First, it probably wasn’t Noah. Kansas City was half a world away. Well, a third of a world at least.
Second, even if itwasNoah Bartlett, it didn’t matter, because there was no way Noah would remember him.
Third, and most important: He was Interesting New Ramin. He was here to drown himself in foreskins, not dwell on a teenage crush.
Ramin squeezed his eyes shut as brain freeze shoved a dagger into his forehead. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. That was supposed to help, right? When it finally went away, he opened his eyes to find probably-not-Noah gone.
Relief and disappointment warred in his chest for a second before relief won out. And if he heard a small, sad whisper ofwhat ifin the back of his mind, well, he ignored it.
He finished his gelato, wiped his mouth on the scratchy napkin, and was about to scoot off his stool when a voice spoke behind him.
“Scusi. Are you American? Sei Americano?”
Ramin froze. Turned and faced the voice.
It was the guy. Probably-Not-But-Maybe-Noah.
Who hadn’t left but was instead standingright behind him.
Up close, he was even more handsome. His cheekbones were strong, his jawline defined. His upper lip was heavily bowed, his bottom lip thick and round, turning his mouth into a heart. The light streaming into the shop caught in his eyes, made the honey in them shine.
One hand still rested on his son’s head; the other held up a cone of lemon sorbetto, showing off a bicep that was testing the tensile strength of his sleeve. A little vein squiggled toward the crease of his elbow.
Ramin reminded himself to breathe.
“Sì. I mean, yeah. Yes.”
A grin blossomed across the man’s face, just a tiny bit crooked, and those eyes sparkled even more. That smile could boil lakes.
Ramin worried he’d pass out. Slip off his stool, concuss himself on the counter, spend the rest of his time in Italy as Awkward Comatose Ramin.
He made himself unclench his ass and hoped it didn’t show in his face.
“This might sound weird, but you’re not from Kansas City, are you? Did you go to Northland High? Class of ’05?”
On second thought, ass clenching was good and healthy and normal.
Because holy. Shit.
four
Noah
Twenty Years Ago
Hey. Hey,” Noah whispered. “Ramin.”
To his left, Ramin shook himself and looked around, like he didn’t know where the sound had come from.
“Ramin?”
Ramin finally looked at Noah. Then he blinked, slowly, like he was confused. Ramin was a chubby guy, pretty quiet, but smart. Black hair, ruddy beige skin, a little bit of acne, but who didn’t have that? Noah had popped a gnarly pimple on his chin that morning.
“Did you do the extra credit question?”
Noah didn’t usually obsess about quizzes, but he’d actually been managing a solid B all semester (for once) and didn’t want his grade to slip.
“Uh.” Ramin’s voice was clear and bright, though he spoke softly. “Yeah?”
