“Wait,” I whisper. “I’m not?—”
I’m either not loud enough, or she ignores me entirely and swings the door open right as I lift my foot towards the second sock. Momentum from snapping my head up to find Noah standing in the doorway, combined with the instability of trying to shove my foot into the neon frog-faced hosiery works together to pull me forward just enough to send me careening down the flight of stairs.
The thirty seconds it takes to reach the ground floor passes with flashes of the ceiling, Kara’s horrified stare, and the faded blue Nike bag swiveling around my body and hitting me in the back of the head. I land in a crumpled mess at the bottom, face pressed into the duffle bag, ass in the air.
The awkward and mortifying silence is broken when Kara yelps and scrambles to my side, her and Noah’s voice sounding in tandem.
“Are you okay?”
Physically, everything is throbbing, but nothing feels broken. My pride, however, is battered beyond recognition.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, pushing up to my knees and feeling every ounce of the opposite. “Unless, of course, you count my dignity.”
Kara’s giggle starts first, the infectious sound of it turning Noah’s worried mask into a reluctant grin. I, too, chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
I suppose, if there is anything to glean from the universe’s clear intent to humiliate me at every chance it gets, it's that moments like this will keep a respectable, albeit humbling, distance between me and the reality of crossing a line with Noah. There is no way he is ever going to see me as anything but the woman who wears mismatched frog socks and has a habit of farting or tripping at every available interval. And no one wants to fall into bed with her.
I slip the duffle back over my head and Noah reaches for it.
“I’ll get this into the car.”
I let him take it and sink onto the entryway bench to put my shoes on. He slips out the front door and Kara slumps against the wall. Her face is twisted in a familiar mischievous grin.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” I say, shoving my foot into my faded sneaker.
“He’s dreamy.”
“I said stop it.”
“You two are so gonna bang.”
I frown, tying the laces on my second shoe—double knots, just to be safe.
“Have you lost your mind? What about the last five minutes gave you that impression?”
“He took your bag to the car.”
Popping up, I grab my purse off its hook and adjust the strap over my shoulder.
“I say this with someone with standards on the floor. If that is your bar for romance, you have some serious self-reflection to do.”
She shrugs, and prompts me towards the door.
“Go. Have fun. And call me. I want every dirty detail.”
“You’re certifiable.”
As I step onto the porch, I feel more like a kid prancing off to her first day of school than a professional woman joining her boss on a business trip. Noah stands at the open back door of the black town car parked next to Kara’s Honda, and without the cloud of my trip down the stairs ruining it, I take a moment to appreciate his appearance.
He’s in a burgundy sweater and khaki slacks, which are unsurprisingly tailored to fit perfectly. His hair, though less coifed than it is on any day in the office, lays in its usual perfectly rumpled waves. He’s holding two paper cups and extends one of them as I approach.
“Coffee?”
“Bless you.”
I’m getting settled in the back seat when Noah slides in after me and nods to the driver.
“We’re ready, Kevin.”
