“I . . . uh . . . I didn’t realize.”
He pulls on the back of his neck and glances over my shoulder. “That night, the night of the fire, I was actually walking over to the store because I heard you were going to be there. I was going to ask you out on a date.”
My mouth falls open as I fully turn toward him. “You were?”
“Yeah. I was only there for a few days, but I couldn’t go back to school without knowing what it was like to take you out. Never got the chance, and then by the time I was able to make it home again, you’d taken off.”
Talk about completely shocked. I would never have thought that someone like Dr. Beau Novak would even look my way. He’s so down to earth, so grounded, and I’m . . . well . . . I’m a train wreck. What does he even see in me?
“What are you thinking?” he asks. “I can see a shift in your body language. Did I say too much?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I’m just . . . surprised is all. You’re so great,” I say, speaking the truth. “You have so much going for you. You’re levelheaded, a good person, an intelligent man with drive and purpose. What could you have possibly seen in someone like me? Someone who’s broke, homeless, and makes bad decisions involving wine?”
He smiles softly. “Your smile can brighten anyone’s mood. And your spirit—it’s vibrant, passionate, addictive. You’re a ray of light on the darkest of days, and maybe you’ve made some decisions that didn’t pan out in the past, but you’re also so brave, so daring, that it makes me want to try new things, to put myself out there.”
“Why don’t I feel like any of those things?” I ask.
“Because you’ve cast a veil of doubt over yourself. It just needs to be lifted by the right person,” he answers.
“And who would that person be?”
He shrugs. “That’s for you to decide.” His eyes fall to my mouth and then travel back up to my eyes.
I wet my lips, the thought of kissing Beau careening through my body like a semi bumping and tumbling my nerves with anticipation.
I’ve waited so long to know what his lips taste like. I’ve thought about it. Dreamed of it. Conjured up ideas of how he might’ve kissed me when I was in high school.
On a picnic table overlooking a lake.
On the top of a hiking trail while taking in the beautiful views.
In the back of a movie theater while holding hands.
On the hood of his car while we shared an ice cream.
All the images flash through my mind, images I thought of over and over, all those years ago.
But I never pictured this. As a grown-up, sitting on his couch, wearing his clothes, solving a puzzle with him as he confesses his attraction to me.
I take a deep breath. “What if I’ve known what I’ve wanted for a long time but have been too scared to take it?” He was older than me; he was Beau Novak, the beautiful bookworm who was out of everyone’s league. I was so convinced he’d never even give me even one glance back then.
“Then I’d say you’re not living your life the way you should. If I’ve learned anything from my parents, it’s that life is too short to not take action.” He says the words, and it’s as if something crosses over in his thoughts, a realization. He chuckles. “I should probably take my own advice.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He lets out a deep breath. “Palmer, I really want to fucking kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, and I know that if I don’t kiss you, right here, right now, I’m going to regret it. So, I’m asking you”—his eyes connect with mine—“can I kiss you?”
I look into his hazel eyes, the same hazel eyes that have tortured my dreams for years.
I want him too.
I want this kiss.
I want this more than anything.
I wet my lips. “I don’t think I can leave your apartment without knowing what your lips taste like . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NORA
The rain is like a constant sheet of water drenching the streets just outside my shop, pounding against the window and racing down the gutters. Thunder rattles the walls as flashes of lightning brighten the dark night sky.
Yeah, I won’t be leaving anytime soon.
I take a seat behind the counter and pull out my iPad, where I open up my brick-breaking game. The cakes have been baked and stored, the buttercreams are prepared for tomorrow, and the kitchen has been cleaned. Since I have to walk home, I prefer not to endure a torrential downpour. I might as well wait for the storm to pass.
Lightning lights up the shop just as a boom of thunder shakes me to my core. I glance up toward the street, and another bolt of lightning strikes the sky, illuminating a dark figure at the door.
“Ahhh!” I scream as the figure walks into my shop, hood draped over its head, soaking wet. I pull a pen from my pen cup, click it, and point at the dark figure. “I don’t carry cash—don’t even ask for it.”
The figure removes its hood, and I’m met with jet-black hair and silvery-gray eyes.
“Cooper.” I exhale sharply. “Good God, you made me wet myself.”
He moves his hand over his face, shedding water onto the floor. “Sorry. I texted you that I was coming over.”
“My phone is in the back.” I calm my racing heart. “I thought you were going to murder me.”
“Why’s your door unlocked?”
“Why are you walking around in the rain?”
He takes his jacket off and sets it by the door. His shirt underneath isn’t wet, but it sure knows how to cling to his rock-hard chest.
Cooper is like fine wine: ages well. Especially since his divorce, he’s turned into this ruggedly handsome, physically fit, and sarcastic man that I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
“I got your text about the cake,” Cooper says as my eyes wander over his chest and then back up to his piercing eyes.
“Oh, yeah, you mean the Sleeping Beauty cake?”
He walks over to the counter and takes a seat across from me, a confused look on his face. “Sleeping Beauty cake? What the hell is that?”
“You know . . . blue, pink, blue, pink, how her dress keeps changing color, just like this cake keeps changing flavor.”
“I wish that wasn’t the case, but my sister seems to have other ideas.”
I lean across the counter. “Lavender is a romantic flavor.”
“And my parents will hate it. Stick with the butterscotch.”
“You know, that’s something you could have just texted me. You didn’t have to come all the way down here to say that.”
“I wanted you to know how serious I was,” he replies, turning toward me.
“Isn’t that why GIFs were created, to express emotions through text better?”
“I’m not a fancy texter—you’re lucky if you get an emoji out of me.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say as my eyes float down to his lips for a brief second and then back up to his eyes. Get it together, Nora. He’s not here for a make-out session, even though the thought of that happening sends a thrill through me.
“What are you playing?” he asks, looking at my iPad.