RUSH (City Lights, #3)(65)

“Charlotte?” Clara cried, as if we hadn’t seen each other in years, instead of the last time I picked up an order, a few weeks ago. “How are you?” She engulfed me in a hug, then quickly—very quickly—turned to Noah. “Hello, I’m Charlotte’s friend, Clara Burns.”

“Noah Lake.” He offered his hand again, stiffly, in her general direction, and I could tell he was uncomfortable.

Clara took his hand in both of hers and held on tight. “A pleasure. Charlotte told us she was working for you but she totally failed to mention how adorable you are. And tall! What, six-four? I’m five-seven and you just tower over me!”

He smiled thinly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Clara wasn’t put off. “I love your sunglasses! You get to wear them inside, right? Like Bono? Very cool.”

Anthony swooped in and hustled Clara back to work, and I leaned into Noah. “What did I tell ya about the women? She even used ‘adorable.’”

“You can’t see it but I’m rolling my eyes at you behind my sunglasses. That I wear inside. Because I’m cool like Bono.”

Anthony led us to a table in his section—a two-top by the window where passerby strolled the sidewalk on the other side. He started to hand us two menus, then stopped, wincing apologetically. I took one and waved off the other. A split second before the silence would have made Noah self-conscious; Anthony cracked a joke and then left to get us coffee.

I glanced at Noah. He sat stiffly, silently, and I started to feel guilty that this was too much for him. A busser came by—someone I didn’t recognize—and dropped off two glasses of water.

“Water on your right, about two o’clock.”

“Thanks, babe,” he said, and eased a breath. I thought he was glad for something to do with his hands while I perused the menu.

“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.

“You,” Noah said, “but I’ll settle for eggs Benedict. For now.”

“Aren’t we saucy today? I thought we were going to take it slow.”

“Whose dumb idea was that?”

I realized I was grinning ear-to-ear, but I couldn’t help it. Noah was sitting here, in a restaurant, cracking jokes, and flirting with me. Heat suffused my skin and it wasn’t the embarrassed blush kind either.

Annabelle’s began to get busier. Anthony returned to take our order but he hadn’t time to chat. Under the bustling noise and conversations, I heard my cell phone chime a text. I pulled it from my purse and checked it.

“Something wrong?” Noah asked after I stared at the message without saying anything.

“No, just my friend,” I muttered, toying with my phone. “Regina Chen, from Juilliard. She’s reminding me about a party.”

“Is that bad news?”

“It’s not just any party,” I answered. “She invites a bunch of musicians from our department and everyone brings their instrument. They play music-related drinking games, and themes from TV shows. I used to go all the time, but I haven’t been to one since…um, since I took time off.”

“When is the party?”

“Friday.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not bad,” I hedged. “But I sort of promised my best friend I’d go and now…”

Noah leaned over the table. “Why no, Charlotte? Why not go? Hang out with your friends, if nothing else.”

“Because they won’t just ‘hang out’,” I said, pricklier than I’d intended. “They’ll wonder why I won’t play, and hound me about it, and ask a bunch of questions I don’t really feel like answering.”

I thought Noah was going to hound me himself, but he only nodded thoughtfully and let the subject go.

Anthony returned with eggs Benedict and French toast. I watched Noah find the saltshaker, sniff it, set it down, pick up the pepper. He poured some into his palm, and when he had as much as he wanted, he brushed it over his food as if he’d been doing it like that for years.

My heart soared with joy that Noah seemed to be on the path toward acceptance. He wasn’t there yet—he still scowled and hunched his shoulders self-consciously when a bite of egg slipped away from his searching fork. And when someone in the kitchen dropped a huge tray of silverware onto the tile floor he swore like a sailor, flinching hard enough to slosh our coffees in their saucers. But he was trying, and I was overcome with pride. Not just for him, but for myself, for being lucky enough to witness firsthand the dawn of a new life.

When he had time, Anthony snuck in a bit of Annabelle gossip—Harris had turned out to be a terrible waiter—and Clara came by again to flirt shamelessly with Noah. Then it was time to go. But we were taking our time. Being leisurely.

I sometimes wonder how different things would have been had we left Annabelle’s five minutes sooner.

“Holy shit! Noah Lake? Noah f*cking Lake? Is that you?”

I turned to look—the entire restaurant turned to look—as a tall man with coppery curls, dressed in stylishly casual clothes, stopped at our table on his way out the door with two friends.

Noah cocked his head. “Deacon?”

“In the flesh!” The man nodded at his friends. “Hey, I’ll catch up.”

This guy, Deacon, stood over our table, hands on his hips, shaking his head from side to side. “I can’t f*cking believe it. The dead have arisen! How the hell have you been? Oh, goddamn, they weren’t kidding! You’re really f*cking blind, aren’t you?”