Page 70 of City of Love

He laughs, looking over at me. “Like what?”

“Hmm,” I say, thinking. Then an idea comes to me. “Let’s make bucket lists! Or if you don’t want to, I can just make one and you can help me.”

Noel’s dark brows go up, his mouth still curved into a soft smile. “A bucket list? Where did this desire come from?”

I shrug, standing up. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life. A list seems like a good idea. Plus it could be fun! Come on, let’s do it. Do you have paper here?”

Noel shakes his head, looking amused, but points to a drawer in the kitchen area. I quickly go grab two pieces of paper and two pens before returning to the couch and settling next to him.

“All right,” I say. I’m actually kind of excited about this; I’ve never made a bucket list before, but the concept is fun. Plus you should figure out what you want in life, right? And this is a great way to start. “Let’s do this!” I glance over at Noel. “Are you going to do one, or are you going to help me?”

“I’ll help you,” he says, smiling at me.

I nod. “Well, for starters, while we were at the shelter I might have figured out what direction I want to go. Career-wise, I mean,” I say.

Noel looks surprised, but his smile widens. “And?”

“And I’d like to do something…well, it might sound silly,” I say, suddenly embarrassed.

He shakes his head. “It won’t sound silly at all. You don’t have to tell me, though,” he says, his voice gentle. He lifts his hand, trailing one finger down the line of my jaw before tucking some hair behind my ear.

I try to suppress my shiver at his touch, but I’m not entirely successful.

“Um, well, it might be cool to work with women?” I say, still a little flustered. I get my head on straight as I continue to speak, though. “Like the women in battered women’s shelters. Maybe provide childcare and then organize classes they could take—classes to teach them employable skills, for one,” I say, getting more excited the more I think about it, “but also fun things, like makeup and hair tutorials. I think so many of those women have completely destroyed confidence. Teaching them how to provide for themselves, helping them feel beautiful and strong again—that would have to be helpful for them, right? I mean, it wouldn’t solve their problems by any means, but it could help them feel more confident. Wouldn’t it?” I finish.

I’ve been staring at a spot on the wall opposite us, but now I return my gaze to Noel.

The look on his face isn’t one I can interpret completely. It’s filled with warmth and pride, but it’s also glowing with something I can’t quite name—something affectionate, but…more complex.

I don’t know exactly what that means, but I do know that I want him to look at me this way forever. Today, tomorrow, twenty years from now, fifty years from now—

My mind catches on that realization, and I blink in surprise, momentarily stunned. Do I really see myself with Noel fifty years from now?

Maybe conventional wisdom would say I shouldn’t. He’s been thriving as a street thief for years. He’s bossy and a control freak.

And yet…

The answer is easy. Everything in me knows that I want him by my side in fifty years. One of his greatest desires is to help the people around him. He’s fiercely protective of the people he cares about, and he’s incredibly loyal. He makes me laugh. And as gruff as he can be with others, with me he’s gentle and sweet—and, yes, swoony.

Incrediblyswoony.

“Lydia?”

I blink, startling out of my realization to see the swoony man in question looking at me with a raised brow.

“Yeah?” I say, my voice a little breathless.

“Welcome back,” he says wryly. “Where did you go there?”

“Nowhere,” I say, maybe too quickly, because a little smirk pulls at the corner of Noel’s very kissable lips—

No! Stop it! Do not think of kissing the swoony man!

“No, really—I insist,” he says, his smirk widening as he leans back and folds his arms across his chest. “You’re blushing, so it must be good.”

I clear my throat. “It’s none of your business”—kissing Noel is one hundred percent his business, but whatever—“and anyway, we need to be focusing on our bucket lists. My bucket list,” I say, correcting myself.

Noel narrows his eyes a little before slowly, slowly leaning forward—closer and closer until he’s just a breath away. “I could make you talk, you know,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement. But his gaze darts to my lips, and the amusement fades as something else sparks to life. “I can beveryconvincing.”

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