“I don’t take risks. And stop being cute while I’m nervous.”
Eli choked on a laugh. “While you’re what?”
Noah went back to stirring the sauce, and Eli took the spoon from Noah’s hand. setting it on the counter. “You don’t have to be nervous,” Eli murmured.
“I know.” His voice quietened. “That doesn’t change the fact that I am.”
Eli touched Noah’s sleeve. “I’m nervous too.” He met Noah’s gaze, and the air shifted.
Noah’s fingers tightened around his. “You okay?” he asked softly.
“Yeah. Are you?”
Noah nodded, but his breathing hitched. They stood there, too close, hands held, garlic burning faintly in the background, until the sauce made an alarming spitting noise.
Noah jumped. “The sauce!”
Dinner was saved. Barely.
They ate at Noah’s tiny table, their knees brushing, shoulders close, their conversation weaving between bites of perfectly-average pasta that Eli declared “amazing,” seemingly in an effort to make Noah smile.
It worked. Every time Eli laughed, Noah felt it like heat under his skin.
Every time Eli looked at him, Noah wanted to lean in.
And every time Eli brushed his hand against Noah’s, something inside him whispered.
This.Thisis what it’s supposed to feel like.
After dinner, Noah began stacking dishes, but Eli placed a gentle hand on his wrist.
“Leave them. Let’s stay in this moment a little longer.”
Noah didn’t need convincing.
They drifted into the living room, where a faint instrumental Christmas playlist was still playing through the speakers, a blend of soft piano and gentle strings.
Eli glanced around. “Your place is cozy.”
“It’s messy.”
“It’s you,” Eli said simply. “And if this is your version of messy, I’d hate for you to see my place.”
Noah’s heart did a very unhelpful flutter. ‘White Christmas’ crept into the room, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“This is going to sound like a line, or like something you’d see in a cheesy holiday movie.”
Eli arched his eyebrows. “You have my attention. Try me.”
“Do you—” Noah swallowed. “Do you want to dance with me?”
Eli’s breathing caught, and he stepped closer.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I want that.”
Noah held out a hand, Eli took it, and then Noah pulled him in, carefully, gently, one hand sliding to Eli’s waist, the other resting against his shoulder blade. Eli’s arms went around Noah’s neck, tentative at first, but with growing certainty. They swayed together, unhurried, their bodies warm, their breaths syncing without effort.
Bing Crosby gave way to Justin Bieber’s ‘Mistletoe’ and Eli rested his cheek against Noah’s, their chests pressed together, close enough that Eli swore he could feel the steady thrum of Noah’s heartbeat, strong and achingly real.
