighthouse, I suppose.” She raised one eyebrow at him. “With all the not-fainting you pulled off.”
“Okay, have it your way, pizza-face.” He started to stand up, and she burst into laughter. The sound washed over him like waves against his favorite fishing dock, twice as comforting.
“I’m kidding!” She grabbed his arm, and he fell back the few inches he’d risen onto the rug. He landed closer than before, and the warmth of her arm heated his side.
“I surrender. Fix me.” She arched toward him again, waiting, chin extended.
He slowly brought the napkin to her face. This was new. The bantering, the jesting—all in good fun, rather than exchanging actual digs. He kind of liked it.
Which was a huge problem.
Their former dynamic was frustrating in its own sense, but this one…this one felt dangerous. Heady.
Sort of like he was standing on the lighthouse deck all over again, staring out at his future, once upon a time.
He wiped her face and crumpled the napkin into a ball. “Truth or dare?”
Surprise lit Elisa’s eyes, a spark he felt in the depths of his stomach. She squinted at him. “If I say dare, are you going to make me cartwheel down that hallway?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” What was hedoing? This wasn’t like him—or rather, not the Noah of late. That Noah was always stressed and overwhelmed, forever behind on his endless list. But today, Elisa made him want to slow down and smell the roses—or rather, smell the vanilla.
And he desperately needed a change of pace.
“No, we won’t find out.” She grinned as she reached for another breadstick. “Because I choose truth.”
“Chicken.” He couldn’t help but tease her, even though he had no idea what he would have requested if she’d chosen the dare. “Okay…ready?”
“I was born ready, sugar.” She fluttered her lashes at him and her southern twang, while exaggerated, coated him like the molasses on Grandmother’s homemade cookies.
“Why don’t you cook anymore?”
She blinked. “You go right for the gut, don’t you? I told you, culinary school fell through and my ex?—”
