“So do I,” I reply. My mouth goes dry as I add, “Love our dates, I mean.”
And shit, if it doesn’t feel right saying it, too.
Noelle squeezes my hand. Her smile expands. “So, what’s this surprise, then?”
“Close your eyes,” I tell her. But as I reach for the doorknob of my front door, self doubt trickles in.
Maybe this date isn’t special enough to merit a surprise reveal. Maybe I should have just brought her to my apartment the normal way, instead of trying to make a whole production out of it. But while I was in the middle of planning everything, I remembered the date Rafe set up for Eden and how pleased she was when he surprised her with it.
The similarity in situations struck me—back then, Eden was hiding out at a hotel while we tried to track down her stalker, so a date out in public wouldn’t have been safe. Now, Noelle is staying at Blade and Arrow while we investigate her piece of shit ex-boss and while Icouldtake her to a restaurant in Williston, I don’t think she’d enjoy it. In order to make it safe, I’d have to have some of the guys there for backup, plus she’d be looking over her shoulder for Donaldson the entire time, not to mention worrying that someone who saw that fucked up video would say something inappropriate.
So I thought—if Eden loved her surprise date at the hotel, maybe Noelle would like a surprise just as much?
In theory, it made sense. Bring all the things we would have done the other night—dinner at Angelo’s, music at the bandstand, and a movie after—to my apartment instead.
But really, what doIknow about special dates and surprises?
“It’s nothing big,” I say in response to Noelle’s question. “I’m probably making it seem like more than it is.”
“Webb. I’m sure that’s not true.”
As I turn the doorknob, I try to shake off my insecurity and channel the confident Webb who never let his nerves get to him, even during the most dangerous of missions. After all, if I could fly into enemy territory to rescue a team of SEALs, surely I can handle a simple date with my girlfriend.
But if that’s the case, why is my stomach jumping?
“Well, hopefully you like it,” I reply. Then I lead Noelle into my apartment and close the door behind us. My gaze sweeps across the living room, checking to make sure everything is just how I left it.
To my relief, the candles set all around the room are still lit, the small flames adding a soft glow to the room. Instrumental jazz is playing quietly in the background. A large, plush blanket is spread out in front of the couch, with arrangements of colorful flowers and greenery around it. A large wooden tray holds two wine glasses, a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio, and a box of gourmet chocolates I picked up at the candy store in Newberg. Beside the tray is a large gift bag tied with ribbon and overflowing with sparkly tissue paper.
With a deep breath and a silent plea that Noelle likes what I planned, I announce, “Okay. You can look.”
Noelle’s fingers tighten around mine. Then she opens her eyes.
At first, she doesn’t say anything. She just looks around the room.
As she does, I watch her, trying to read her expression. Wondering,Does she like it? Or did I build this up to be more than it is, and now she’s disappointed?
After a good fifteen, twenty seconds of silence, Noelle turns to me. An unreadable expression reflects in her eyes.
Before she can say anything, I hurry to explain, “Since we didn’t get to have our date the other day, I thought I’d bring it here, instead. We can imagine we’re listening to the jazz musicians at the bandstand.” I angle my chin at one of the arrangements of flowers. “I thought all the flowers would make it feel like we were outside. Plus, we can sit on the blanket like we did for the movie in the park.”
“Webb. You did all this?”
“Takeout from Angelo’s is in the oven,” I continue. “We can have it picnic style here, or at the table, if you’d prefer. And after dinner, I thought we could watchPhantom of the Opera, like we talked about.”
Noelle’s eyebrows arch up. “Phantom, too?”
“Yeah.” I head into the living room and swipe the remote from the coffee table, then flick on the TV to displayPhantom of the Opera, all ready to play. “Assuming you want to watch it, of course. If you’d rather watch something else, or not at all?—”
“Of course I want to watch it.” She gives me a brilliant smile; the biggest I’ve seen from her since the incident at the diner two days ago. “This is amazing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Webb.” Her voice takes on anare you serioustone. “You set all this up, with the flowers and the candles and the food…” Pausing, she glances at the bottle of wine. “How did you know that’s my favorite?”
“I didn’t know for sure. But you had a bottle of it in your fridge. So I was hoping.”
“It is,” Noelle replies. “I actually bought the bottle with the intent of opening it once things with Ken—” Her mouth clamps shut. “Anyway. It’s great. All of this is.”
