Page 61 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
“Ginny Perretti. Pleasure to meet you.”
She glances at my jewelry, a heart-shaped necklace my daughter gave me. “I love your necklace, and you have the best hair.”
I pat my red locks. “And you’re perfect. You’re hired. For anything and everything.”
“Excellent. I’ll be there tomorrow morning at nine a.m. on the dot.”
I decide I love her, and I’m pretty sure I want her to be my new best friend.
That’s one more reason I’m glad my company chooses her as our next rising star chocolatier.
But the weird thing is, when I sit down for lunch at the cafeteria a few weeks later and see she’s chatting with Noah at the salad bar, a small nugget of jealousy digs into me. I’m almost embarrassed that I’m the least bit envious.
I like Lulu. I consider her a fast friend, and I don’t want to feel so green, especially since nothing has happened with Noah.
I remind myself that Noah’s friendly, he talks to everybody. So when Lulu sits down with me to dine, I shove thoughts of him away once again.
That’s truly becoming my top sport—denying my desire for the hot young guy who’s become so much more than that. He’s become the man I’m interested in. Very, very interested in. Because this hot young guy is so good, and honorable. It’s not him, it’s me—my past makes me want to be very, very cautious.
“I’m so glad it’s you who’s the rising star,” I say.
“Well, I’m glad it’s me too,” she says.
“We need more chicks here at the office.”
“Girl power. I’m all for that.”
As we chat about her plans for the new line of chocolate, something whooshes over my head. A paper airplane lands in front of my tray, and a rush of heat spreads across my chest. “Noah,” I say, rolling my eyes to deflect but unable to hold in a smile.
“Noah sends you paper airplanes?”
I pick up the winged object. “He likes to send these to me at lunch. He’s such a goofball.”
“Regularly? He sends them regularly?”
“Once or twice a week.”
“Pretty sure that means he’s into you.”
I try to dismiss the idea, even though I know he is. But if I give in to it, I’ll give in to him. And it’s too soon. “Oh, no. He’s just . . . festive.”
Lulu glances behind her, and Noah waves to me. “No. I think he has a thing for you. A big thing. The look on his face seems to say it all. What about you? Is it mutual?”
I’ve been storing all my worries inside me, and at last I have the chance to talk them through. I blurt out, “I’m thirty-five. I’m ten years older than he is. Is that terrible?”
“Only if you let it be terrible. But your face says you like him too.”
My stomach swoops. What am I going to do about all these butterflies? What am I going to do about Noah?
I look over at him, taking in his handsome face, his golden skin, his dark hair, and his smile. I don’t even want to admit it to myself, much less to her, but I think I need to.
“Maybe I do,” I say, since the truth feels better.
“Maybe someday, then, for the two of you.”
“Maybe someday,” I echo.
After Lulu leaves, Noah walks over, clears his throat, and hands me a paper airplane.
This one seems different than all the others, but the trouble is I don’t know if I’m ready yet to set aside my rules.
Even though I find myself wanting to more every day I spend around him.
7
Noah
Do it now.
A voice in the back of my head repeats: Do it now. Just go for it. Ask Ginny out this weekend. Ask her out for lunch. Ask her out for coffee. Ask her out for a glass of wine. Ask her to go bath-bomb shopping. Ask her out to taste-test kale salad anywhere. Take your chance.
This time I listen to the voice, writing on the paper airplane, then personally delivering it as we leave the cafeteria together.
She opens it as we walk, reading the words I wrote.
“Someday I’d like to take you out.”
Her eyes meet mine, and hers seem to sparkle with a little bit of hope, maybe even possibility. “You would?”
I keep going for it. “I would. What would you say if I asked you?”
She nibbles on her lip, sighing.
That’s when I remind myself that love is a marathon, it’s not a sprint. I press my hand over hers. “Don’t give me an answer now.”
“Why do you say that?” she asks curiously.
“Because there is only one answer I want.”
A smile seems to sneak across her face. “What is the answer you want?”
“The only answer I want is yes.”
Her smile stretches further. “And you think I’m going to give you a yes?”
“I’m an optimist. Optimism is my strong suit. Maybe even my strongest.”
