Page 44 of Just My Type
And the kicker? In all the time I’ve spent alone, I didn’t do the thing I promised myself I would do when I woke up in Vegas and found myself accidentally married to the hot, cheerful, strangely intuitive guy who makes my stomach swoop and my soul quiet. I didn’t do any research on annulments. I didn’t call a lawyer to get the process going. Every time I started to do exactly that, my brain would serve me up a memory of the way Noah looks at me when I speak. The way his eyes light up and his lips tip up in a smile. The way he listens to me—really listens like he’s interested in what I have to say.
I don’t think anyone has ever really been that interested in what I have to say. Brett definitely wasn’t. But Noah is. So, when I remember that I forget the wordsaccidental marriageandannulmenteven exist, and I don’t really know what to do about that.
Sitting here on the roof with my laptop on my knees and barely any words on the screen, I can admit to myself that I came up here tonight instead of trying to write in my apartment because I was hoping he would find me. Because I think it’s possible that the only time I’m able to write anything at all is after I spend time with him. Because after a week, I missed his face. The way he makes me laugh. I just missed him, and I’m self-aware enough to admit that.
Mostly.
I shut my laptop and set it down on the ground. “I’m trying to write, but I can’t. All my words are bad.”
Noah pushes off the wall, striding over and sitting down next to me. “I bet they’re not. Can I read them?”
He reaches for my laptop, and I slap his hand away. “Definitely not. They’re actually terrible.”
“I really doubt it, but even if they are, you’re sitting here with your laptop, even when it’s hard. You’re doing the thing.”
My stomach twists because what I am doing is the exactopposite ofthe thing. “I’m really not. I’ve been sitting here for hours, and all I managed was, like, ten awful sentences. Tomorrow I probably won’t be able to write any words at all.”
Noah shrugs, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Today is today, and today, you wrote words. You’re trying. Proud of you, Gorgeous.”
For reasons passing understanding, his words sink in, drowning out Brett’s voice and my roaring self-doubt. “I’m sorry I ignored you for a week.”
Noah gives me a soft smile and takes both of my hands in his. “Vegas was a lot for you.”
I nod. “It was.”
“Even without the whole drunk marriage, it would have been.”
I give him a wry smile. “I’m not exactly the most social human alive. A weekend keeping up with the whirlwind that is my younger sister, and I need to sleep for a year.”
Noah squeezes my hands. “I know. Throw in some drunk karaoke and an accidental marriage, and you needed a minute to get your bearings.”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Thanks for understanding.”
He lets go of one of my hands and pushes my hair behind my ear, resting his hand on my cheek. “I understand you, Han. I think I have for a long time. You don’t have to thank me for that. And you don’t have to apologize to me for being yourself. I don’t want you to be anyone except for exactly who you are.”
My heart stutters in my chest at his words. Noah’s eyes are dark and serious, and he’s looking at me like he can see straight to the heart of me. I’m starting to believe he can do exactly that.
“So, what are you doing up here?” I ask casually, trying to get my feelings locked down before I spill them all over him.
“Would it freak you out to know that I’ve come up here every day, multiple times a day, since we got back from Vegas, hoping I would run into you?”
“You were literally at my door every morning dropping off coffee and muffins. You didn’t want to just knock?”
He shrugs. “You weren’t answering my texts, and like I said, I figured you needed some time alone. But that didn’t stop me from coming up here hoping to see your face. I really missed your face.”
“I missed you too,” I mumble. Feeling the truth of the words, even though they come out before I can stop them. The grin that splits his face has my heart knocking against my ribs.
“I knew it!” he exclaims. “You’re so obsessed with me.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep dreaming.”
“Gorgeous, I always dream of you. Now, you said something about writing words. That means we need to celebrate.”
I tug my hands away from him and spin so I’m facing the view, trying to get some distance I don’t really want but I think I need. “We don’t need to celebrate writing terrible words. I was thinking about ordering a consolation pizza.”
“No.” Noah turns so we’re sitting side-by-side, both of us looking out over the city. “We can order pizza any night. That’s not a celebration.”
I eye him. “I said consolation, not celebration. And I don’t think I mentioned anything about a we.”
