Then she blushed. “I mean, not that you’re coming to see me. I just meant?—”
I touched her hand, and shit, I felt sparks. “I would love to see you the next time I come in.”
That’s how I ended up coming into Williston nearly every day for the last two weeks. And in the ten times I’ve been to Doug’s Diner so far, I’ve seen Noelle for eight of them.
Not today, unfortunately. Given that she’s walking around town, I’m assuming it’s her day off. Which is good for her but kind of a bummer for me.
Unless.
Is there a rule that says I can only talk to her when she’s working?
I mean, she’s right there, less than a hundred yards away. It would be rudenotto say hi to her, when I think about it.
As I head in her direction, I pick up my pace. A surge of anticipation floods through me. I can already imagine her smile—or at least, I hope she’ll smile when she sees me. Maybe we’ll chat for a few minutes. Or maybe she’s not busy, and we decide to grab coffee together. She wouldn’t want to go to the diner for a cup, not on her day off, but there’s a bakery down the street that would probably work.
Out of nowhere, a rare spurt of nerves hits. Which is strange, because I haven’t felt nervous about approaching a woman since I asked Flora Emerson to the homecoming dance when I was sixteen. But in the decades since, I’ve always been confident in my appeal. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been turned down by a woman, and that’s being generous.
But with Noelle, it’s different. I feel like a teenager again, worried that the girl I like will reject me.
If she does, she does,I tell myself.It’s not a big deal.
Except it feels like it is.
Just as I reach the opposite side of the intersection, Noelle glances up and sees me. I wave at her, and she smiles before responding with a cheerful wave of her own. Then she glances atthe walk signal, which still has eight seconds left on it, and starts crossing the street.
I wait on my side of the road, watching her approach. Her hair is down, swinging in a shiny red curtain as she walks. She’s in shorts that show off her flaring hips and nipped-in waist. Her T-shirt is tighter than the one she wears at work, which gives an even better appreciation of how gorgeous her body is.
She’s a quarter of the way across the street when she slows to pull her phone from her back pocket. As she looks at it, she freezes. Her smile drops. Shock tightens her features.
Maybe twenty feet away, the walk signal ticks down.
Six. Five. Four.
I keep expecting Noelle to move. To put her phone away and hurry the rest of the way across the street. Not to stand there like a deer caught in headlights, her attention completely focused on whatever she sees on her phone.
Three. Two. One.
She still hasn’t moved.
Alarm bells sound in my head.
Something’s wrong.
My gaze sweeps across the intersection, and I’m relieved to see that it’s empty. So whatever’s going on with Noelle, she shouldn’t be in danger.
Still. I don’t like this. At all. And I want her safely on my side of the street.Now.
“Noelle,” I call. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even seem to hear me.
The light turns green, but thankfully, there are no cars coming through the intersection to hit her. Just an old sedan on the road perpendicular, now waiting on the red.
“Noelle.” I pitch my voice louder. At the same time, I hurry towards her.“Noelle.”
As I close the distance between us, I realize she’s shaking. Her face is ghost-white.
Then I hear a noise approaching. The rev of an engine.
