The freezing air suffocates my lungs as I burst outside, but a coat of warmth quickly spreads across my arm, spinning me around.
“What?” I snap, ignoring his furnace of a body towering over me.
“Can you just wait, please?”
“It seems like it’s a bad time for you, so let’s not continue to waste either of our time.” I pull my arm back, attempting to get out of his warm hold, but he follows—covering me from the wind again.
“You’re right.” There are dark spots beneath his usually bright eyes, and when the little circle of green doesn’t appear, I stop pulling away from him. “It is a bad time, but it has nothing to do with you, and I’m sorry. God, I—” he groans, fisting his tousled black hair, and I’m instantly hungry for his warmth when he steps back, turning around.
He didn’t grab his coat when he fled from the coffee shop, and had he bothered to, I would have missed the tension of his muscles coiling beneath his thin white T-shirt. His head falls forward but his shoulders remain flexed. A huff of warm air filters around him, and the sigh that escapes him is loud and exhausted. I cross my arms, looking down at my shoes, feeling like I’m intruding on something private. It feels too vulnerable to see someone out of character, and this moment he’s having is clearly against his will.
I wholeheartedly want to believe that that guy in there—the short-tempered, one-word response guy—was the realNoah. Unfortunately, there’s a nagging feeling deep in my gut that tells me it was just a bad moment. I’m also now aware that this likely has nothing to do with me, and damn, if I don’t feel like an idiot now.
He breathes in deeply only to breathe it back out before turning around to face me. His eyes search mine, for a reaction or for any clue that I might understand him—I’m not sure, but I hold his stare, unwavering.
“Please, Savvy.”
This close to him, I get a glimpse of the whispers of the five o’clock shadow along his usually smooth jawline. I can see clearly now that it wasn’t a bored expression on his face back there. He’s drained. He’s physically, and possibly even mentally, drained. When I don’t say anything, he continues.
“I have a lot of shit going on right now, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it in here today. Stay. Please?”
His words strike me in the deepest part of my core, reminding me of something my mom always used to say when I was in one of my foul moods. He couldn’t possibly know that, though, and based on the way he’s regarding me right now—like I’m a rabid animal that’s either going to attack him or bolt—he doesn’t have any idea the impact his words have on me.
He's trying. I can see him struggling with something, and it would be insane to ask him to tell me, but I see it. Who am I to say that you have to check your baggage at the door? The number of times I’ve lashed out or been an asshole while working through my own issues could be studied at this point.
I drop my shoulders, tilting my head to look up at him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He exhales a breath, letting his eyes drop, and a smile so small that I almost miss it ghosts his lips. “Savannah Alvarez, are you offering to help me?”
“That does seem like something a friend would do, huh?”
He guides his hand on the small of my back, opening the door and leading me back into the coffee shop. “I’m glad you’ve finally agreed.”
I roll my eyes, dropping my head back to look up at him. “Never mind. I take it back.”
“Nope. You put it out there.” He smiles. “No take backs now.”
“Down to our last three questions. Are you feeling sentimental about finishing our project?”
“I don’t think that’s the exact word I would use.”
“What would you call it then?”
I look over my shoulder, where Noah sits sprawled out next to me— his sweatpant-covered legs brushing against mine. Not having an excuse to see him anymore should light me up inside, it should be a burden lifted from my shoulders, but instead, I feel… My stomach soars at the heavy weight of his palm meeting the top of my thigh. I don’t look down, but he does. His eyes are trained on where his hand now rests on my leg. It feels like a movement meant to relax me, a simple ‘hey I was just teasing,’but it awakes all those fireflies that only live inside me at his touch.
“I’m going… umm—” I point towards the counter, stumbling over my thoughts. “Yogurt.” I shake my head, attempting to clear my thoughts. “I’m going to grab some yogurt. Do you want anything?”
He shakes his head, sinking back into the couch, biting the end of his pen around a smile. I almost fall over myself trying to get up.
I pinch the bridge of my nose while waiting in line. Just an hour ago, I was ready to shove this guy in front of a Zamboni, and now, here I am—sweating at the contact of his fingers over my leggings.
I order my food and when I get back to the couch, I do adouble take at a sleeping Noah. I gently ease onto the couch beside him, careful not to wake him. Even in his sleep, he still looks tired.
Without thinking, I comb my fingers through his hair. A soft hum vibrates from his chest and I swallow, snatching my hand back and setting it in my lap.
Noah’s eyelashes flutter open as he slowly looks around. “Sorry about that,” he says, sitting upright and scooting closer to me.
“You’re fine,” I assure him, shaking my head and waving him off. I swallow and shift uncomfortably in my seat.
