“You’re trying to tell me something, but I’m not getting it,” I say, fighting back a yawn. “Shouldn’t we be going? Don’t you have to start work soon? Please don’t speed like you usually do. I’m already nervous.”

  Izzy snorts and takes a step back. She follows my lead though, and starts turning toward the office door, and I follow. “The next thing you’re gonna ask me is to go let the car run so it can get warm.”,

  “That’s just common carpooling etiquette, no? And I’m pretty sure it’s not good for your car to just stop and start is so many times, especially during winter.”

  “What? You read that in a book, too?”

  “Izzy, I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge on any subject.”

  She snorts, then swings the door open to the office, ushering me through.

  I’m nervous, I’ll admit it.

  There’s something there between Noah and me, I can finally admit it to myself. There are little things I find myself noticing over time, the more and more time we spend together, and I have to talk myself down to stop myself from tearing his throat out when he does something to annoy me.

  Which is really a me problem, and not a Noah problem. And he doesn’t really annoy me, he’s just in my space, a constant reminder of what I can’t have.

  And honestly, it would be so, so bad trying to be with him when we still work together. I still have to see him for twelve hours a day for the next five and a half weeks. I’ll combust if we tried to get together and it didn’t work out.

  They’re called one-night stands for a reason because you don’t see each other ever again.

  I swallow hard, following Izzy down the hall, obscured on either side by bookshelves as my heels clack along the flooring.

  So much is happening so quickly—which is always how it goes—and getting Noah thrown into my daily life, having to be confronted by him is hard to take.

  He’s respectful and conscientious, and kind, and he’s nonchalant when I’m the one jumping the gun and making up scenarios in my head to deal with a potential confrontation.

  And I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his verdict (as if I need a verdict, but I’m getting stupid with this so-called attraction) and step out into the front of the store.

  The world, the time-space continuum doesn’t seem to slow as Noah walks out from somewhere from the left of the shelves, coat on, wearing his customary black jeans with the rips in the knees and that cable-knit sweater that looks so cozy and comfy being replaced by a tight shirt that stretches across his chest—how did I not notice that?

  I concentrate on putting one foot in front of another, watching Noah push his hair back and out of his face, elongating his neck in such a way that I have a visceral reaction to seeing it, and an urge to want to lay my lips there, press kisses along his skin, just to leave my mark there for no reason at all.

  I nearly stumble at the swoop in my belly, and the horrible, terrible realization that even though objectively, yes, Noah is attractive according to certain male beauty standards, it’s appalling to me to find out that I, Evie Prewitt, find Noah Bristol attractive, and I’m admitting it to myself.

  And we work together, and if the next few weeks that we’re together don’t go according to plan, I could lose this place…and now I’ve gone and developed a crush on him, and honestly that’s a plot twist to end all plot twists.

  Is it though? Is it really?

  Noah turns his head toward me, and even though there’s no part of me that’s exposed to his gaze except my face and a little bit of my throat, I still feel like I’m exposed, completely naked.

  It’s a very, very odd feeling.

  “Wow, Evie,” he says, and Izzy laughs beside me, squeezing past me after jostling me a little.

  “I’ve got to go warm up the car for a bit. I’ll be outside waiting for you guys, okay? Come out in a couple of minutes.” She disappears out into the night, the jangle of the bell loud as a gong.

  Now we’re alone, and I don’t know what to do with myself. My thick wool coat’s crumpled up into my hand because it felt like it wasn’t freezing this morning, and the weather’s taking a turn toward warmer temperatures. It was five degrees above zero in the middle of the afternoon, and I saw more than a few people outside with T-shirts.

  Now I wish I was wearing my parka to become a formless blob, anything to get Noah to stop looking at me like that. Even though I like it, I like it a whole lot.

  My heartbeat’s an erratic mess, beating out of turn, stopping and starting, and my breathing picks up, like I’ve gone and voluntarily done cardio exercise.

  “Wow,” he repeats, and I find myself really liking that word coming out of his mouth.

  “Good wow, or bad wow?”

  Noah shakes his head, looking a little dazed as I come to stand before him.

  “Every single wow there ever was, Evie.” His gaze rakes over my body, and all I want to do is let him look his fill, but balk at the end, swinging my coat over my shoulders and threading my arms through.

  “Thanks? I don’t know. You ready to go?” It’s bound to have been a couple of minutes since Izzy left us alone, right? Right?!

  “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he says, nodding at me when I look at him.

  “Everyone keeps telling me that. If it’s truly that horrendous, I can always leave and get a cab. I can take care of myself, Noah,” I say, zipping up my coat, threading the belt through, and cinching it around my waist, moving my hair out from where it’s been caught under the coat.

  “I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself. I know you prefer reading at home or watching a show instead of going to a club. It’s just an observation, Evie.”

  I clench my jaw tight, then pull a deep breath through my nose. “Look, I already know what I like to do on a regular basis. I know,” I say through clenched teeth. All I keep hearing in my head though is that I’m boring and uninteresting, and I’m tired of being that way.

  “So I’m going to the club whether you’re coming or not. I might even let a stranger buy me a drink, too.”

  “Would you drink it, though, Evie? Would you have that drink?”

  I shrug my shoulders, then whirl to walk out the door, nearly breaking my ankle in the process.

  Noah doesn’t say anything, but I can hear his snicker all the same.

  TEN

  “It’s so hot in here! And loud!” I yell over the bass-boom of the music, vibrating along my skin like a second, third, fourth heartbeat, making even my hair follicles vibrate.

  I’m already starting to regret this decision, and honestly, I don’t recognize any of the music.

  L’Arsenale usually has themed nights, if I remember what Izzy’s told me, and since it’s a Thursday night, we’re headed back to the '90s, and honestly I don’t remember any of these songs being re-played on the radio as I was growing up.

  Izzy is already half-dancing as she walks us down the back hall, bringing us through the bowels of the building and showing us to her bouncer friend, Callum, who then escorts us inside without a single word being said.

  And that says something, obviously.

  Our coats are checked, and Noah and I push our way through the throng of people (younger kids, mostly) toward the bar. I’ve stashed sixty dollars in twenties in my bra, the perfect little pocket, and grin when Izzy waltzes right to me, still grooving to the music, unable to stand still, mouthing along the words to a song I don’t recognize.

  Wasn’t No Doubt a thing in the '90s? Why can’t I get some Gwen Stefani before she was just solo Gwen Stefani?

  I order a Tom Collins, and then nearly get plastered to the bar because Noah’s pressed in close and yelling over me (we’re still not of a height, honestly, who needs to be that tall?) and giving my cousin his order—a sparkling water.

  Which is unexpected and interesting.

  Why do I find everything he does interesting?

  It doesn’t help the simmer of attraction in my belly, and how I seem to notice and hyper-focus on where our bodies make contact, Noah swooping down to apologize for crowding me into the bar by accident.

  “Sorry, Evie! Sorry!” he yells into my ear, and I can barely hear him. He gives me his own version of puppy-dog eyes, and I give him back a weak thumbs-up. I glance back to my cousin who’s slinging our drinks—well, slinging my drink anyway.

  I drink it down, the gin and lemonade watery because what else did I expect I don’t look over to Noah, and I keep my eyes pinned on my drink, waiting for Izzy to ring us up, but of course she doesn’t.

  I’ll do her taxes in return or something like that; I’ll pay her back in some other way.

  I slap the bar and thank her and then push past Noah to get into the thick of it, the strobe lights doing something to time so that it all feels like we’re caught between snapshots of a photographer’s camera, stilling one millisecond, and then moving the next.

  Finally, finally, one of my favorite songs comes on, and I let myself move the way I want to, uncaring if I’m here with Noah. Evie 1.0 can dance, even with these heels on.

  Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push it” comes on in a heady EDM remix, and I’m jumping around and dancing before I can even think to move. I think I make out Izzy’s voice screaming in the distance, but I’m pretty sure that it’s my imagination because there’s no way I can hear her over the pulsing sound of the music.

  When I look back at Noah, it’s like he has no idea what to do with me. He just sits at the edge of the crowd, hardly moving to the beat, standing there like he’s a stick stuck in the mud, watching me, watching me with those stupid eyes that have the most beautiful green flecks I’ve ever seen and trying to puzzle me out it seems as I let myself loose.

  Maybe coming dancing wasn’t the world-ending idea I thought it was going to be. Maybe not.

  The song eventually comes to an end, and I’ve been invited into a group of dancers, most of them female and looking for nothing but a good time, but when the fourth song after “Push it” comes on and I don’t really know what it is and come rushing back into my body, I stop moving and start looking around for Noah.

  He probably thought I abandoned him, maybe, and honestly, is there any worse feeling in the world than being left out when you so desperately want to be included?

  I head over to the bar where Izzy’s doing her work, talking to some guy leaning over the bar to the point where he practically presents himself to the entire room, like a warthog dipping his head down to the waterhole to get a drink.

  Which makes me think of The Lion King, which makes me giggle. Apparently, I have one Tom Collins and I’m a party girl.

  I walk over to the bar, glancing around the edges at the crush of people that are indistinguishable from the back, everyone all of different shapes and sizes underneath the dark and strobing lights.

  Izzy notches her head toward the back, and I feel a heavy wave of trepidation as I follow her lead and watch Noah talking to a random female stranger in a secluded dark corner. I can tell she’s female from the back, and Noah towers over her, hunching down a little to catch what she says more often than not.

  It makes something ugly and cold slither in my belly, slimy and slick.

  At that moment, Noah glances up and finds me in the middle of the lounge, where we lock eyes and the stereos pound to the sound of The Offpsring’s “Self-Esteem,” and even though I like the song, I don’t want to get an elbow in the face if I go back out there and start jumping around like a maniac.

  What’s going to come on next? House of Pain’s “Jump Around,” the song that defined my childhood because I knew it was in Mrs. Doubtfire?

  Noah nods to me, and I feel it burn in my throat, the way his face is soft and open, not paying attention to the stranger who’s clearly trying to get his attention.

  Noah is attractive—anyone can see that. That doesn’t mean that he owes anyone anything, least of all his time.

  He waves to me, and I go to him as surely as if he’s flung a line into this ocean of teeming bodies and is starting to reel me in, while I’m the dumb fish that can’t seem to let go of the bait.

  Shit!

  Noah leans close to me when we’re standing next to each other, and the stranger seems to get it, whatever silent message we’re laying down. She still winks at Noah and then waves goodbye to him, sashaying away from the pair of us while Noah leans to talk to me.

  He wraps an arm around me just as I’m jostled right into his body, getting pushed from behind. Noah holds me close, still leaning down to brush his mouth against my ear, asking me if I want to go outside, if I want to get some fresh air, to get away from here, with him.

  I nod quickly, licking at my suddenly dry lips, wanting nothing than to cool my fevered skin from all the dancing and that one drink I had.

  I don’t know who initiates, but we’re already so close, and I’m practically pressed up right against Noah now, like the other time he held me when I cried my eyes out.

  This is different.

  The bass beats along my veins, and Noah drags his mouth from the shell of my ear down to my cheek as I tilt my head up, wanting to make eye contact. Everything slows down, my heart taking all the time in the world between beats as I lean back to look at him.

  Inevitable—all of it, what’s going to happen next, it feels inevitable, the moment fate decides that something will happen regardless of circumstance.

  I’m apparently just along for the ride.

  I lick my lips, watching Noah’s eyes track the movement. My hands are on his arms, squeezing along his biceps. Our chests are pressed together so I can feel his rapid heartbeat right up against mine through the bass of the music.

  I don’t know who moves first, or who does what first, but it doesn’t matter, not really.

  Noah sighs, as if a great weight is being lifted from his shoulders, as if he can take this very moment to rest as his lips graze my mouth and his arm encircles my waist more tightly, pressing me completely up against him so that even in my heels, I have to lean up just those scant few more inches to make our mouths meet.

  A kiss between Noah and me.

  An actual kiss.

  Noah’s lips are soft and gentle against mine, as if he, too, is afraid to break the spell we’re under. The moment shimmers the longer we fall into each other, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for all of this to disappear once my brain comes back online and realizes that this is a terrible decision.

  But I’m tired of always doing the right thing instead of what I want.

  And what I want in this moment is to pretend like I can have Noah, like I can have this.

  I haven’t been kissed in a long time, and it all feels glorious, wonderful, as I start to kiss him back.

  That’s when I know I’m trouble, deep trouble, as my eyes flutter closed and I give him everything I’ve got, his arms wrapping around me in a way that’s comforting and steady instead of stifling.

  He keeps me safe in the circle of his arms as we kiss, and the moment stretches and stretches and stretches, until it finally snaps. We both pull away at the same time, looking at each other. My glasses have fogged up, and Noah moves his hand up to adjust them on the bridge of my nose.

  “No,” I blurt, shaking my head in bigger and bigger sweeps from left to right as something pulls in my neck. My heart sprints inside my rib cage, and I pull all the way back from him, the phantom pressure of his mouth still lingering on my own lips.

  “No.” I wave a finger at him, then a palm, wanting him to stay right there while I disappear into the crowd, headed toward the coat check, skin tingling and burning with that kind of hyper-sense of awareness that someone’s too close to me and I don’t want them to be there.

  When I get my coat and head outside, I wave down a taxi that drives me home, and I lock myself in my apartment, taking in deep breaths, and refuse to touch my tingling mouth.

  It was just a kiss, it was just a kiss.

  Yeah, right.

  That’s not how this works.

  I want to take the coward’s way out and not show up for work in the morning.

  Better yet, if I could bribe a wizard or witch—if I could find one in this day and age that was actually legit—I’d make them give me a memory loss potion or something like it to make Noah forget last night happened.

  But it did.

  It did happen, and I’ve been torturing myself for the past eight or so hours about it, replaying it in my mind to the point where I had to take a cold shower to calm down.

  I know a part of it is missing being close to a guy like that, being close enough to touch and kiss in a way that makes my skin start to simmer at the mere thought of it.

  I know another part of it is that it’s Noah, and I’m only now beginning to realize how very Noah he is, not some random guy.

  Noah is just passing through; he’s not going to be a main fixture in my life, and that’s fine.

  I just need to get over myself, forget about that kiss, forget about Noah sighing against my mouth like he found a place in me to sit and rest for a while, our lips pressed together in a chaste kiss that feels like if witches and wizards were around, they’d pay big money to bottle that feeling.

  I’ve read too many fantasy books, true, but wouldn’t that be great?

  I’d sell my worries to those who never worried about anything, let them get the full experience, as it were.

  But I have to go into work, I have to. Otherwise, the place will burn down without me, I’m sure of it.

  Probably not though, Evie, if we’re being honest with ourselves. You can take the day off, delegate and foist of your responsibilities to someone else.

  In what universe does that actually work out?

  Not in mine, that’s for sure.

  Not in mine.

  I pep talk myself the entire twenty-minute walk to the shop, getting so deep inside my head on what I’m going to do, what I’m going to say and what I’m not going to say that I almost slip on the icy sidewalks three times and only the inherent balance I’ve developed since I was born and raised in Montreal had kept me upright.