“I made the final cut. It’s down to me and three others.”
“Congratulations.” Noah moves in and hugs me, and for a split second, it’s like we’ve known each other for years. Just two good friends sharing a joyful moment.
Then in an instant, things change. A shift in electricity, generating heat in every place where his skin touches mine.
I ease back, arms still looped over his shoulders. A current passes between us, and I swear I can feel his heart beating against mine. Hard, fast, insistent.
His fingers grip my waist, and he pulls me closer, dark eyes never leaving mine. His expression softens as he leans in, his lips inches from mine.
Then the kiss.
My blood warms as it travels through my body. I push closer. He slides his hand to my back.
A loudting!sounds behind Noah’s neck. We both freeze, then pull apart.
My phone is still in my hand from my call with Lin, so the push notification chimed right in his ear.
Noah gives me a kiss, but just a peck on the lips, as if he’s putting a bookmark where we left off. “I’ll pour us some wine.”
He crosses the kitchen and opens a wine bottle, giving me time to check my phone. And space to consider what just passed between us.
While he takes two glasses from a cabinet, I open the app and tap the little red dot at the top of the screen. I have a new follower.
I read the notification.
All the heat from the kiss is replaced by shock.
Doucebête started following you.
It’s French, but I remember that name. I remember because I typed it into my translator.
Douce bête.
Sweet beast.
The person Rose mentioned in her post, saying she would always treasure their time together. Time they spent here.In Paris.
“Do you like sangiovese?” Noah asks, holding up a bottle. “It pairs well with pepperoni.”
“Sure,” I say slowly, still focused on my phone.
Noah can tell I’m distracted. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I glance up at him. “Someone just followed me, but I don’t know who they are.” I try to pronounce the name but butcher it.
Noah repeats the words, working out what I’m trying to say. His brows shoot up when he gets it. “Douce bête.” His pronunciation sounding nothing like mine.
“Right,” I say, tapping the generic photo. Not a face but a swirl of colors.
“Sweet beast.” Noah comes over with the glasses of wine. He looks over my shoulder and says, “Yeah. That’s Luci.”
27
Back in my apartment, I shut my door and lean against the wood, a dreamy smile on my face as I think about Noah.
And the kiss.
Correction, thekisses.One a sweet peck on the lips, and the other more passionate, giving us a taste of what could be. But both equally tender.
