Mistletoe's For Kissing Under, part 4
"Suddenly it wasn't the slightest bit difficult to see Noah as a mature, very sexy grown man."
I risked a quick glance at Noah, and he was staring intently back at me. His cheeks were a very interesting shade of pink which made the blood fizz in my veins. Suddenly it wasn’t the slightest bit difficult to see Noah as a mature, very sexy grown man.
Which might be what scrambled my brain so thoroughly that I promptly word vomited all over him.
‘So, are you crushing on anyone right now? I suppose it’s a bit soon to have met someone here since you’ve only just got back, but maybe there’s a girl up north? Are you doing the long-distance thing? Or perhaps a guy – that would be awesome too. If there was, I mean. Or there’s an island-based app. SwipeWight, I think it’s called. If you were interested, that is. You'd be buried under the scrum. . .um. . .of. . .um swipers, yes.’
I stumbled to an undignified halt, mouth still ajar with shock at what I’d just blurted.
‘I’m not seeing anyone, turn-the-Paige, and long-distance relationships aren’t for me. Neither are dating apps. Too sterile and too shallow.’
Noah regarded me calmly, and I suppressed the urge to fidget like a teenager. For the first time a silence descended over us, but it felt filled up with all the words we weren’t saying.
Breaking the moment he stood, stretched lazily, and took off his coat, giving me the glorious opportunity of ogling his big shoulders in the grey University of Manchester Swimming Club hoodie. And apparently I was still afflicted with verbal diarrhoea.
‘You’re a swimmer?’ Duh. 'Have you given up skateboarding then?’
‘I still skate, but just for fun. I love eating, and I hate the gym. And on good days swimming feels almost like you’re doing it for fun too.
‘I can’t get over how different this place is.’ Changing the subject, Noah prowled around the shop. He looked at the displays, picking up a book here and there and reading the blurb before replacing it carefully. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I loved coming in here when your dad was in charge. It was like a treasure cave, little twisty paths through bookshelves piled high with no discernible order. You never knew what you might stumble across. The hours I spent in here in my teens looking for anything vaguely grubby!’ There was that adorkable pink flush again. My stomach executed a few unaccustomed flips.
‘You and every other teenage boy in Ryde.’ We grinned at each other companionably. ‘I loved it too. But when he died I had to make changes. Dad adored his books, but he was a terrible businessman. It came down to: adapt or die. And I’d always had dreams of my perfect bookshop. We’re not there yet, but we’re getting closer.’ His eyes left the book he was perusing and met mine, and his sympathy felt like a comforting blanket.
‘And what about your writing? I love how you’re showcasing local authors, but why can’t I see any of your books around the place?’
My face flooded with colour, so fast and strong that my cheeks lit up like a neon sign.
‘What d’you mean?’ I did my best to look confused, like I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. I failed.
‘Those Christmas catch-up letters go both ways, problem-Paige. Or should I call you Lovel Altaluna? You don’t have any secrets either, you know. I’ve read them all, and they’re really good. Gotta say, they’re steamier than I expected, but it works for me.’ Did his eyes just drop to my boobs before landing back on my mouth? Nervously I gnawed at my lower lip and oh yes, Noah was definitely paying attention!
‘Yes, well, don’t get too attached. I’m moving onto mermen.’ I eyed him repressively for a moment, before it occurred to me that if I wanted an image of a merman to appeal to my readers, Noah would do very nicely, thank you. This was followed swiftly by a swift stab of something stabby stabbing swiftly and stabbily into my chest at the idea of my readers ogling him the way I’d just done.
Surely I couldn’t be jealous?
