“Yeah.”
We stare at each other in silence until he lifts his chin in my direction. “Do we have a few minutes before we can eat it?”
A million questions float through my mind. Why are you asking? Do you want to eat me first? Those two might just be on repeat too. So I keep my mouth shut and nod instead.
“Great.” He pushes off the counter, his tall, lean body towering over mine. “Want to show me more of your work?”
“My . . . work?”
“Yeah. Only if you want to, of course. I looked up some of your books online, but I bet they look a lot better when they’re printed.”
Oh, that sweet, sweet man.
“Sure.” I make a waving motion with my hand to follow me and walk through the living room, past the front door, and to the small hallway that’s off to one side with my office and a bathroom.
When I walk inside, an immediate calm washes over me at the sight of my garden out the window. It offers great light, and the same sense of pride and happiness overcomes me whenever I see my workspace. It’s my element, the time when I most feel like myself. “There you go.”
My drafting table, my desk, my drawing pads—both paper and digital—my bookshelves filled with books I love, and books I’ve illustrated.
“So this is where you create your magic?” Noah walks around, stopping at the bookshelves, pulling out books and flipping through them. Smiling. Laughing. Seeing him enjoy my work makes my chest thump to a happy beat.
When he makes his way back to my desk, he picks up a stray piece of paper.
Looking at it, leaning closer, inspecting it more.
"Holy shit, is that . . . is that us?" He turns the paper around like I don't already know what he's talking about.
Of course, I had that drawing lying on my desk, because I've been staring at it when I'm supposed to be working.
But surprisingly, it has helped me make progress with the drafts for my submission. I changed the looks of the characters to match them with the description of the characters. Shorter than Noah and me, darker skin and unruly black curls for the girl, and olive skin for the boy with wavy brown hair.
And I have to say, these are some of my favorite drawings I’ve ever done. For some strange reason, it was easier for me to picture this abstract world when I imagined it with Noah and me.
“It’s for a young adult illustration competition I’m going to enter. Not the drawing with us of course, but the theme is the same.”
“You’ll do amazing. These are great.”
“Thanks.”
He puts the paper back down and looks around the room as if it’s a magical place. Would it be very inappropriate to kiss him? Because that’s honestly all I can think about right now.
That undeniable heat is creeping up my face again. “I wouldn’t call it magic, but yes, this is where I sit most of the week to work.”
“And you love it?”
Why does his gaze have to be so intense? “Yes.”
“Good.” He looks like he wants to say more. “Do you . . . do you mind if I take a picture of it?”
To say his question takes me by surprise is an understatement, but it also makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” He gets out his phone and positions it over the paper. When he’s done, and satisfied, his phone vibrates in his hand. He reads whatever is on the screen. When he looks up, he studies me. “Feel like going to a kids’ birthday party with me on Sunday?”
I gulp.
“Ryan and Harper’s baby girl turns one and they’re throwing her a party.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “Never mind, I know it’s crazy. You don’t have to go with me, no worries.”
“No, it’s okay. I’d love to come with you,” I blurt out, not sure I really mean it. Even though I’ve been curious to meet Noah’s friends and their kids. To see who he’s been around all these years when I wasn’t around. “But only if you come to the Parrot Lounge with me on Friday.”
“The Parrot Lounge?” His eyebrows shoot up.
“Yup. My uncle Francesco’s tiki bar. Have you been there?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh that’s his? I haven’t been there yet, but I’ve heard interesting things about it.”
“Well”—I’m ready to defend my uncle and his bar—“it is an interesting place with interesting people.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
He types on his