Page 14 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Evan

I suspected Noah didn’t invite people over.

The idea of opening his home to someone else? I couldn’t imagine.

We stumbled down the quiet sidewalk, half-laughing, half-arguing about something stupid, maybe movie endings. Or fonts. I don’t even remember how it started.

“All I’m saying,” Noah said, waving a hand a little too dramatically, “is that Helvetica is a neutral, versatile typeface. It doesn’t deserve the hate.”

“Oh my God , ” I groaned. “Neutral? Helvetica is the mayonnaise of fonts. It’s not design; it’s giving up.”

He bumped my shoulder with his. “That’s rich coming from a man who once sent me a playlist titled Vibes & Trauma. ”

“That playlist slaps, and you know it,” I shot back. “You practically curated your next existential crisis to it.”

Noah huffed a laugh, his cheeks a little pink, but maybe that was the whiskey. “I did not . I listened to it once . ”

“Twice,” I said. “I got the Spotify notification.”

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the smirk pulling at his lips. “Maybe I had a moment. It doesn’t mean you win this Helvetica argument.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I said, bumping his shoulder this time, “I already won the moment I got you to say ‘Helvetica’ with that much conviction. ”

He glanced sideways at me, and for a second, the air shifted, still playful, but quieter, heavier around the edges. His smile lingered, just enough to feel like something he meant to hold onto.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but it didn’t sound like a complaint.

“And yet,” I said, voice dropping just slightly, “you’re still walking me to your place.”

He looked at me again, longer this time. “You’re not that hard to tolerate,” he said. “In small doses.”

“Lucky for you, I travel well in carry-on size.”

He let out a laugh, genuine, unguarded, and I felt it in my chest like a win.

By the time we made it to Noah’s apartment, the whiskey from earlier still buzzed faintly in my veins, warm and loose.

When we first stepped inside, Noah’s apartment was exactly what I expected, neat, meticulously arranged, with clean lines and muted colors.

Everything in its place. The walls were lined with bookshelves, mostly filled with sci-fi novels and technical manuals.

His desk setup? Immaculate. Dual monitors, mechanical keyboard, a sleek custom-built PC.

It was a space that felt controlled, curated.

A place where every object had a purpose, nothing out of place.

And now, I was in it.

I sprawled across his couch, my arm draped lazily over the backrest, my legs kicked up like I owned the place.

He moved through his space, kicking off his shoes by the door, setting his keys in a precise spot on the counter. These little routines I could tell were second nature. He hesitated for only a second before glancing at me.

“You want a drink?”

I raised a brow, amused that he even had to ask. “Always.”

Noah strode toward a small bar cart tucked neatly into the corner, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses, his movements measured and precise, before handing me one without ceremony.

“Trying to get me drunk, Patel?” I flirted, stretching out on his couch like I belonged there.

He rolled his eyes as he sat in his desk chair with his own drink in hand. “I just figured I’d need something to get through this disaster of a film.”

I barked out a laugh. “Bold words for someone about to be proven very wrong. ”

Noah huffed as he stood and crossed to the couch, sinking onto the couch beside me.

He grabbed the remote, scrolling through the endless sea of streaming options, the glow of the TV flickering across his dark features.

I caught the way his lip curled faintly at the corner when he scrolled past something particularly terrible.

I smiled, shifting slightly to get comfortable. I pulled my phone from my pocket. “I should probably text Sam. Let him know we made it here alive before he assumes we got abducted or started making out in an alley somewhere.”

Noah shot me a flat look but didn’t argue.

I tapped out a quick message.

Evan: Made it to Noah’s. No casualties.

Sam’s response was almost immediate.

Sam:

I barked out a laugh, turning the screen toward Noah. “Well, that’s subtle.”

Noah groaned, rubbing his temples. “I regret everything.”

I tossed my phone onto the coffee table. “Too late now.”

He sighed but didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight me.

