Page 20 of The Beach House
“You were thinking it,” he argued. “I know it smells burnt. At least you can’t really see it, though, because of the sauce.”
I laughed again. “Who knew you were such a chef?”
He winked, a smirk stretching over his face. “I’m a man of many talents, Elle, what can I say?”
“Don’t get too arrogant,” I warned him.
“Yeah, you’re right. Could give us food poisoning.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” I teased, and went round him to sit down. The food looked good—no, it looked delicious, and it actually smelled fantastic too. It was some kind of chicken casserole with vegetables and a thick reddish sauce.
The evening passed in a hazy blur of good food and laughter, my stomach fizzing every time Noah reached his hand out to mine.
After we finished dinner, we walked down the familiar path to the beach, which we both knew by heart (which was just as well, given how dark it was already), our arms brushing against each other. At some point, our fingers interlocked too. Hand in hand like that, we walked onto the beach.
The clouds had been gathering all afternoon and now blotted out the sky to a starless, inky black. The water was just as dark, the white foam of the waves breaking on the shore. Neither of us spoke as we strolled on the wet sand, the sea washing up and over our feet. I was carrying my sandals in my free hand, dangling them from my fingertips. Noah carried his flip-flops and had rolled his jeans up too.
And it was nice. Just being quiet, I mean. The only sound was the crashing water off to the side. You couldn’t even hear any trace of distant traffic. There was the occasional bark of a dog, though—we weren’t the only people taking a nighttime wander on the beach.
I loved it.
There was a grumble overhead.
I glanced up, craning my neck.
“It’s probably not going to come to anything,” Noah said, meaning the thunder.
We walked along a little farther before I said, “Thank you. For doing all this, I mean.”
“All we’re doing is walking on the beach.”
“No, I mean, cooking and stuff.”
He shrugged. “It was just a casserole. Mom’s recipe.”
“I mean it. This was a great date night. Thank you.”
I pulled Noah to a stop so I could lean up to kiss him.
Something cold and wet landed on my nose before I had a chance. Then another cold, wet thing landed on my temple, trickling down beside my eye.
Tilting my head back, I looked up at almost the same time as Noah.
Then those threatening, rolling clouds just ripped open, and torrential rain started beating down on us all of a sudden. I let out a shriek of surprise. Noah was already running for shelter, dragging me behind him and going so fast I kept stumbling over my own feet. The sand we kicked up stuck on my legs, and my ponytail was coming loose too.
The rain hammered down, soaking me to the bone. My hair stuck round my neck or was plastered to my face where it had come loose from my ponytail. I could feel my mascara running, sticking my eyelashes together.
We made it back up to the beach house, Noah ushering me in first and hauling the door closed behind us.
We were both breathing hard and dripping water onto the floor. Thunder rumbled again outside.
“You know you said this was a great date night?”
I looked over at Noah and we both burst out laughing.
Lovesick as it sounds, I felt almost hypnotized by him in that moment. Everything about him was perfect in my eyes—from the look he was giving me to the way he was so much taller than me, even to his crooked nose.
“I love you.”
