by Monroe, Lila
* * *
The guys decide to try their hand at some of the games, so we head over to the axe-throwing contest, where anyone can enter.
“What do you say?” Noah asks, raising his eyebrows. “Want to go guys versus girls?”
“Ha!” I snort. “If I lifted that thing, I’d fall out of my dress.”
“And . . . ?” Noah smirks.
I laugh. “You go right ahead and prove your manliness. I’ll be over here watching with the cakes.”
I settle in with my friends, who also figured it was better to sit in the shade and watch, rather than get all hot and sweaty . . . especially when the scenery is hot and sweaty enough for us all.
“I am liking this sport,” Gemma drawls as we watch the guys flex and throw.
“Ditto,” I say, my eyes on Noah as he holds the long-handled ax over his head, muscles bunching as he concentrates on his target.
“Who knew the Renaissance fair would be so . . . horny,” Zoey grins.
After the guys play and Zach is declared the winner (his prize is a hot kiss from Gemma), we continue on to the marketplace, strolling from booth to booth, looking at the crafts and medieval tchotchkes—swords, chain mail, dragons, tankards, and, to Noah’s great delight, corsets.
“Don’t you dare!” I laugh, as he inconspicuously looks at the price tag on one of them.
He smirks at me. “No?”
Just then, Gemma slips her arm through mine. “Time for a trip to ye olde chamber pot.”
I allow my friends to lead me off to the washrooms. Which, thankfully, are a little more technologically advanced than mere holes in the ground. “So,” Zoey says once we’re inside. “He’s getting along great with the guys, who like him, and you’re nauseatingly cute together.”
I nod, grinning.
“So,” Gemma says. “This is more than just a hookup, right?”
I pause. “I think so, but . . .”
“Buuuuut???” Gemma asks.
“We haven’t talked about it. And it’s still early days, and I don’t want to mess anything up by making a big deal,” I add. “You two told me just to have fun,” I say. “I’m having fun.”
“She’s right, you know,” Zoey says to Gemma before she turns back to me. “But, for what it’s worth, we like him a lot. So, if you want to change your status from ‘casually hooking up’ to ‘exclusively banging with feelings,’ we’re cool with it.”
I laugh. “Good to know.”
We return to our gang and Noah is grinning. Like, really grinning. Something’s up.
“What?” I ask, looking down to make sure a boob didn’t pop out, but no. “What’s going on?”
“I got you something,” he says, making me realize his hands are behind his back.
“If it’s more mead, I should probably go slow—that stuff is potent.”
He shakes his head as he extends a closed fist toward me. Definitely not a tankard of mead. Or a corset, thank God. He opens his hand to reveal a wishbone pendant on a chain.
What does it mean? That he wishes for us to be together? That I am his wish? That he wants me to grant him a wish?
I look up at him, and he’s smirking. “They didn’t have a whole chicken, so I figure this was the next best thing.”
I laugh and shake my head, more at myself for my romantic wishes. I’m not about to tell him what I’d been thinking. Anyway, it’s been the best day so far, and I don’t want to spoil it with a conversation about where this is—or isn’t—going.
Still, I can’t help but tease him. “This is a pretty romantic gesture, Mr. Valentine’s-is-a-bullshit-holiday,” I say. “A girl might take it the wrong way.”
“A girl should know that a real romantic gesture would cost more than seven dollars and probably won’t turn her skin green,” he returns as he gestures at me to turn around so he can put it on me.
He can downplay it all he wants. But what he doesn’t realize is that it could have been a real wishbone picked off a grocery store rotisserie chicken and put on a string, and it would still be romantic—because it means he’s thinking of me. Of what might make me laugh. Of the thing that brought us together.
That’s real romance. Deep down somewhere, he knows it, too. I don’t need to shove it in his face. I have proof of it around my neck, and that’s enough for me.
* * *
On the way home, we stop at the shelter so I can grab my schedule. “I’ll just be a minute,” I tell Noah as I’m getting out of the car.
“Don’t you get distracted,” he warns with a wry grin. Because he knows all it takes is one cute puppy face and I’m done for.
I cross my heart and blow him a kiss.
I avoid looking at the kennels and beeline to Diane’s office to take a photo of the whiteboard calendar. Proud of myself for keeping my promise, I turn right back around and head for the lobby doors.
But then I am distracted. Not by a dog, but by a guy: Hemsworth.
“There she is,” he says, smiling as he walks over to me.
“Oh, hi!” I hope my smile doesn’t betray my awkwardness. “Just here for my schedule. Gotta run!”
I point toward the door. Which, apparently, is the signal for him to walk out with me.
“I’m back from my work trip,” he says, holding the door open for me.
“So I see.”
He chuckles. “What I mean is, maybe we can go out sometime?”
“Oh.” I glance over at the car. Noah is watching us. I can’t quite see the expression on his face, but even so, it makes this a thousand times more awkward. “I’m . . . actually seeing someone, so . . .”
“Ah.” Hemsworth frowns and nods. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I understand. If . . . I mean . . .” He smiles and shakes his head. “Not that I am hoping for bad things, but if your situation changes . . .”
