Page 20 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Noah

The early summer air was warm, hinting at hotter days ahead, but the late morning sun kept it pleasant.

The Havenwood Farmer’s Market buzzed with the energy of a town settling into the weekend.

Under colorful awnings, vendors greeted shoppers, their stalls filled with Honeycrisp apples, fresh herbs, and warm, sugar-dusted pastries.

The warm smell of roasted coffee drifted through it all, rich and steady.

It’s abnormally easy for me to relax here.

Familiar space, familiar sounds, the quiet rhythm of voices and clinking jars around us.

And next to me, Evan didn’t feel like some unpredictable force anymore.

He moved through the crowd with that same charm, but instead of making me self-conscious, it steadied me.

The brush of his sleeve didn’t send me spiraling.

It made me want to stay close. Made the noise in my head go quiet for a while.

“This one.” His fingers curled around my sleeve, tugging me to a stop in front of a stall overflowing with handmade candles. The vendor, a woman with silver curls and a worn denim apron, gave us a bright smile as she adjusted the neatly labeled jars.

Evan reached for one, twisting off the lid and holding it up to me. “Smell this.”

I leaned in, and the scents hit me instantly, sandalwood, citrus, something subtly smoky that felt like the edges of autumn settling in.

Evan’s smile turned smug. “Reminds me of your apartment.”

I snorted, straightening. “ Is that a bad thing?”

“Oh no, Professor Patel.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “It’s just absolutely on brand. You need this at your place.”

I shook my head, not able to hold back a smile, and reached for my wallet. But before I could so much as pull out a bill, Evan was already handing over a twenty.

“Evan…” I started.

“Let me.” His voice wasn’t unbothered. There was something behind it. A weight beneath the words.

There was a moment’s pause as I held onto the wallet, then let it slip back into my pocket. Because it was just a candle. A simple, thoughtful gesture. No strings attached.

Evan gave me a stern look and said, “Just say thank you.”

I smiled. He won. “Thank you.”

The roasted coffee beans caught us next, a warm, earthy aroma cutting through the breeze.

Just ahead, tucked between a stand selling wildflower bouquets and a booth of artisan breads, a local vendor set up a compact pour-over station beneath a linen banner that read Havenwood Roastery – Small Batch, Big Mood .

Burlap sacks framed the display, each labeled with the origin of the beans inside, and a hand-drawn menu offered two featured blends of the day.

The vendor, a bearded guy in a flannel apron with fingerless gloves, gave us a nod. “We’ve got Velvet River , smooth, chocolate, smokey. And Lemon Eclipse , citrusy, bright, floral. Want to try?”

I was already reaching for my wallet. “I’ve got this,” I said before Evan could even pretend to object.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Thanks. I’ll take the weird one.”

“Of course you will,” I ribbed, trying not to smile as I ordered Lemon Eclipse iced for him and Velvet River hot for myself.

We waited as the pour-over finished, watching the steam rise into the morning air, mixing with the chatter and the smell of herbs and fresh bread. When the vendor handed us the cups, Evan took his with both hands and said quietly, “Thanks.”

We kept walking, the bag swinging from Evan’s hand, the faint hint of sandalwood between us like a thread we didn’t want to tug.

Our coffees were warm in our hands as we moved through the crowd, past sunflowers and jars of preserves.

The whole morning felt too perfect, like a moment I wasn’t meant to hold onto .

Evan

Over the last couple of weeks, Noah had fit into my spaces in ways that surprised me.

It wasn’t anything dramatic, no grand gestures, no sudden proclamations, but he was there.

On my couch, in my kitchen, curled up in my bed even if all we did was sleep.

He didn’t seem to mind the way my apartment was a mess of half-finished projects, stacked plates I kept meaning to take to the sink, and the occasional pile of clean-but-still-unfolded laundry.

If anything, I caught him tidying up in small ways, like smoothing out the throw blanket on the couch or stacking coasters that I never actually used.

He was present, but never overbearing, slipping into the corners of my world like he belonged there, like he had no idea how much he belonged there.

Tonight was no different. We were at Callie’s place. Takeout was spread across the coffee table, half-empty containers and chopsticks abandoned in favor of sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Noah sat close enough that our knees brushed, our shoulders bumped when we laughed.

There was a casualness between us now, something warm and familiar, like we were both learning how to let our guards down without needing to name it.

Noah’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, sighed, and stood up. “I have to take this.”

Callie waved a hand dramatically. “By all means. Go conduct your secret business.”

Noah shot them a look as he stepped outside onto the balcony to take his call.

That’s when Callie pounced.

“I swear to God,” they groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch, “if I have to witness any more of your undefined, lingering glances with Noah, I’m going to file an official complaint.”

Sam, curled up in the armchair beside us, took a sip of his wine. “I second this motion.”

I scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Callie shot me a flat look. “Evan. You are literally sleeping together. Constantly. Practically roommates. And yet, you can’t tell me what you are.”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah, well, neither can he. ”

Sam still piecing together what is going on. “And you’re okay with that?”

I blinked, thrown off for half a second. “With what?”

Sam tilted his head, leveling me with a knowing look. “With the whole… not having sex thing.”

Callie, mid-sip of their wine, nearly choked. “Oh, thank God someone said it.”

I huffed, shifting on the couch, suddenly hyperaware of the way I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “It’s not like we’re not… physical.”

Sam smiled. “But not that physical.”

I sighed. “Look, it’s not like I’m keeping a calendar or something. It’s just, Noah’s not rushing into it, and I’m not gonna push him.”

Sam lifted his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m not judging how you two decide to do things, but not knowing what this even is? That’s not okay, