The Best is Yet to Come

Twenty Seven: Emma

I almost can't believe this is the same guy from that day in the bookstore. Until recently, I would have described Noah as cocky and, admittedly, a little annoying. But tonight, as he sits across the small table with heavy lids and a look in his eyes that makes my heart melt, he's all charm and romance.

I look above my head at the twinkly lights, trying to recall if I've ever seen anything so beautiful. I feel like we're sitting underneath a sky of bright stars; as if Noah and I are dining beneath the Heavens, instead of a balcony on a congested street an hour from town.

My plate is scraped clean of food, as is Noah's, and it's bittersweet when I take the last sip from my wine glass. I don't want this night to end. And honestly, that surprises me. I can't remember the last time I did this with someone; sit, laugh, converse. Regardless of my personal vendettas, I've never even met another person I genuinely wanted to connect with. It's like everyone on Earth is tuned to operate on FM frequencies and I'm on the only one dialed on the AM. I always feel so out of tune with the rest of the world.

But not with Noah.

Being with Noah is easy. I can talk freely, laugh without fear of judgment, I can breathe clearly around him, a feat not accomplished by any other. I don't have to run through my sentences a hundred times in my mind before the words make their way out of my mouth. I can just say what I want, whatever I feel.

Sometimes, when I thought I might have said the wrong thing, I'd look over at Noah anxiously, waiting for him to look offended or angry, but there was never any question in his eyes. I never had to explain myself; he always just understood. And while I may not know much about the world or human interaction or love, I do know that a connection like that is hard to come by.

Noah's voice pulls me from my thoughts, "You look like you're lost in your thoughts. Should I be worried?" He leans against the table, his head a foot from mine and whispers, "You're not planning my murder, are you?" There's humor in his brown eyes and I suppress a giggle.

"I'm trying to decide between poison or hacksaw." I answer, tapping my finger to my chin. Noah sits back and waves his hand airily, as if the answer was simple.

"Definitely poison." He says. "Not nearly as messy." He pauses for a moment and starts to laugh. "I'm sorry. That was weird."

"That's ok." I assure him. "I'm weird." And on the outside looking in, I was sure people would think we were insane. Maybe Noah is just as odd as I am. The thought brings me comfort; at least we could be weird together.

The young waiter makes his way back to our table. He has two leather menus in his hand. "Would you like to look at the dessert menu tonight?" Noah looks at me with a raised eyebrow, silently asking.

"I could never say no to sugar," I say and the waiter hands us each a thick menu. Noah orders the blueberry cheesecake and I, a slice of chocolate cake. Just like the meal, dessert is delicious and Noah and I argue playfully between bites about whether vanilla or chocolate cake is better. He takes me by surprise when he digs his fork into my cake, stealing a bite and I stare shamelessly when he runs his tongue across his lips for stray frosting.

My heart sinks when our waiter drops off the check, signaling the end of our perfect dinner. Noah snatches the bill off the table before I can and gives me a crooked smile.

"You'll need to be quicker than that," he clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. I know it shouldn't bother me that he's paying for dinner because clearly he has the money, but I can't help it. I've been so self sufficient for so long that I hate when people buy things for me. Though I have the feeling I'm going to have to adapt for Noah.

After he scrawls his signature across the check, we rise from the table and it's the first time I notice how empty the balcony is. The small space was congested with diners, nearly full when we sat down. Clearly I hadn't realized that just about everyone else had left the restaurant. Only two other couples remain on the balcony, heads close together in intimate conversation, their plates and glasses empty.

Noah reaches for my hand, his fingers linking with mine, and leads me down the stairs to the main dining area. The staff are busy wiping down tables, stacking chairs and a young brunette is sweeping by the door. I take a look at my watch and see it's nearly 11pm. I can't believe how fast the time flew.

Noah nods his head in acknowledgment at the workers as we walk past and mutters his thanks as the brunette by the entrance holds the door open for us.

"Have a great night!" she calls sweetly.

The temperature is cool tonight, the air crisp and clean. I spot Noah's black Lexus immediately on the street and follow him across the nearly empty parking lot.

Noah unlocks his car with a few clicks from his key fob and walks over to the passenger side to open the door for me. I give him a small smile and sit, the cold leather chilling my bare thighs. Noah slides into the driver's seat next to me. He starts the car with a push of a button and reaches over the armrest to take my hand. Soft music flows from the speakers as he pulls smoothly onto the main road.

"Are you ok?" he asks, glancing over at me, "I feel like you're quieter than usual." How ironic that he doesn't realize the truth: that I'm more talkative around him.

"I'm sorry." I say, "I'm just lost in thought tonight."

"Well, if you're not plotting a murder," he chuckles, "can I ask what's on your mind?" I look down at our hands and he starts to caress my palm with his thumb.

What was I supposed to tell him? How much I'm surprised that I enjoy his company? That I'm scared that I'm growing too attached? That it's been three dates and I already want more of him? What's the normal thing to say here?

"I don't want to say goodbye," I say truthfully, because it's the most watered down expression of how I actually feel. "I'm having a really good night."

Noah's hand squeezes mine in response and he brings it to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss against my skin. "It won't be for long, trust me. I don't want to say goodbye, either." The butterflies flutter wildly in my belly and I look over at him. Noah's face is dimly lit by the cars and street lamps passing by outside. I focus on his profile; the curve of his nose, the strong lines of his jaw, the wayward curls at the nape of his neck. I want nothing more than to lean over and place a kiss right below his ear.

"Why don't you come to my house for dinner tomorrow night?" he asks, pulling me from my fantasy. "You can meet Chris."

"I'd love to," I smile, "What are you cooking?"

Noah lets out a snort, "I'm a little rusty in the kitchen. Besides, Friday is pizza night," he glances over at me, "I hope that's ok."

"Even better." I laugh and wonder whether Noah has ever cooked anything in his life. Don't rich people usually have cooks? How much money does his family even have?

I quickly shake the thought, determined not to let my brain plant any seeds for a feeble excuse in the future. I squeeze Noah's hand tighter. It doesn't matter what he comes from, I tell myself. It doesn't matter if he's the richest man in the world and you're dressed in rags.

Instead, I focus on being happy and enjoy the smooth car ride, the feel of Noah's rough hands in mine and the sight of his profile in the corner of my eye.