Page 89 of Whispered Promises

“I’m not doing a good job at being relaxed, am I?” I reply, my confession surprising me. I’d usually try to hide it. Apparently, my mouth is becoming less and less able to hold in my thoughts around them.

He chuckles, and his thumb rubs circles over my skin; the touch eases me more than he probably realises.

“No, but that’s okay. I’d rather you be honest with me, so I can help you. I always want to know how you’re feeling, and we’re human too. Those emotions aren’t always going to be happy, positive ones, but regardless of what they are, you’re always able to share them,” he promises, his gaze holding mine.

My chest swells, feeling full to bursting.

“I… Thank you,” I say, blinking quickly. “I want to stay, and I’d like that, but only if you’re the same for me too.”

Tugging my hand up, he drops a kiss on my knuckles, then rests our hands back on the table…still intertwined together. “Deal.”

I smile. It’s wide and toothy, but it’s the only way I know how to respond to the giddiness he’s evoked inside me.

“So what do you fancy having?” he asks with a wink, glancing down at his menus.

THIRTY-FIVE

NOAH

Having her smile at me like that is intoxicating and a feeling I’m unaccustomed to.

Bry, Nate, and Max appreciate me, my students rely on me, the faculty value me, but having Rosy look at me like that? To trust me to support her and be there for her, it’s a completely addictive feeling I’m coming to crave.

Her eyes drift down to the menu, nose scrunching. “I’m torn,” she eventually huffs, a delicate pout pursing her lips.

It’s cute.

“What did you narrow it down to?”

“Hmm, so the starter is an easy option, assuming you want one?” At my nod, she continues, glancing back down to the list of dishes. “Panelle, because it sounds so good, and I’ve never tried it before.”

I read the description: crispy chickpea fritters. That does sound pretty good.

“Then for the main, I’m trying to figure out whether to have the Pasta alla Norma or the Pesto alla Trapanese. Decisions are too hard. What do you think I should get out of the two?” Her eyes lift to mine, her eyebrows tugging together as she waits for me to respond.

A throat clears next to us, then Matteo says, “Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”

Rosy opens her mouth, most likely to ask for the latter, but I quickly start first. “No, we’re ready. To start, a Panelle and a mushroom Arancina. For mains, we’d like a Pasta alla Norma and the Pesto alla Trapanese, please. Then to drink, I’ll have a limonata and…” I trail off, looking at Rosy expectantly.

“Oh, um, limonata for me too, please,” she rushes out, glancing at Matteo quickly before staring at me.

He reads back our order, but I don’t pay too much attention as I smile at Rosy’s bewildered look. Does she actually think I’d make her choose?

Thanking Matteo as he takes our menus and walks away, I wait for her to say what she needs to.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Her eyebrows crinkle together again as she nibbles on her lip. “You should have something you want to try. Now I feel bad.”

My hand gravitates to hers, and as I cover it with mine, her fingers twitch, so I thread our fingers together. “I did get something I wanted to try. Now we can share and neither of us misses out.”

Her mouth twitches into a smile. “Okay, I’d love that. Thank you,” she says softly, and we continue to look at each other, lost in a world of our own. She truly does look breathtakingly beautiful. It’s what she always is, regardless of what she wears or how she does her hair. It’s curled down her back tonight, glinting in the low lighting, and I desperately want to run my fingers through it.

“So, books. Have you been into them long?” she blurts. “Into reading, I mean. Have you been into reading books for very long?” A mixture of panic and mortification etches across her face, and her fingers laced in mine clutch tightly.

Tipping my head slightly, I try to keep a straight face, resisting the desire to smile at her and risk increasing her embarrassment.

“For as long as I can remember,” I comment, trying to sift back through my childhood memories, enjoying the contentment the reminiscing brings. “My dad used to enjoy reading too and would read bedtime stories to me every night. When I started reading more, he’d take me to the local library so I could find new stories to read. Then he’d ask me to tell him about the ones I’d read, what I’d enjoyed about them or what I didn’t. As an adult, we’d gift each other books for birthdays and Christmases, looking for new ones each of us thought the other would enjoy.”

Her elbow rests on the table, face cupped in her palm as she listens with a wistful smile. “That’s so wholesome. He sounds like he was really special. What was the last book he gave you?”