Page 1 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Noah

I had exactly two goals for my time back in Havenwood:

Neither of those goals included stepping foot into The Rivermere Bistro.

And yet, here I was.

Dragged through the heavy oak doors of the restaurant by Elliott Brooks, against my will, my pride, and my better judgment.

The moment we stepped inside, the familiar smell of espresso and fresh bread hit me, layered with seared steak, rosemary, and something faintly sweet, maybe caramelized pears.

The air buzzed with low conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter.

Everything about it felt polished but relaxed, refined without trying too hard.

Dim lighting from antique sconces warmed the exposed brick and dark wood, giving The Rivermere Bistro its easy, understated charm.

I had never particularly cared for places like this. Too loud, too public, too full of people who might recognize me. The kind of place where you were meant to linger over a glass of wine and engage in deep, meaningful conversations about things I had no interest in discussing.

Elliott, on the other hand, thrived in places like this.

“See? I told you we’d beat the rush,” Elliott said, steering us toward a quiet table by the window.

He moved with the confidence of someone who actually enjoyed being around people, but he’d made sure we were early, just like I preferred.

He offered the hostess a warm smile, all-natural charm and ease, then pulled out a chair for me with a little grin, like this was already going well.

I surveyed the dining room as I grabbed a menu, using it as a flimsy shield between me and any potential conversation.

“If I order fast enough, maybe I can escape before…”

“Well, well, well. A new face.”

The voice was smooth and warm, threaded with amusement, dipped in something dangerously close to flirtation.

I looked up.

And immediately regretted it.

Standing beside our table was a problem.

A tall, broad-shouldered, ridiculously good-looking problem, dressed in a fitted black button-down with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms and a single leather bracelet worn loosely around his wrist. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, like he had run his fingers through it a dozen times today without bothering to check where it landed.

Hopefully he washed his hands before approaching tables and handling food.

But it was his eyes that stood out most; hazel, bright with mischief, the kind of eyes that could make a person second-guess everything they thought they knew.

“Hi! I’m Evan, I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” he said smoothly, as he slipped into our space and filled our water glasses.

His gaze danced to Elliott, and something like recognition lit up his face.

“Wait, I remember you. You were here a few weeks ago, right? Sat over at the window booth, great table, nice view.”

Elliott grinned, clearly enjoying this. “Guilty.”

Evan’s smile widened then his attention shifted to me. “Haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, eyes scanning me like he was figuring me out in real time. Then, as if he already had, his eyes deepened. “And trust me, I’d remember.”

I blinked.

Wait, was he flirting?

No. Definitely not .

“That’s a bold assumption,” I said flatly, adjusting my glasses.

Across the table, Elliott let out a low, amused sound.

I ignored him.

Evan, entirely unfazed, tapped his pen against his notepad, his head tilted just slightly, like this was all very entertaining for him. “It’s my job to remember faces,” he said, then, his eyes flickering with something playful, he added, “And yours? Distinct.”

I didn’t know what to do with that.

The comment landed somewhere between an observation and a challenge, and instead of acknowledging the slow burn creeping up my neck, I turned and looked back to the menu.

“Pan-seared chicken with rosemary-garlic butter, roasted fingerling potatoes, and sautéed broccolini. Black coffee.”

Evan didn’t write it down. Instead, one brow arched, teasing, as he asked, “Oh, no specials for you tonight. Got it.” He pursed his lips. “You’re a ‘coffee at all hours’ kind of guy?”

I frowned. “That’s… not relevant?”

Evan chuckled, shaking his head, his body relaxed, like I had already proven myself more interesting than expected.

“Oh, but it is when you work in a place like this,” he said, effortlessly twirling the pen between his fingers. “You can tell a lot about a person based on their order.”

I kept my words clipped, trying to shut it down. “Right. Because coffee orders are the window to the soul.” I glanced past him toward the window, hoping he’d take the hint.

Evan tapped his chin with the end of his pen, drawing out the moment. Then, with a slow, wicked look, he said, “Let’s see… You’re a night owl. You probably hate mornings. You don’t like overly sweet things, you prefer savory. And…” his smirk widened… “you pretend not to care, but you totally do.”

My mouth opened. Then closed. Because… damn it.