Instead, he scrolled a little slower, his body settling just a fraction more into the space beside me. And when he smiled at some god-awful action movie that neither of us would ever admit to wanting to watch, I knew we were getting somewhere.

He was enjoying this. Even if he refused to admit it.

After a few minutes of deliberation, and by deliberation, I mean Noah complaining about the decay of the state of modern cinema while I antagonized him with increasingly worse movie suggestions, we decided on one of my favorites.

Noah sighed, shaking his head as he hit play.

“If this sucks, I reserve the right to mock you endlessly.”

I lifted my glass in a mock toast.

“Deal.”

And with that, we got comfortable. The opening credits rolled, and the room settled into a whiskey-warmed silence.

For the past twenty minutes, I’d been pretending to watch the movie. But really? I was watching Noah.

And Noah knew it.

I could see it in the way he kept shifting slightly, like he couldn’t quite get situated.

The way he tapped against his glass every time I so much as glanced in his direction.

The subtle, almost imperceptible way he tensed whenever I moved, as if he was waiting for me to push some invisible boundary.

He was hyper-aware of me. And that was fascinating.

I let my look linger just a little too long, waiting for him to crack.

He did. “What?” His voice was clipped, laced with barely restrained frustration.

I stretched out just a little more, deliberately casual, making myself at home in a way I knew would only affect him further. “Nothing.”

Noah gave a slow, exaggerated blink. “You’re staring.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I like watching you squirm.”

“I don’t squirm.”

I hummed, tilting my head, letting my eyes drop slowly, lingering on the tense line of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed slightly when he swallowed. “Mmm. Keep telling yourself that, Patel.”

His body locked up at that. Like I hit exactly the nerve I was aiming for.

The movie droned on, some over-the-top action sequence playing out on screen, but neither of us was really paying attention anymore.

Noah was doing everything in his power to pretend I wasn’t here.

So, naturally, I decided to push my luck. I shifted. Slow. Subtle. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to see if he’d notice.

He did.

Because now? Now my arm was resting along the back of the couch right behind his shoulders. Not touching. But close. Close enough that if he turned his head just a fraction, my fingertips would brush the back of his neck.

I felt the exact moment he realized it.

His breathing slowed. He tightened his grip slightly around the glass in his hand. He didn’t move away.

I watched his focus darting back to the screen like he could will me out of existence.

I dropped my voice lower, softer. “Is it your default to always keep people this far away?”

His jaw tightened. “What?”

I ran my hand against the couch. “You. You never let people in. But you let me into your apartment. ”

He hesitated. Just a beat too long.

I shifted just a little closer. Not touching. But the space between us felt smaller now. Thicker.

I let my voice drop even lower. “It’s just a movie, right?”

His face turned to mine. Dark. Uncertain. “Is it?”

The air between us changed. Something reckless sparked behind his eyes. He twitched.

If I leaned in, just a little. If I pushed just a fraction further, I could kiss him right now.

And for a single, agonizing moment, Noah didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t shut me down.

The moment stretched between us, slow and weighted, our breaths shallow, matching.

I could see it, the internal war waging in his expression. The part of him that still wanted to fight this. The part of him that was losing.

Then, he moved. Slow. Hesitant. Closing the distance between us in increments, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

I felt it before I saw it, the barely-there brush of his knee against mine. The way his head tilted just slightly. The way his attention dropped to my mouth.

Something in my chest tightened, quick and electric. I was about to say something. Something smug, something teasing, something to push him just a little bit further. But I never got the chance.

Noah kissed me. His lips brushed against mine with a softness that belied the tension between us.

It was a tentative kiss, almost like he expected me to pull away, to turn it into a joke.

His mouth was warm and gentle, his lips parted just slightly as he tested the waters.

I could feel his uncertainty, his hesitation, and it only made me want to deepen the kiss further.

But I didn’t pull away. Instead, I met him halfway, pressing into it, deepening it just enough to let him know this wasn’t a mistake.

