Page 41 of Spell Ya Later

My arms tighten around his neck, pressing myself to every lanky inch of him as his scent—bergamot, neroli, book pages, and green tangerine—fills my lungs. I breathe in deep.

He pulls back just a hair, eyes meeting mine, nuzzling my nose. “Missed you.”

Could he be any sweeter? My God.

“I missedyou.”

“I have two plans for the evening, depending on your comfort level.” He doesn’t release me from his hold, for which I am thankful. “I made up a picnic basket. If you’d like, we could go to a picnic area in the Metroparks and watch the sunset. Or we could take the picnic basket upstairs or to my place, and we could watch a movie on Streemz.”

Did he just ask me to Streemz and chill? I thought that only happened to girls on social media. I’m not mad about it though.

“A night in sounds perfect.” I smile, disengaging from the hug and taking his hand. We get the picnic basket from his back seat, and I lead him upstairs to my oasis.

Thankfully the place is reasonably tidy.

Noah’s breath leaves him in awhoosh, hand squeezing mine as his eyes dart around the space. He places the basket on the counter and walks further in, not releasing me.

“This place is fantastic, Hazel.” He turns to me, eyes glittering in the low lamplight. “It’s artistic and cozy. Safe. Just like you.”

Something has to be wrong with this guy. He’s always saying the right thing, always positive, but I don’t get the willies. There’s no nagging punch in my gut telling me that he’s fake or shady or just trying to get in my pants.

There’s just the electricity. And the electricity feelsgood.

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing what you packed.”

He grins, opening the basket. “I’m going to be honest. I can’t cook, despite Nonna Ricci trying to drill it into me. I burn just about everything. But, she helped me make this.”

“You got her to help you?” I can’t take the astonishment out of my voice. I can’t hide the surprise, the disbelief, the sheerobviousness that no one has ever done something like this for me.

Melted. I have melted. I am puddle.

Noah’s brow furrows just a little, two small lines forming in the middle of his forehead, and he comes to me. My thumb reaches up and smooths out the crease, hand settling on his cheek.

His head dips, lips pressing gently against the very tip of my nose. “I’d risk burning just to see you smile.”

Fucking writers, man. They know exactly how to turn you into goo.

How do you even respond to that? Those brown-black eyes—with that little green star in the corner of the right one—are threatening to swallow me whole, and I want to be devoured. I lift onto the very tips of my toes and press our lips together, trying to convey what I don’t have the words to express.

It’s been quick. Frighteningly quick. There is still so much more to unpack, to unearth, to learn about Noah. But the buzz.

The buzz. The electricity. The current.

The current demands. Reassures that this is right, that we are right, that we are everything.

I haven’t felt judged. I haven’t felt repressed. There is no controlling nature, no dislike of who I am as a person. Each layer I reveal, each part of myself I show him, is accepted with enthusiasm.

He groans. “Hazel.”

It’s the same way, the same inflection, as when he kissed me for the first time. An awe—a reverence that I’ve never experienced.

“Noah.” I smile, tongue darting out between my parted lips. His eyes track the motion, keeping me pressed against all the lanky angles of his body.

“What the hell are you doing to me?”

I have no idea, but I’m enjoying every damn second, you sexy octopus.

“Kissing you,” I reply instead. “Would you like me to stop?”