Elliott let out a low chuckle, setting his menu aside, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“He got you, Patel.”

I scowled. “Fine. I like my coffee strong, my dinner uninterrupted, and the check delivered with impressive speed.”

Evan put a hand over his heart, mock wounded. “Ouch. You’re breaking my spirit here.”

I raised an unimpressed brow. “I’m sure you’ll recover.”

And instead of being insulted, like any normal person would be, Evan’s grin only widened. “Oh, I like you. ”

I did not like that response.

Elliott, unfazed by my irritation, leaned back in his chair, stretching leisurely before offering Evan a warm smile. If my tone had been clipped and dismissive, Elliott’s was the exact opposite, easy, unhurried, and entirely too relaxed.

“I’ll have the filet, medium rare,” he said smoothly, folding his menu and setting it aside with an air of confidence. “And a glass of the house red, whatever won’t make me regret my choices halfway through this meal.”

Evan chuckled, jotting it down, or at least pretending to, considering he hadn’t written a single thing so far.

Elliott, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, cast a sidelong glance at me, his smirk deepening. “And if you could throw in an extra side of patience for my dining companion, I’d be eternally grateful. He’s a little…,” he gestured vaguely, “emotionally allergic to human interaction.”

I shot him a look. “I’m sitting right here.”

“And yet,” Elliott mused, taking a sip of his water, “I feel like I’ve been dining alone since we walked in.”

Evan let out a short laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching as he leaned back just slightly, weight shifting onto one foot. “I’ll see what I can do about that extra side of patience. But no promises, I hear it’s in short supply tonight.”

With a wink, an actual wink, because of course Evan winked, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the restaurant, leaving me contemplating whether it was too late to walk into the nearest body of water.

Elliott sighed, shaking his head as he swirled the water in his glass. “You know, for someone so determined not to enjoy himself, you sure are making this fun for the rest of us.”

Flustered from the wink, I rubbed my hands down my face. Maybe that could hide me blushing.

I should have never agreed to come here tonight.

Elliott stared over the rim of his water glass.

“That…” He gestured after Evan. “That was Evan, the cute waiter, flirting with you.”

I stiffened.

“No. No, it wasn’t.”

“It definitely was.”

“He probably flirts with everyone. ”

“He does,” Elliott admitted. “But that?” He sipped slowly; eyes danced with amusement. “That was special.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw another dimension.

This was nothing. Just a ridiculous, overconfident waiter with too much charm.

Nothing more.

Elliott, in his usual disarming way, leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table as he studied me, eyes lit with something that wasn’t quite amusement but wasn’t far from it either.

“So,” he began. “How’s work? Or would you rather sit in silence and pretend you’re here under duress?”

I sighed, “It’s fine. Busy. Same as always.”

“Still traveling all over the place?”

“Yes.”

Elliott smiled after a longer than necessary pause. “You’re a real conversationalist, Patel. Truly, it’s a wonder people don’t line up to have dinner with you.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.

Evan returned with the drinks, setting a glass of red wine in front of Elliott and a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me.

“Thanks,” Elliott said, reaching for his glass.

I hesitated for a beat, then added, “Yeah… thanks.”

Evan’s lips curved. “You’re very welcome.” He gave me a wink, quick, infuriating, then walked off without another word.

Elliott picked up his wine and swirled the stem of the glass between his fingers, Elliott said dryly, “So, are you home for a while this time? Or is work pulling you away again soon?”

I hesitated. It was a fair question.

“I’m here for a few weeks. Chicago’s great, but… I’m just ready to be home for a bit.”

It wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough.

Elliott hummed, as he quietly studied me. “Home for a bit,” he repeated, his voice soft with understanding. Then, with a small smile, he added, “And here you are at the Bistro blessing me with your presence, willingly subjecting yourself to your archnemesis: interactions with actual humans.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “YOU dragged ME here, remember?”

“And you didn’t fight that hard,” he pointed out.

I opened my mouth to argue, because I had resisted, but before I could, a shadow fell over the table .

Evan.

I felt him before I saw him, the way his presence seemed to subtly shift the air around us. He set my coffee down with an exaggerated gentleness, then placed Elliott’s wine beside him with more actual care.