My heart starts to beat so loudly I’m convinced people around us are going to turn around to try to find the source of all the noise. I eventually tell him, “It’s important to follow your dreams. No one else is going to make them come true for you.”
What I really want is for Noah to stay in Elk Lake. If I’m being truthful, I want him to tell me that he wants to date me for real, and if things go spectacularly well, I want him to fall in love with me and adopt a whole slew of babies together. But that’s not fair to him. I’m sure he wants his own children, and he certainly has that right.
“Dreams are funny things,” Noah replies. “You think youknow what you want, and you let that desire drive you, but sometimes things change.”
Is he talking about how my dreams changed, or is he having a change of heart as well? I can’t very well ask him without sounding pathetic. Luckily, the waiter arrives with our desserts.
Moving onto a lighter topic, I tell him, “I make a mean Mississippi mud pie, but it can’t compare to this one.”
“You should make it for me some time,” he says. “That way I can be the judge.”
My eyes lower flirtatiously. “Maybe I will.”
“I’ll bring supper, so you don’t have to do all the cooking.”
“How about if youmakesupper?” I challenge him.
“I’m proficient at cold cereal or sandwiches,” he declares. “I’m not exactly what you’d call a whiz in the kitchen.”
“I believe you. I smelled the burnt tuna fish sandwich the day I came by for Lorelai’s sweater.” I make a face that causes him to laugh.
“So, what do you say?” he wants to know. “Next Friday at your place?”
“I’m sure Margie will love that.” I watch closely for his reaction. If he suggests we move dinner to his place then I’ll know he’s hoping it will be more of a date. If he agrees to my apartment, then I’ll know he just wants to be friends.
“Maybe we can get Jordan to come, too,” he suggests.So much for it being a date.He’s quick to add, “Those two need to spend some time together and figure things out.”
“Jordan told Margie that he’s going on a trip to visit universities this weekend.”
Noah’s eyes pop open in surprise. “Really? I wonder if that means his parents have finally decided to help out.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” I tell him before digging into my mud pie. I try to stifle a groan of pleasure, but I fail.
“That good?” he asks.
I push the plate toward the center of the table so he can try it. “Oh, yeah.”
Noah takes a bite but doesn’t look as impressed as I am. After consuming a forkful of his galette, he says, “This is where it’s at.” Then he pushes his plate next to mine.
After trying it, I tell him, “It’s okay.”
“You and I should have wound up together,” he says. “That way we’d know we didn’t have any competition when it came to sharing pie.”
Even though I know he’s teasing, a bolt of adrenaline still shoots through me at the very thought. Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What was your last girlfriend like, Noah?” I want to know it all: how tall she was, what color hair she had, what kind of clothes she wore, why they broke up … everything.
Noah looks up, surprised by the question. Then he answers, “The last girl I dated was named Ashley.”
“She wasn’t your girlfriend?” I push.
“Maybe?”
“How can you not know if she was your girlfriend?”
“We never put a label on ourselves. We went out about seven times, and then we didn’t. I think she was dating someone else at the same time.”
“Were you mad about that?” He sure doesn’t seem to be.
“We went out, we had fun, but there was never any real love connection, so it was all good.”
