Chapter Thirty-Eight

NOELY

“You smell nice.”

“Uh, thank you,” I reply to the Uber driver taking me to the restaurant. I’m glad I smell good, because from the way I’ve been sweating ever since I put on this dress, I’d think I smelled like a pungent Vidalia onion.

“Are you meeting someone special tonight?”

Staring out the window, I answer, “Yeah, someone very special.”

When I heard back from Jack—or NY152—I felt relief. Initially. I know it’s Jack who’s behind all of this, but he second-guessed our relationship, questioned whether we were an us. As a result, I lost some of my confidence. Again. I hope that when we finally admit how we truly feel about each other, that this discomfort will go. I told him it would crush me if he backed away, and I wasn’t lying. He’s become someone so important to me. Those days without him were . . . agony.

I’ve tried to remind myself of how well we connect. The fun and deep conversations, the laughs, the games, the teasing . . . the . . . well, you know, what we did on my dressing room table. Let’s not go into detail about that weak moment, even though it was a deliciously weak moment, a moment I wouldn’t mind repeating, not even in the slightest. Honestly, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I mean, we’ve spent a lot of time together and we, you know, did it on my dressing room table.

“Oh, he must be a very lucky man.” As she pulls up to the curb, the Uber driver, a sweet older lady, turns in her seat and says, “Do you want to touch-up your lipstick?”

Eyes wide, I press my fingers against my lips. “Does it need touching up?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It looks great.”

Okay . . . then why say that? Now I feel self-conscious.

“Smile for me, sweetheart. Let me see if you have lipstick on your teeth. I’m notorious for having a large line across mine.”

Probably because she uses lipstick from the fifties.

Awkwardly, I smile at her, showing my teeth. In return, she gives me a thumbs up. “All clear, honey.” Clapping her hands, she says, “I hope you have a wonderful night.”

“Thank you.” I gather myself and open the door. “Have a good one.”

“You too, knock him dead!”

She’s still giving me the thumbs up as I walk toward the restaurant. I smile to myself, happy for the small distraction from my nerves.

Last time I was here, I was drunk. No, that’s not quite the way to put it. I was absolutely cabbaged. Trying to make Jack jealous while acting like an ass in front of Hayden. Why he continued to go out with me, I have no idea. Maybe I was entertaining in my turtleneck. Can’t hate on a girl who rocks a turtleneck like it’s a laced-up bustier.

I open the door to the restaurant, the white exposed brick calming me from its familiarity. Veronica smiles brightly.

“Miss Clark, what a pleasure to see you again.”

“Hi.” I wave with a tight smile, feeling a little embarrassed. “Lucky number four.” I cross my fingers and she smiles kindly.

“Shall I show you to the bar?”

I hold up my hand. “I think I’ve got it, thank you, though.” I turn toward the bar when I stop and say, “Veronica, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Miss Clark.” She’s so pretty and sweet; I have a slight crush on her.

Only a slight one.

“Are you with someone?”

She nods with a bright smile. “I am.” She glances in Danny’s direction and I put two and two together.

“You’re with Danny? Wow, that’s . . . that’s great.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and eyes Danny for a second before turning back to the screen in front of her. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“You don’t happen to have any dating advice for me, do you?”

Chuckling quietly, she says, “Just be yourself, Miss Clark.”

With that, she turns back to the screen. Just be myself, well, that’s easy.

I walk over to the bar where Danny is filling a tumbler with the bar gun and take a seat.

“Miss Clark, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

It’s nice they know me by name here, but also slightly embarrassing. It’s not like a coffee shop where they know my order the minute I walk up; it’s a dating restaurant.

“I’m doing okay, a little tense.”

“I would be shocked if you weren’t. Going on a first date is always nerve-racking, but isn’t it a little thrilling?”

“No.” I shake my head and laugh. “Not at this point. I’m just . . . really nervous.”

Setting the glass down, Danny leans on the bar in front of me, his hands gripping the edge. “Sometimes, we can be blind to what’s right in front of us because of all the nerves and anxiety of meeting someone new, but the heart”—he taps his chest—“is never blind, so listen to what it’s telling you.” He winks and walks to the other side of the bar to hand someone their drink. Why are the employees here so damn insightful? Was that a requirement? Must be great at making patrons feel at ease. If so, well done, Jack, well done.

Tapping the top of the bar countertop, I look around the restaurant, listening to the light hum of conversation. There are old couples, young, gay, and bi-racial with, I presume, one giant thing in common: they are looking for love. I’m glad I’m not the only one.

There is a tap on my shoulder and immediately my stomach flutters with nerves. This is it. Deep breath.