I give a vague nod. “Sure! I mean, thank you for understanding.”
He nods again and then heads out. I hurry back to Noah’s car.
“So, who was that guy?” Noah asks casually, as I get back inside. “Another volunteer?”
“Not exactly . . .” I pause. I’ve been wondering about our status for a while now, and maybe this is the perfect time to clarify what exactly we’re doing here.
Besides all the great sex, I mean.
I take a deep breath. “Hey, so I was thinking, uh, are we exclusive? Because we never talked about it, and I know this is all new and everything, so we don’t have to . . . But yeah, so . . . um . . . I was wondering?”
Noah’s expression is a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Are you asking because you want to date that guy?”
“No!” I blurt. “I’m not. Looking to date him, I mean. He asked me out, but I blew him off. I want to be exclusive,” I admit. “With you, in case that wasn’t obvious.”
Noah looks relieved. “I want to be exclusive, too. With you. In case that wasn’t obvious.”
I exhale loudly. “You do?”
He smiles. “I do.”
“Good.” I beam. “So it’s official?”
“As official as they come.” Noah leans over and kisses me. And kisses me. And kisses me some more.
And as I melt into his arms, I’m on top of the world.
This is the real deal. I’m falling for him, and he feels the same way about me.
And we’re about to go pick up pizza.
Could life get any more perfect than this?
20
Noah
As Eve and I approach the big front doors, I smooth down the front of my button-down shirt. For the hundredth time.
“Are you nervous?” she asks, the hint of a smile on her lips. I want to kiss it away, but now’s not the time. Because the truth is, I am nervous.
“No,” I lie.
She smirks and waves her hand in the air. “It’s just a little birthday party.”
I don’t really have any reason to be nervous; it’s not like these people are Eve’s actual family. But since
we discussed being exclusive, meeting people close to her feels different. I’m going to be judged.
There’s plenty to judge, too: I’ve just started a new business on a shoestring that is still in the red, I have zero assets, and I’m living in my godparents’ pool house.
Eve doesn’t seem to care about any of the above, but people in her circle will. Rightly so.
I take a breath and brace myself as she leads me through the retirement home. “Anything I should know?” I ask.
“You’ll be fine,” she grins. “You brought your bank records, credit report, and references, right?”
She looks so earnest that for a half a second I believe her. Until she giggles. “I’m just kidding!”
I give her a mock stern look.
“Anyway,” she says with a shrug. “Marge and Frank are awesome. Though . . . maybe a bit of an acquired taste. Do not take anything they say about each other seriously. They’re like the old couple in The Notebook.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I say.
She looks scandalized. “Do not tell me you haven’t seen The Notebook!”
I lift an eyebrow. “Is it a romantic movie?”
“YES!”
I put an arm around her. “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll watch it with you.”
“If you’re nice, maybe I’ll let you watch it with me!”
My cock twitches with interest because holy hell, she’s adorable. Especially when she’s putting me in my place.
A second later, she leads me through a door into a sunny courtyard and over to where an elderly man sits in a wheelchair, a woman on the bench next to him.
“Marge, Frank!” she says, bending to kiss each on the cheek in turn. “So great to see you! This is Noah,” she adds, turning toward me.
“Nice to meet you both,” I say, extending my hand toward Marge first. “Eve has told me so much about you.”
Frank snorts, but shakes my hand.
“We’ve heard plenty about you, too,” Marge says, giving me a once-over. “But she didn’t say you were a looker.”
“Marge!” Eve cries. “Behave yourself!”
“Pffft,” the senior says. “I’m old enough that I don’t have to. Come,” she says to me, pointing at the bench beside her. “Sit. Let’s hear all about you.”
God. This is exactly why I was nervous.
Thankfully, Eve sits on my other side. “You will not grill him, Marge,” she says, forceful. “He’s here to wish you happy birthday and have a piece of your cake.”
“Cake! He wants some of my cake?!” she cries in mock horror.
Frank finally speaks. “Leave him be, old woman. The cake is dry anyway.” He looks at me, lips pulled down into a scowl. “If you can stomach it, you’re welcome to it.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, smiling. Sort of.
He pins me with a glare. “Now, tell me, and don’t you lie to me . . .”
Oh God. I’m in hell. I nod, preparing myself.
Frank narrows his eyes, gripping the sides of his chair with his old, weathered hands as I sit there, anticipating the worst.
“49ers or Raiders?”
I nearly let out a “Fuck!” I’m so goddamn relieved. But I check myself and give the man a wry grin before answering. “I never discuss politics, religion, or my favorite teams before I really know a man, so with all due respect, I’m going to decline to answer your question for now.”
That earns me a guffaw from Marge and a nod of respect from Frank. I feel like I’ve passed a test. I see what Eve was talking about with these two.
“I’ll go get us some cake,” Eve says, getting up from the bench. “You get to know each other.”
“I’ll help you.” Marge stands up, too, albeit much more slowly. She swivels her head to look at me. “So, she can tell me more about you.”
