I blink—once, twice, then way too many times, trying to get the nervous twitch under control.
“I’ve honestly never seen that color blue before,” she adds, her voice soft with awe.
Then Taylor steps forward. Her assessment is slow and unhurried, head tilted, not judging, just taking me in.
“I’d love to do your makeup sometime, Noah.”
Okay. Yes. This is how I die.
Before I can respond—or even breathe—she reaches out and gently touches the thin crisscross of fabric over my shoulder. “This is so pretty,” she says, completely sincere. I’m frozen in space, blushing from the inside out. Like my whole body is lit beneath my skin.
IknewI should have stayed home. I’m probably embarrassing Ana and Emilee. Hell, maybe even Gabriel. God, I’m such an embarrassment.
Why did I wear this? It’s not like I don’t own more masculine clothes—like a shirt and tie. Something neutral. Simple.
And the gloss—ugh, I definitely should’ve gone lighter. But I’d wanted to look pretty for Gabriel. Wanted him to be proud to have me on his arm. But now…
I feel like a freak.
At least I went with the tinted gloss and not the full-on pink. Can you imagine the looks I’d be getting if I’d gone withthatshade? I’d probably set off the fire alarm.
“Hi, Mr. Garcia,” Gisella says, flashing a sweet smile up at Gabriel.
“Ah… finally.” He chuckles. “Someone takes their eyes off my pretty boyfriend.”
His arm slides around my lower back, firm but gentle, and he pulls me in closer—close enough for his warmth to settle against me. It’s not just affection. It’s protection. Reassurance. A quiet, easy claim.
But the relief is short-lived.
Their attention snaps right back to me.
“Do you braid your own hair, Noah?” Jenixa asks, a warm smile playing on her lips.
I pinch my fingers together, feeling more self-conscious than ever. Idefinitelywish I were invisible.
“My sister taught me how to braid when I was younger,” I say, keeping my voice low. “This is a French braid with a Mediterranean twist. It’s really pretty simple. I could show you sometime, if you want?”
I risk a glance up at Gabriel.
He’s beaming.
He leans over and presses a kiss to my burning cheek. The warmth of his lips almost distracts me from the heat rising beneath my skin.
“YES!”All four girls shriek at once.
“Okay!” Gabriel claps his hands together. “Now that we’ve got Noah officially booked for a master class on the intricate art of French braiding, I’ll be stealing him away for an extra-sugary glass of fun punch.”
He flashes the girls a goofy grin, then spins me gently in the direction of the refreshments.
“I knew you’d be a hit, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
I lift a brow toward the punch bowl. “That wouldn’t happen to have alcohol in it, would it?” I tease—though, truthfully, I’m praying for a yes.
Grinning smugly, he slips a hand into his pants pocket and pulls out a nipper. The small bottle catches the light.
“I always come prepared to these events,” he says, those gray eyes sparkling with mischief.
“IknewI saw something in your pocket.” I chuckle. “I just assumed it was extra gloss… You know, for my lips.”