Shaking slightly, I turn around where I’m greeted by a cocky smirk that is all too familiar.

“Hey there, Sassy.”

Beck.

What the . . .

Stunned and caught off guard, I sit a little taller.

“Beck.” I clear my throat, feeling . . . God, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I wasn’t expecting to see that leather jacket and motorcycle helmet tonight. I was expecting to be greeted by a Windsor knot. “Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t know if I should be insulted or not.” He winks and pulls my hand to his mouth where he lightly kisses it.

I just . . . I don’t . . .

I mean . . .

Beck is NY152? I don’t understand how that is even possible. All the clues hinted toward Jack. He had Butterfingers in his trashcan for crying out loud. He had a new house. He had a wicker basket.

Maybe it was all coincidence. One giant coincidence. Orrrrrr, it could be the dating gods messing with my head. Surely Beck isn’t here on a date yet. He propositioned me recently. Why are men so confusing? Was I just seeing things in Jack’s house because I wanted it to be him? Was I trying to convince myself that NY152 was Jack because deep in my heart, he’s the one I want?

When Beck’s lips press against the back of my hand, I feel . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not like I used to. Not like when Jack is in the room, or when he looks at me, his dark eyelashes blanketing his irises causing a serious wave of heat to erupt all over my body.

“You look gorgeous.”

I glance at the deep purple dress I chose to wear tonight along with my black strappy heels.

“Thank you.” Still stunned, I sit back and say, “I had no idea.” I feel like I should follow up my sentence with something like “but I’m pleasantly surprised,” but I don’t think I am. So instead, to make this awkward, I place my hand on his chest above his heart that seems to be beating at a normal pace, unlike mine that almost feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest.

Beck’s brows draw together just as I catch a movement of navy blue behind him. Looking over his shoulder, I make eye contact with deep chocolate eyes. Eyes that have caressed me as they’ve wandered up and down my body. Eyes that have haunted my dreams, made me dizzy in lust. Eyes I want to wake to daily.

Jack.

And just like that, my stomach flips, my veins buzz, and in my heart, I know. He’s the one.

But just when my excitement starts to get the best of me from seeing him, he slowly backs away, his eyes cast on Beck.

Oh crap.

“You had no idea about what?” Beck asks, pulling my attention toward him.

“Uh.” I look over Beck’s shoulder again to see Jack give Veronica a curt nod and head outside.

Crap, crap, crap.

I hop off my chair, purse in hand, and start toward the door, but Beck snags my arm before I can get any farther. “What’s going on, Sassy?”

I glance at the door, willing Jack to come back before I respond to Beck. “Long story.” I shake my head. “But the man I want in my life just walked out that door and if I don’t go after him, I’ll lose my chance at being with him.”

A small smile plays over Beck’s lips. “Then what are you waiting for, Sassy? Go get him.”

Letting me go, he steps aside before giving me a playful nudge toward the door. “Go.”

Not wasting any more time, I run past Veronica—who has a bright smile on her lips—out the door and onto the street. Out front, I look in both directions until I find Jack’s retreating back, his shoulders tense, but his head held high.

I take off after him, my heels pounding on the cement beneath me. “Jack,” I call out, as if I’m in my very own movie, the music coming to a crescendo, building and building. “Jack, wait!”

The moment he turns around, I know he’s the one because my heart skips a beat.

Your heart is never blind.

This couldn’t be more true. Jack is the one, my match, the man I’m supposed to be with, and my heart is showing me loud and clear.

When I reach him, there is an unsure look on his face, almost as if he isn’t entirely confident in the bond between us.

“Jack,” I breathe out and put my hand on the lapel of his smooth suit jacket, the fabric so rich. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Lips pressed together, he looks at the ground and nods.

Wanting to see those eyes of his, I lift his chin and say in my best Meg Ryan voice, “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.” The famous quote from You’ve Got Mail at the end of the movie when they finally meet in the park is the only thing I can think to say at this moment.

The tension in Jack’s shoulders ease, and the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen crosses his face. Pulling me in tightly by the small of my back, he presses his forehead against mine. In a sultry voice, he asks, “Will you go out on a second date with me, ShopGirl?”

Wrapping my arms around his tapered waist, I take no time in answering him. “I would want nothing more than to date you, NY152.”

“Thank you, Tom Hanks.” Chuckling, he brings my chin up with his index finger and studies my eyes right before his lips press against mine, sending my heart into a tailspin of lust.

It’s him. It’s him.

It’s what my heart keeps pounding out, telling me. This is the man I need to be with, the man I’m meant to be with.

He’s my very own love story.