I kiss her forehead. “Nothing’s wrong. At all.”
“Then what?—”
“You’re amazing,” I say, for lack of better words to explain how I’m feeling. “That’s all.”
“Oh.” She smiles. “You’re pretty amazing, too.”
As we gaze at each, I swear, I can feel my heart expanding. Like I’m the villain in that Christmas movie, finally discovering the meaning of Christmas.
Except I know what Christmas means.
I just didn’t know how it felt to care this much about a woman.
Now I get it; why Rafe dropped everything to help Eden when she was in trouble. I know why Indy broke fuck knows how many laws to rescue Bea.
When she’s really important, you’ll do anything for her.
And though it hasn’t been long, I don’t need more time to be sure.
No matter what, if Noelle needs me, I’ll be there for her.
CHAPTER 8
NOELLE
I wonderif tonight is the night we’ll have sex.
Just the thought of sex with Webb makes my heart race. My body heats as I allow myself to fall back into the fantasies I spun in bed last night—ones of Webb bracing himself on muscly arms above me, of me on my hands and knees, taking him deep while his big hands cup my breasts, and finally, as I gave into the insatiable urge to touch myself, his blonde head dipping between my legs…
“Noelle, can you help me?”
I spin in the direction of Glenda’s voice, flushing guiltily. A quick glance at my shirt reveals my nipples poking at my shirt, so I clap my checkbook to my chest in an attempt to hide them. “Sure,” I reply brightly. Maybetoobrightly. “What’s up?”
Glenda sets a glass beneath the soda fountain and starts filling it as she asks, “Would you mind taking these drinks out to table six?” She angles her head at the round tray sitting on the counter beside her. Three filled glasses, plus a teacup and smallstainless pitcher with hot water, are arranged on it. “I’ve already taken their food order, so it’s just dropping off the drinks.”
“That’s no problem,” I tell her. Releasing a slow and steady breath, I silently order my surging hormones to settle. Then I risk lowering my checkbook, relieved to find that my nipples are behaving again. Tucking the book in my apron, I wait until Glenda puts the last glass on the tray before picking it up.
Glenda lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.I’ve been waiting to use the bathroom for ages.” She glances in the direction of the kitchen doors. Beyond, the lively chatter of our packed dining room filters through. “I thought lunch would be slow today. Who knew a tour bus would break down right in front of the diner?”
“I know. But at least it’s extra money, right?”
She nods. “True. And I’ll be happier about it once I’m not worried about peeing myself in the middle of the restaurant.”
Laughing, I hoist the tray higher and take a few steps towards the dining room. “Go, then. I’ll drop these off. And watch your tables.”
Glenda gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Noelle. I owe you.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I gesture in the direction of the employee bathroom. “Now, go!”
As she dashes off, I hurry into the dining room and over to table six. Once I deliver the drinks, I make a quick detour to one of my tables to drop off their check, pause by another to ask about their food, promise to get some extra salad dressing for one of my regulars, then head back into the kitchen to check on an order.
By the time I reach the expo station, my thoughts are firmly focused on work again, and not the sexy fantasies of a few minutes earlier. Which is both a relief and a disappointment—on one hand, I’d rather not be walking around the restaurant with my nipples on display and my face flushed like a lobster. On theflip side, thinking about hypothetical sex with Webb is definitely preferable to the grouchy patron sitting at table twelve.
“I only want spring greens,” she informed me snippily while I took her order. “None of that bitter spinach. Or flavorless iceberg. Please make sure the cooks only putspring greensin my salad. And the mushrooms. I can’t stand it when they’re bruised. Oh, and I hate those slimy portobello mushrooms. I only want the regular ones.”
What Iwantedto tell her is that this is just a small-town diner with only two cooks preparing all the meals. And that they don’t have time, especially given the unexpected rush of business, to pick through the lettuce mixandinspect each and every mushroom.
I didn’t say that, of course. I just smiled and said, “I’ll do my best.” Then I put on a pair of gloves and made up a custom salad myself, rather than ask poor Doug and his sous chef, Adrian, to take the time to do it for me.
