I was buzzing for the rest of my shift — and not just from the free coffee we all guzzled when no one was looking. Noah thought he had won the lottery. I thought I had walked into a fairytale. I didn’t, but I felt a great urge to pinch myself to make sure I was awake, and it had all actually happened.
I guess I would find out how true this all was when Noah came back at five.
Feeling really happy about my boldness, I smiled briefly at myself. I was being the person I wished I could be: strong, sexy, open, afraid of nothing. I felt another smile creeping back to the edges of my lips.
Finishing my shift, I took off my name-tag, the only bit of identification involved in working at the Java Cafe, and sat at one of the tables, trying to act like I was just another customer even though everyone I worked with would recognize me instantly. I liked to suspend disbelief on occasion. You know, like you do. Life was a lot more fun that way.
Noah was late. At least according to what I remembered — it could have been a beautiful waking dream, I supposed. That was a hypothesis that only seemed more likely by his absence. Just as I was about to give up on the entire concept — and with it, a tiny sliver of my sanity —Noah came in through the door, adorably flushed.
“Sorry, work,” he grunted, hastily pulling a chair back from the table I had chosen.
“It’s okay,” I said, resisting the urge to literally bat my eyelashes at the sexy lawyer.
Despite having clearly just been running, Noah had yet to even break a sweat. His cheeks were flushed, as already noted, and his breaths were short, almost in a sexy, panting way, but he remained perfectly dry and smelling like his choice of cologne. Eddie Bauer’s Adventurer by the smell of him.
It was a scent that took me back to high-school and the quiet but clearly intelligent boy I sat next to in math class. I used to glance at his grades when the teacher handed back the assignments, always somewhat jealous and intrigued. The kid was a lanky, pale example of gothy geekdom who wore a black trench coat, read Proust seriously, and listened to heavy metal ironically.
“Have you been waiting long?” Mr. Wells asked, taking off his dress coat and snapping me back into the present.
“No, not really,” I said, averting my eyes, my natural shyness reasserting itself.
“Good, good.” He sat and folded his legs by placing one ankle on the other’s knee.
We looked at each other. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure what to say, so I picked up my mug and took a sip. Noah had nothing in front of him to drink.
“Did you order already?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?”
I shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Oh, no reason, really, I just have a staff discount is all.”
“Ah,” he said and nodded his head slightly.
It was that moment I remembered that I had heard that Mr. Wells was richer than Gates, being both a high-priced lawyer and born into a wealthy family. I felt the warmth return to my cheeks. I couldn’t help it. The sudden urge to get up and leave made my chest quiver, but I decided to stick it out, lest the bravest thing I had yet done in my life be all for naught.
“So, um, how do you want to do this?” I asked, trying to say something before my courage completely left. “I mean, the whole fake fiancée thing.”
He scratched the sexy, blonde stubble on his chin. “I’ve been thinking about that. I figure it is most important to get our story straight on how we first met. It is likely to be one of the first questions we’re asked. Particularly with my mother.”
“Okay,” I said and looked at him expectantly.
“Any ideas?”
It became obvious that Noah wasn’t creative in the story making process. He blinked his eyes at me, looking lost.
My mind was also blank, so I traced the handle of my coffee cup. “Um, at church?”
“That might not go off super well,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I attend the same church as my parents,” he pointed out. “They know everyone there and would wonder why they hadn’t seen you.”
“Ah.”
One of the other baristas walked over and set a steaming latte in front of Mr. Wells. She blinked at me, suspiciously raising her eyebrows. Hiding my lips behind my hand, I mouthed for her to “go away.” She giggled and walked off.
Noah looked at me but didn’t ask any questions. His cheekbones were perfect, and I imagined carefully running my finger down the sharp line of his jaw.
He sighed, gave a little shrug of his broad shoulders, and turned to face the front door of the café. “I suppose we could tell the truth and say that we met at work. Your work in any case.” He stopped, lifting his latte to his lips, but he didn’t take a sip. Instead, his sturdy fingers tapped a rhythm on the porcelain. “However, we might not want to say what you do.”