Noah: No.
Lucy: ??
Noah: I refuse to use emojis.
Lucy: Ok, now it’s my turn to **eye roll**
Lucy: Ugh! You even use perfect punctuation in your texts.
Noah: Of course.
Lucy: Again, **eye roll**
Lucy: And how do you know, BTW? About the prune, I mean
Noah: I downloaded an app. It gives you daily updates about what to expect at every stage of the pregnancy.
Lucy: You did??
Noah: Yes.
Noah: I told you I want to be involved.
Noah: 100 percent.
Lucy: Wow. Okay. Yeah. For sure.
???
Lucy: Hey, can you send me that app?
???
“There you go, Kim. Have a nice day,” I smile as I pass the coffee and scone across the counter.
Kim Kennedy, a local realtor, grins back at me. “Now that I have this raspberry and white chocolate goodness, I plan to.” She spins on her heel calling, “Take care, doll!” at me over her shoulder as she sashays toward the exit. I watch as the door is yanked open and she nearly collides with Noah on his way in. He rears back but recovers nicely, holding the door for her and nodding politely.
Kim reaches up and pats him on the chest as she passes, smiling cheekily at him. “Thank you, detective,” she chirps. “Such manners!”
I shake my head fondly at her departing figure then turn my attention to Mister tall, dark, and handsome as he approaches the counter. Noah pushes his shiny Ray Bans up onto his head. His rich chocolate brown eyes rove slowly over my face … and then drop lower.
I fight a shiver at his obvious appreciation and take the opportunity to check him out as well.
And damn, he looksfiiiine. It’s really not fair.
He’s wearing his usual button-down dress shirt–this one with navy pinstripes–starched and ironed (of course) and cut to perfection the way it stretches across the expanse of his broad chest and shoulders. He has the sleeves rolled up and I can’t help but admire the sinewy muscles of his tanned forearms. Dark brand-name jeans and leather boots round out the look. And his hair? Fuck, his medium brown hair is wind-blown and messier than he normally wears it. It calls to mind the way it looked that night after I’d been raking my hands through it, pulling on it–and another little shiver runs down my spine at the memory.
Biting my lip, I recall the feel of those soft strands sliding through my fingers. I want to do it again …
“Hm-hmm,” Noah clears his throat pulling me from my daydream. “Are you ready to go?” he asks, and his crooked smirk tells me he has a pretty good idea of where my mind had just gone.
“Yep,” I nod. “Just let me grab my bag and tell Jill I’m off.”
I duck into the back and when I return a few minutes later Noah’s leaning against the wall by the door with his arms crossed, all sexy long-limbed, and frowny-faced.
“You don’t have to come, you know,” I say as I round the counter and join him by the exit.
Impossibly, his dark eyebrows manage to pull even closer together, deepening his scowl. “I want to.”