This wasn’t something I was going to let him take back.

My lips moved against his as I savored the taste of him.

His mouth was sweet, with just a hint of whiskey from his drink.

Noah made a quiet, almost frustrated noise against my mouth. It was a sound of surrender, of giving in to the desire that had been building between us for so long.

I reached for the glass, prying it from his grasp without breaking the kiss, setting it aside with a quiet clink.

His breath stuttered against mine as he realized he had no choice but to let go .

And then, just like that, he kissed me again. This time, there was no hesitation. No tentativeness or uncertainty. Just heat. Just him. And me.

This kiss was a passionate and heated meeting of our lips, a deep and fervent connection that left us both breathless.

Our tongues tangled together, exploring each other’s mouths as we savored the taste and feel of each other.

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity, our lips moving in perfect sync as we gave ourselves over to the moment.

But eventually, we slowly broke apart, gasping for air, our chests heaving with exertion.

As we caught our breath, I cuddled up close to Noah on the couch, my head resting on his shoulder and he didn’t pull away.

He put his arm around me. We turned our attention back to the movie, a charged quiet settling between us that neither of us seemed eager to break.

The credits ended, and I stretched, making a show of being completely unbothered. The tension in the room was still charged, still heavy with something neither of us had put into words yet.

Noah sat stiffly beside me, like he was actively trying not to acknowledge what had just happened. His stare turned toward the screen, but I could tell he wasn’t really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere. Probably running in frantic circles trying to make sense of the fact that he had kissed me.

Twice.

I smiled to myself, standing up, stretching my arms over my head before shoving my hands into my pockets.

“Alright, Patel. I’ll let you get back to your brooding.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed like I had personally disrupted some delicate ecosystem that had been thriving in his apartment before I showed up. “How generous of you.”

I turned toward the door, feeling his eyes burning into my back the entire time.

But then, I hesitated.

Paused.

Turned, because the truth was, I wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching him carefully, taking in the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, like he was gripping onto something invisible .

“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light, casual. “Can we do this again?”

Noah blinked. I could see the tired look in his dark eyes.

His lips parted like he was about to respond, then pressed back into a thin line. His forehead wrinkled a bit, something tangled worked behind his eyes.

And then, he nodded as he stood up. “Yeah.” His voice was softer than I expected. “We can. I’d like that.”

Something stupidly hopeful made itself at home behind my ribs . Not victory. Not amusement. Something warmer.

“May I ask when?” I wasn’t going to let him get away with vague answers.

Noah crossed to me and finally said, “I have to head out of town for work. I leave tomorrow and won’t be back for a week.”

I tilted my head, studying him. He wasn’t lying, his voice was steady, his expression guarded, but not in the way it got when he was trying to deflect.

A week.

Seven whole days.

The thought irritated me more than it should have.

“When you get back,” I said, my voice softer now, more certain. “We’ll make a plan.”

He met my look then, and something in the air between us settled.

“Yeah,” he said. “We will. Hey, it’s so late. Let me get you an Uber”

I shook my head, pushing off the doorframe. “No need. I’ll walk home. My apartment isn’t far.”

Noah’s brows pulled together slightly, like he hadn’t even considered how I’d be getting home.

I reached for the doorknob, ready to step out, but before I could, he moved closer. His hand brushed mine, not by accident, and then, before I could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. Gentle. Brief. But not hesitant.

By the time I opened my eyes, he was already a step back, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and resolve, like he wasn’t sure what came next but had made peace with whatever it was.

“Text me when you get home,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t casual, either.

I turned back toward him, lips twitching. “Oh? Worried about me, Patel? ”

Noah rolled his eyes as he smiled. I caught the way his shoulders dropped just slightly. “Just… let me know you made it.”

I smiled, something warm and unfamiliar curling in me. “Will do.”

And with that, I was gone.