Page 18 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Evan

Sorella’s was the kind of place that felt like home, even if you’d never been there.

The air smelled of simmering tomatoes, roasted garlic, and fresh basil, enough to make your stomach growl.

Candlelight flickered on each table, casting a warm glow over white tablecloths and dark wood.

Conversation filled the room, broken now and then by laughter.

It wasn’t fancy. It was better than fancy.

Sorella’s was real.

And Noah, despite his usual preference for takeout and meals eaten over a laptop screen, had picked it. For us.

That had to mean something.

He was already sitting when I walked in. Always early, always prepared, always ready. His posture was a little too upright. He toyed with the edge of his menu like he wasn’t actually reading it. But the moment he looked up and met my gaze, something in him lit up, not quite a smile.

“Noah Patel, in an Italian restaurant,” I said, smirking as I slid into the seat across from him. “Didn’t take you for a carbs and cheese guy.”

He arched his brow. “I eat food, Evan.”

I hummed. “Yeah, but not good food. I thought you survived on coffee, protein bars, and sheer willpower.”

Noah chuckled slightly .

The owner, Giorgio, a graying, barrel-chested man with thick eyebrows and a voice like a lullaby roughened by gravel, made his way over within minutes. He arrived, pouring us two glasses of red wine without asking. That was the thing about Sorella’s, you were staying a while.

“Noah!” he greeted, clasping his hands together. “My favorite quiet customer. You never bring a friend!” His dark eyes sparkled with warmth as he turned to me. “And you, welcome! Anyone who gets this one to bring company is already a favorite of mine.”

I smiled, offering a hand. “Evan Mitchell. I’ll try not to ruin his reputation too much.”

Giorgio shook it firmly, then patted Noah’s shoulder. “Good! I’ve been waiting for someone to bring a little life to his table.”

Noah groaned. “Giorgio…”

“I am right, and you know it,” Giorgio cut in before turning back to me. “So, what are you eating?”

“Whatever you recommend,” I said.

Giorgio beamed. “Ah, a man who trusts the chef! A good quality in a man. I will bring you something special.”

Then he turned to Noah, who already had his arms crossed. “And you? The usual?”

Noah sighed and smiled. “Yeah, the usual.”

Giorgio gave me a knowing look. “That means the pasta alla norma. He gets it every time. He is a creature of habit, this one.”

“Shocking,” I deadpanned.

Noah just shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

Giorgio laughed, clasping both our shoulders before heading back toward the kitchen.

Minutes later, a basket of fresh bread and a dish of olive oil and balsamic vinegar appeared, and we dug in without hesitation.

We talked, but there were landmines everywhere.

I flirted, light touches to the conversation, testing. A grin when I caught him watching my mouth. A lazy sip of wine, letting my touch trail along the stem of the glass.

He was here, present, watching me like he was weighing every possible outcome in his head.

And I was done waiting for the man to make up his mind.

I set my wine glass down, meeting his eyes head-on.

“Noah.”

His grip tensed around his fork. “What? ”

I let a beat pass, slow and cautious. “Are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind, or are we just gonna sit here pretending this is normal?”

His jaw tightened. “I should’ve handled Chicago differently.”

I didn’t move. “Yeah?”

“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Noah admitted, swirling his wine slowly.

His voice was softer now, quieter than before.

“I just get stuck in my head when I’m on those trips.

It’s like everything else shuts off, and I don’t think about anything but work.

And I didn’t realize…” He hesitated. “I didn’t realize how unfair my tunnel vision was to you. ”

I drank my wine, peering at him over the rim of my glass. “And you never thought to just tell me that?”

Noah sighed softly, rubbing his temples. “That’s the thing. I didn’t even think about it. I just assumed you’d… I don’t know. Understand?”

I let the words sink in, the echo of them stirring in my head.

I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady, careful, like Liam told me, because the last thing I wanted was to push too hard and watch him bolt.

“Noah, I don’t expect you to text me every hour when you’re working.

Hell, I don’t even need a check-in. But if you disappear for a week and I have no idea where I stand with you, that’s a problem. ”

Because the truth was, we weren’t even a couple. Not officially. Not really. And yet, here I was, feeling like I was owed at least that much, a conversation, a sliver of clarity about whatever the hell this thing was between us.

His gaze narrowed briefly, something behind his eyes I couldn’t read.

I forced myself to keep going, to keep it measured, not let my heart race ahead of my mouth. “You get locked into your work. I get that now, but I didn’t before. Because you never told me. And I just… I want to understand. I want to get to know you. But I can’t do that if you shut me out.”

I hesitated, then added quietly, “I can manage my reactions. I’m not asking you to change who you are. But I need the information so I don’t spiral trying to figure out where I stand.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, with a slow nod, he said, “You’re right.”

And fuck. I had not expected him to say that. I blinked, my lips parting slightly before I could cover the surprise. “Did you just agree with me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Evan… don’t make me say it again. ”

“No, no, this is historic. I need it on record.”

Noah let out a real laugh, low and warm, and in that moment, I could breathe a little easier. Because I wanted this, wanted him, and I wasn’t about to screw it up by rushing.

Noah tilted his head slightly, and for the first time that night, the tension in his expression gave way to something lighter, almost teasing. “You spiraled? Over me?”

I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but I held his look. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

His eyes softened, his mouth curving into the faintest smile. “Too late.”

And for a beat, I forgot what I was going to say, caught off guard by the flirtiness in his voice.