“Marge!” Eve laughs again as she takes Marge’s arm, leading her inside.
“All right, son,” Frank says, drawing my attention to him. He’s sitting up straight, his eyes like lasers on me. Not quite the doddering old man of a second ago. “Now that the girls are gone, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“With Eve.” He points a gnarled finger at my face. “That girl is special and you sure as hell better be treating her right.”
Oh. So this is how it is.
“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding. “She’s . . .” I struggle to put it into words, because “special” doesn’t quite do justice to how I feel about her. And it’s clear this guy isn’t going to stand for a bullshit answer. “I . . . I really care about her. A lot.”
He searches my face and nods when I don’t back down. “Just make sure you treat her right. Because there’ll be trouble.”
“I have no intention of it, sir,” I assure him, feeling the urge to unbutton my shirt because it’s like a fucking pressure cooker in this courtyard.
Finally, the ladies are back with cake and tea. Thank. Fucking. God.
“You two getting along?” Marge asks, casual. But I don’t miss when she looks at Frank expectantly. He gives her a nod that I take to be his stamp of approval. Those two had this all worked out. I sort of love that they’ve got Eve’s back. But at the same time, I could have done without the Spanish inquisition.
I take a forkful of the driest cake ever made, taking comfort in the fact that at least I passed their test.
I think.
* * *
After I drop Eve off, I meet up with Will across town. I’ve gotten caught up with Eve and the Dog for a Day stuff, but now that we’ve earned enough and ordered the chicken, I’m throwing one hundred and ten percent behind Will. I need to take his campaign to the next level. I also need to get my shit together and start building my business.
Will looks up and smiles as I walk in. “Hey, stranger!” he says, reminding me of just how scarce I’ve been. The smile tells me he’s busting my balls, but he’s not wrong.
“Sorry, man,” I say. “Let me just grab a coffee and we can get started. I have some ideas for some sponsors we can approach.”
As I’m waiting for my drink, I pull out my phone and notice an email that came in from Riley, the head of PR at Perfect Match, telling me to give her a call.
“Noah!” Riley answers, the smile obvious in her voice. “Thanks for getting back to me. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with the shelter promo, but we were still all impressed with what you did.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell her, wondering what this is about.
“The fact is, I’ve been following your work for a while. You were at the top of our list when we started thinking about what firms we wanted to work with to expand our reach—we have such constant churn, you know?” She laughs. “The problem with a dating app being so good is that we’re always losing our users!”
I smile. “Not a bad problem to have.”
“Tell that to our investors!” she says wryly. “Anyway, we’re building a full-time marketing team here in-house, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming aboard.”
“Working for the company?” I ask, surprised.
“You make us sound so stuffy,” she laughs. “But really, we’re still in start-up mode. It’s a great chance to get in on the ground floor. I’ll have HR put together the offer, but I can tell you up front we’re used to getting what—and who—we want. And we’ll make it worth your while. Not just salary, but signing bonus, benefits, and relocation package.”
Wait. What? “Relocation package?” I ask, my heart sinking.
“Will that be a problem?” she asks. “Our head office is in New York and we’re a really hands-on team and do a lot of events—which you’d be involved in.”
“I . . . will have to think about it,” I tell her, suddenly feeling confused.
“You do that. I’ll get on the offer and send it over to you ASAP. Then we can talk some more. But I really think you’ll love it here,” she adds. “I’ve been with the company since the very b
eginning, and our founder, McKenna, can’t wait to meet you.”
“Thanks.” I end the call and slowly lower my phone. I almost miss the guy calling my name at the counter, so I go claim my coffee and slowly go rejoin Will at his table.
“What happened?” he asks. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
I shake my head. “Not exactly . . .”
I tell him about the offer from Perfect Match, and he hoots in enthusiasm. “Holy shit, that’s amazing!”
“It is, isn’t it.”
Yet somehow, I don’t feel so pumped.
“What’s the catch?” Will asks, frowning. “I would have thought you’d be over the moon at an offer like this. I mean just to have them ask you.”
“I know, it’s great,” I agree slowly. “But . . . it would mean relocating. Across the entire country.”
“And?”
“And, I like it here,” I reply. “I mean, it’s my home. And I’m just getting my consultancy started. Do I really want to dive straight back into another corporate job?”
“A dating app is hardly corporate,” Will points out. “They probably have massages on speed-dial and free condoms in the break room.”
I smile, but I still feel as confused as ever. “I guess I need to think about it some more.”
“Think hard,” Will warns me. “Chances like this one might not come around too often.”
* * *
I leave the café a few hours later, after setting Will up with a few ideas for sponsorship and planning his Instagram feed for the next couple of weeks. His reach is building, but he needs that something to really push him over the edge. I’m sure we’ll get him there, but as soon as we part ways, my mind is back on the offer from Perfect Match.
It’s a dream offer, there’s no doubt about it. I know I just went out on my own, but with the backing of a big company like Perfect Match, I’d be sure to make waves. Not to mention make serious bank.
I should be on board a hundred percent. Even just a few weeks ago, I’d have my bags packed already.