Page 143 of You Fall First

Still, this dinner will be our first opportunity to talk face-to-face since the fundraiser.

And I’m cautiously optimistic.

The cautious part is because texts and calls can only go so far, and I’m not one hundred percent sure what Noah’s thinking about our future. My gut keeps warning me to protect my heart. After all, I got too comfortable once, and that relationship went sideways. So when he arrives to pick me up, the butterflies in my abdomen are equal parts nervous and excited.

For the record, he looks like a waking dream standing in my doorway, wearing charcoal pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled past his forearms.

He’s brought two separate bouquets, a dozen pink roses for me, and a bunch of white hydrangeas for my mom.

This man.

“Can I say hi to your parents before we leave?” He glances toward the kitchen.

“They’re actually out on a date night too. But this is much better, believe me. My mom would have gushed all over you.”

“No way.” His mouth goes lopsided, like he’s not sure how my family feels about him.

“Yes way. When I told her about our date tonight, good old Maggie scurried upstairs to help me pick an outfit. She acted like I was going to my first school dance. But that night, I went in a group. I didn’t even have an actual date.”

And now I have you, I think.

Noah wipes his brow and blows out an exaggerated breath. “So your mom likes me is what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying my mom loves you.”

Whoops.

My stomach flips over. It’s way too early for me to toss out the L word, even if I’m only talking about my mom. This is what I do, though. I take things too far, too fast. And I want to reel the sentence back in, but unfortunately, there are no time machines in my mouth.

So I guess tonight, Noah and I are stuck with my verbal diarrhea.

“What did your dad say?” Noah asks, and his eyes dip in a way that’s adorably shy. The fact that he cares what my family thinks melts my heart even more.

“My father’s very cool with you,” I say, although the more accurate answer is that my dad barely looked up from his newspaper.

He mumbled, “Good guy. Have fun,” which, for him, is the equivalent of wholehearted approval. If he’d had any reservations, he would’ve been waiting at the door to greet Noah. Then he’d give him the third degree in the entryway and lurk in the living room until I’d been dropped off safely afterward.

Just ask Oliver.

That should’ve been my first red flag long before I ever caught him texting with Amelia. But that’s in the past. And the man I want for my future just helped put flowers in vases, then escorted me to his truck.

By the time we walk into Chop, my brain is fizzing, and my lungs are full of carbonation, which would probably be lethal if I meant that literally. But figuratively, it’s the best way to describe the emotions gurgling inside me.

This is the same spot where Noah and I met last summer, but tonight is an entirely different experience. For one thing, he’s paying attention to me. And not just paying attention. He’s paying all the attention. Holding doors, holding my hand, and pulling out chairs.

Pulling out all the stops.

Me? I am stone cold into every bit of it, even as I tell my nerves to check themselves. Nothing to see here, folks. Noah’s clearly invested in this relationship. He’s also obviously spoken to the host before we got here, because the minute we’re seated, a server brings over a bucket of champagne and fills two crystal flutes for us.

Noah lifts his glass. “To Stony Peak High’s newest liaison-slash-director for student advancement or acclimation or enrichment something, something, something.”

A small laugh puffs out of me. “Nailed it.”

We clink glasses, take a sip, more fizzing and bubbling for Jo.

We sip champagne while perusing our menus, then we order appetizers, salads, entrees, and some fancy soufflé for dessert that takes time to prepare.

See what I mean?