I let out a strained laugh, suddenly feeling all warm and shy. “Probably thanks to Ciarán and Abbie.”
An airy chuckle leaves him. “Good influences then.” He walks a little closer. “You smiled a lot.”
I almost trip. I glance away, but my eyes are drawn back to him. I felt his eyes on me all through brunch. I wasn’t sure what he was watching for, maybe just that I was okay, enjoying myself. “Did I?”
“Yeah.” His grin is lopsided, easy, almost overwhelming to look at directly. “You have a lovely smile.”
I freeze mid-step. The compliment spreads through me, rattling against the parts I keep locked tight. Heat surges up my neck, into my cheeks, my ears. My mouth goes dry. I can’t meet his eyes. I want to tell him I think he has a lovely smile, too, but those words won’t come.
“Oh,” I manage, uselessly. It comes out as awkward as I feel. “Um… thanks.”
We walk the rest of the way with that weight between us—his words echoing louder than the birds in the trees or the cars passing by. Part of me wants to shove them aside, pretend I didn’t hear. Another part… a much bigger part… wants to hold onto them until they burn a hole in my chest. I want to believe someone can look at me, see past the scar, the sadness, and think something about me is lovely.
When the bookstore comes into view, my gaze flicks to the windows, the dust along the shelves inside, the corners that suddenly feel too small, too inadequate. I haven’t taken good enough care of the space, and I’ve let so many things slip. My pulse climbs.
“I agreed to an event,” I murmur, half to myself. It’s all catching up to me.
“You did,” Noah answers slowly. His voice is calm, confident, the exact opposite of what’s unraveling inside me.
I stare through the glass, jaw tight. The shop doesn’t look ready.I’m not ready. A thousand things could go wrong, and everyone will see I’m not fine. My breathing picks up.
“I need to tidy,” I whisper, like the thought alone might slow my heart.
“I’ll help.” It’s a statement, zero hesitation.
I nod, fumbling with the keys, nearly dropping them twice before getting the key in the door. My fingers start trembling, and I can’t get it open. I start to panic. Noah doesn’t rush me, just steps closer, his voice is deep and warm, soothing. “Let me.”
I drop my hand as he raises his to unlock the door. I feel the heat of him at my back. He gestures inside, and I go without meeting his eyes.
I start cleaning up. The work is quiet, rhythmic. Something about him staying with me while I tidy is settling. I’m glad I’m not alone. Slowly, my breathing evens. I start to calm, I have time before the event. It’ll be okay.
We’re kneeling side by side, clearing a shelf, something that could be done tomorrow, really. I know he’s doing this to humor me, or maybe, comfort me?
The quiet is easy, though, until our hands reach the same shelf at once. His pinkie grazes mine. The smallest touch, accidental.
I don’t move.
Every part of me waits for the familiar snap of panic—the need to yank back. But it doesn’t come. My finger stays where it is, pressed against his. I feel the warmth of his skin against mine.
It’s so small. It’s so big.
Air stalls in my lungs. I stare at the tiny connection of our fingers; all I feel is that single point of contact. The world doesn’t collapse. I don’t shatter.
I press my finger into his more firmly and let myself stay there, let myself have this one fragile moment of stillness where the past doesn’t win.
When I glance up, Noah isn’t looking at the books. He’s looking at me, watching me carefully, like he knows something I don’t. His eyes are such a dark blue, and I can’t look away.
Something so minor, and it feels like the bravest and most terrifying thing I’ve done in years. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world gave me back a piece of myself I thought I’d lost.
I clear my throat, moving my hands back to my lap, and give him a faint smile. “I think that’s enough for today. The boozy part of brunch is catching up with me.”
He laughs lightly, and the sound sinks into me. There’s something so open about the way he looks at me that I almost let myself lean closer. My cheeks are hot enough already—from that simple touch, from everything.
“You had one drink,” he teases.
“One really strong drink,” I reply through a chuckle.
As we stand, more words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them. “You must be excited about next week. The gym opening?”
