For the next few days, Mara pretended she was totally fine.
She was not fine.
She was the opposite of fine.
She was un-fine in seventeen different languages.
Every time she thought about Noah’s hand brushing hers, the charm warming, the way he’d said I’m proud of you… her breath caught in her throat.
And every time she thought about how close they’d come to kissing—even with rules in place—her pulse did a very dramatic thing.
She tried hiding from him.
This worked for approximately:
2 minutes
14 seconds
And one half of a hallway
Because Noah found her anyway.
Not in a clingy way.
Not in a pushy way.
In a gentle, reliable, maddening way.
He’d appear with a cup of tea on her way out.
Or hold the building door when she was juggling her purse.
Or send a text that made her laug
