I choke out a sound that is a mix of a sob and a broken laugh, reaching to wipe the tears from my eyes that feel both painful and somehow good. Cathartic, even. I’ve spent so long pretending none of this bothers me . . . it feels like a weight has been lifted off now that I can finally admit it always did.
Gran pats my cheek. “Even if that someone isn’t Noah, there’s someone out there who will be worth letting in. I just hope you let yourself find them.”
“Gran,” I say thickly. “I . . . think I like Noah. Like, really.”
“Can’t say I blame you.” She whistles as she pulls back. “That man is . . . Wow.”
“Gran,” I laugh, wiping away the last few errant tears from my eyes.
“I’m just saying,” she chuckles.
I bite back a grin. “He is . . . definitely something.”
“I’m sure he’s just busy. Don’t get too worked up about it. Just remember that you are amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
“Okay, now you’re embarrassing me,” I groan.
“It’s my job,” she retorts. “Now finish your coffee before it gets cold.”
I’m still sniffling a little when I turn back toward the counter, Gran going back to the pot to top off her own cup. I only notice my phone all lit up when I reach to bring my mug closer, pausing what I’m doing and leaning over the screen to catch Noah’s name. There’s an undeniable surge of excitement that courses through me when I pull my phone closer, wondering when in the last month I got to the point where just seeing his name made me giddy.
I swipe open the text, his reply short but butterfly-inducing nonetheless because—
NOAH: Could we meet up after I get off? Maybe at that cafe we went to last time?
I’m grinning like an idiot as I read his invitation, realizing I’m happy just from the possibility of seeing him again. Maybe I’ve gone crazy.
I just hope you let yourself find them.
I smile, thinking that Gran might be on to something as I tap out a response.
ME: Can’t wait.
* * *
?The café isn’t as busy as the last time we were here, but there are still a handful of couples and college students hanging around the trendy little tables when I step inside. Outside, the snow’s started to come down, and I dust it off my shoes, starting to pull off my coat as I look around in search of him. He’s sitting at the same booth we had our first pretend date in, and realizing this makes me smile as I wave at him. I don’t waste any time going to join him, sliding into the other side of the booth and laying my coat on the seat beside me as I give him my attention.
Noah definitely looks tired; there are dark circles under his eyes as if he’s had little sleep, and there’s a frown etched on his mouth that feels somehow grumpier than the one he’d been so fond of when we first struck up our deal.
“Wow, someone had a rough day,” I tease. “Were you yelling at nurses again?”
“I told you,” he says wearily, “that was—”
“Grossly overexaggerated,” I laugh. “Yeah. I know. But really, you look tired as hell.”
“I feel it,” he says quietly. “It’s been . . . a long day.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach across the table to trace a finger across his knuckle, lowering my voice. “I know a few good ways to relieve stress, if you’re interested.”
“Mackenzie . . .”
I’m just starting to notice that there’s something underneath all of the fatigue; his blue eyes look duller, and his hair looks messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s chewing on the edge of his lip like he’s worried about something, and it’s amazing to me that I’m not only able to pick up on these things, but apparently my first instinct is to soothe him. Honestly, I’m having a hard time not switching to the other side of the booth and wrapping my arms around him. I’m not even sure if his mood is to blame for that or if it’s just a constant desire that I have now.
“What’s wrong?” I squeeze his hand, my thumb stroking back and forth. “Did something happen?” He looks at our hands, his mouth turning down and his brow furrowing. His eyes dart around like he’s struggling to find the words, and there’s a flare of worry that flashes inside me. “Noah. Tell me. Is it Dennis? Is he bothering you again? Or is it the board? You can tell me. We’ll figure it out.”
When he finally looks up at me, he seems . . . sad. Regretful, maybe. I can’t say why, but something about the way he looks at me is uneasy. Almost like I’ve seen it before. I’m trying to place where, but it isn’t coming to me.