This actually makes me chuckle, but then I glance up toward the door of the dining hall and see the bane of my existence walking in. I haven’t looked at Noah with a fresh set of eyes in years, but I try to do so now, try to see him the way Gabriella does.
I’ll give him credit where credit is due. He’s extremely handsome, yes. The hair and square jaw, full lips, and bedroom eyes are all a 10 out of 10. But also, the quality of Noah’s style cannot be overstated. He is deeply cool in a way that annoys me. Today, he’s wearing a black short-sleeved Henley shirt and gray shorts. The fit on both is impeccable, and the sneakers pull it all together.
He walks with confidence born from within. He has the ability to draw every eye in a room and look bored doing it. His appearance seems like a nuisance to him rather than a Get Out of Jail Free card.
I realize I’ve made a mistake when my stomach starts to tie itself into a knot. Becoming habituated to Noah took time and effort, and studying his features under a microscope is unwise. It’s making me feel weird and off-kilter, like I’m toeing the edge of a cliff and staring down at a hundred-foot drop. I don’t want to go splat.
He looks over at my table and sees me talking to Gabriella. His frown is visible from across the room, and though he can’t possibly know what we’re discussing over here, it still feels like he does.
“See what I mean? Like does he just look like that all the time?”
She sounds like she’s about to swoon.
STOP, I want to shout. Go away. Leave me alone with my book and my peace.
“Pizza,” I say suddenly. Then words start pouring out of me. “He likes pizza. Skip the fancy dinner and just invite him to do something easy. Grab some cheap beer and sit outside and people-watch. He’ll love that.”
The pressure eases off my chest as she pushes up to stand. “Perfect! You’re a lifesaver. You’ll definitely be invited to the wedding,” she says with a laugh and a wink.
My stomach hurts.
I pick up my croissant and toy with it as I watch her navigate the tables and slice across the space to get to Noah. He’s in line, grabbing breakfast, and she walks right up to him with a megawatt smile. I convince myself I can read her lips, but really, I just pretend to know what she’s saying.
Let’s skip the restaurant and take it easy. Pizza on me?
Noah glances over his shoulder and finds me staring. Panic grips me.
I shift my attention down to my plate and count to ten in my head. When I look up again, Noah and Gabriella are smiling at each other, and whatever reservations he might have had about her are gone now. He picks up an apple, shines it on his shirt, and passes it to her with a little toss.
She laughs as she catches it and I stand up, take my things, and leave the dining hall.
Back in my room, I straighten up. Things that were already clean and tidy before get shifted one millimeter to the left or right, refolded, and wiped down. There. Perfect.
When I go to add more euros to my money belt, I find the crumpled list I confiscated from the girls yesterday.
“We were all surprised about Mr. Ricci asking you out because we thought you and Mr. Peterson were—”
I stuff the list into the trash and cover it with tissue for good measure.
Outside, the courtyard is quiet and relatively cool. A slight breeze blows the mist from a fountain in my direction and I convince myself it’s peaceful. Our students are in their Latin class, someone else’s problem for the rest of the morning. I have my book on my lap. I should open it and get back to where I left off at breakfast, but I’m staring at a group of sculptures instead. Or rather, I’m staring past them. I’m so deep in thought I don’t notice Noah until he’s taking a seat on the opposite end of my bench.
I don’t break my stare, and he doesn’t say a word.
We sit in companionable silence, like a referee has blown a whistle and called a time-out.
It should be disconcerting to sit here like this with him. I should have my guard up and weapons drawn anytime Noah and I are alone, but this morning, for once, I can’t seem to muster the effort. I’m a bloodied soldier on a battlefield with no fight left in me.
“Gabriella said you gave her your blessing to ask me out. It was your idea to go for pizza and beer.”
Well, well, well…Gabriella has quite the mouth.
“What was I supposed to do?”
Now there’s a question with a million answers.
Worried how he’ll spin it in his head…the potential conclusions he’ll draw, I quickly add, “She was going to take you somewhere pretentious. I should have just let her.”