And just like that, something shifted.

I studied him for a long second; the candlelight casting shadows against his face.

By the time Giorgio returned with our meals, Noah’s pasta alla norma and my osso buco with saffron risotto, Noah had calmed into something looser.

He still sat straight-backed, still folded his napkin just so, still drank his wine like it was measured, not instinctive. But he wasn’t rigid.

He laughed when I made a show of moaning over my food, shaking his head when I asked him if he wanted to trade bites.

“Eat your food, Evan.”

“But it’s so good, and I want to share.”

Noah rolled his eyes and smiled. “Fine.”

That was something.

But instead of swapping plates or scooting mine over, I lifted my own fork, already loaded with a perfect bite, and held it out to him across the table.

He looked at it. Then looked at me. Hesitated.

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

His nose crinkled slightly. “We’re… not sharing forks.”

I blinked. “Noah. We’ve kissed. Like, a lot. I’m pretty sure you’ve had more of my spit in your mouth than this fork has.”

His ears flushed. He didn’t deny it.

I didn’t move the fork. Just waited. Watching him work through whatever internal protocol he had for saliva-based boundaries.

And then, with a resigned smile, he leaned forward, lips closing around the bite. I pulled the fork away. And waited.

He chewed for a moment. Paused. Then his eyebrows shot up .

“Oh. Shit,” he said. “That’s actually really good.”

I beamed. “Told you. Chef’s special. You gotta trust me sometime.”

He pointed his fork at me. “Maybe next time. But I’m still ordering my own.”

“Fine,” I said, smug. “But I’m still making you taste mine.”

The rest of dinner felt right. The conversation found its rhythm, laughter coming easier now, warmth lingering between us.

Somewhere in the middle of our second glass of wine, Noah leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as he continued, “So by night three, Milo was running purely on caffeine and spite. At one point, he actually started talking to the code, like it was a real person. I swear to God, he called it a ‘conniving little bastard’ and tried to bribe it with his last energy drink.”

I chuckled, swirling my wine. “Sounds like a man at the edge of his sanity.”

“Oh, absolutely. I thought he was going to propose to his laptop at one point. We were both losing it.”

“See, I don’t have those problems,” I joked. “I get paid to smile and flirt.”

Noah arched a brow. “And to deal with people’s bullshit.”

I smiled. “True. Like last week? This old woman at table six, Dolores, bless her. She flirted with me all night. Kept calling me her ‘handsome young thing’ and winking every time I refilled her water.”

Noah snorted, taking a slow sip of wine. “Did she at least tip well?”

“Oh, honey,” I drawled, placing a dramatic hand over my chest. “She left me two hundred dollars and told me to ‘buy something nice for my girlfriend,’ which, by the way, she assumed I had because, and I quote, ‘no way a man that pretty is single.’”

Without missing a beat, Noah smirked and said, “And clearly Dolores has no gaydar, because if you were any less straight, you’d leave glitter footprints.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness of it, and the grin that followed. It wasn’t the usual guarded smirk or half-smile I was used to. It was playful, confident, a spark of sass I hadn’t seen before.

And God, I liked it.

Right on cue, Giorgio returned, all warm hospitality as he refilled our glasses with a flourish. “You two, laughing at my table like this. This is what good food should do.”

“Or good wine,” Noah muttered, but his lips twitched .

Giorgio chuckled, then set down two perfect plates of tiramisu along with small, steaming cups of espresso. “And for my favorite difficult customer and his charming friend, on the house.”

I clasped a hand over my heart. “Giorgio, you’re spoiling me.”

He winked. “You? Maybe. Him?” He pointed at Noah. “He needs it.”

Noah groaned, but he was smiling.

After we finished the most delicious tiramisu I’ve ever had, Noah insisted on paying since he invited me.

When we stepped out of the restaurant, the perfect night air met us with open arms. The streets were quiet but not empty, a couple strolling hand in hand, a group of friends laughing outside a bar.

Noah hesitated, just for a second, but I caught it. Like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

So I decided for him. I stepped in, closing the space between us, slow but purposeful.

He didn’t move away.

I reached for his wrist, not forceful, not demanding, just a light touch, my thumb grazing his pulse point.

His breath hitched. I heard it. Saw it in the way his throat worked, in the flicker of something in his eyes.

“I’d like to kiss you now.” I said quietly. “Would that be alright?”

He could stop me. He could step back. But he didn’t. He smiled. “Yeah.”

So I kissed him. Slow and deep. Not playful. Not teasing. Just real.

And he kissed me back.

Not all at once. Not with the kind of abandoned surrender as before. But cautiously. Like he was testing the weight of it. Like he was trying to figure out just how much of himself he was willing to give.

But then, he melted just slightly, breath brushing mine, tension bleeding from his shoulders. That was it. The moment he let go.

His hands curled at my jacket, gripping, not pulling me closer, but holding me there. And I took it. Every second.

I let my hands slide over his waist, feeling the tension still humming beneath his skin, waiting to see if he’d pull away.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, close, his breath warm against my mouth, lips parted like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want the moment to end either .

When he finally stepped back, his breath unsteady, his dark eyes softer now, like he wasn’t sure what to do with everything he was feeling, he didn’t look away. He didn’t shut down.

He swallowed, then gave me the smallest, real smile. “I’ll see you later, Evan.”

And somehow, those words felt like a promise this time. Like the start of something instead of the end.

I watched him walk away, and nothing twisted inside me.

For once, I believed him.