Page 11 of Love Spell

“Yeah.I thought you didn’t — never mind.”He finished his drink at a gulp.

Absently flicking his fingers for the barman again, Timo couldn’t take his eyes off the elegant profile.Noah’s hair, always combed back neatly at work, was starting to tumble around his temples.His ears, which Timo had never noticed before, were small enough that Timo could easily get his mouth around one.He’d never had a thing for ears before.Still, the idea was intriguing.

“I didn’t what?”Timo asked after a mental ear nibble.

“Nothing.”

“Talk about Russia?”

Noah cast him a darting glance and away.He cleared his throat.

“What do they say about me?No, never mind.Changing the subject again.What do you read?Have a favourite novel?”

Noah choked, only for Timo to realise he was, in fact, laughing, though it was a rigid, unwilling laugh.He finished with coughs as the barman reached them.

“You like sweet cocktails?”Timo prompted his coughing companion.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”Noah wiped the corner of one streaming eye with a knuckle.

“Couple of hurricanes,” Timo told the barman while Noah shook his head.

“No, I’m not really —”

But the man was already gone.

“… much of a drinker,” Noah mumbled.“Kind of strong, aren’t they?”

“Hurricane?”Timo chuckled.“Not at all.You don’t have to finish if it’s too much.”While Noah fished a tissue from his pocket, Timo again caught the bartender’s eye and made a double tipping motion with his own right hand.The man nodded.Timo returned his smile to Noah.“Sorry, what was so funny?”

Noah stuffed the tissue away after dabbing his eyes.“Nothing.”

“No one likes a pathological liar, Noah.”

“What?”

“You keep saying somethings are nothings.”Timo tried for his sweetest smile, eyes hooded, showing Noah that it was okay not to take him seriously.

Instead of reassured, Noah only glanced around again, looking first to the table of his coworkers, then towards the door, all in a flicker before returning to Timo.

“All right, well, I thought Russia might be a sensitive subject, and coming off of that you ask what’s my favourite novel —”

“Russian?”

“Yeah —” This time Noah’s laugh was a breath, shaking his head again.

“I promise not to hold it against you if you promise not to hold it against me that my favourite novel is American.”

“No shit?”He was actually smiling a bit, just a bit, but it was real — not panicky.

Timo grinned.“No shit.”

Eye contact in silence for three, four, five seconds before Noah looked away.A small cough.“I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours?”Another quick glance like am embarrassed schoolboy.

“Better yet, guess?”

“Oh yeah?You really think you can guess my favourite novel?”

“You first,” Timo said.

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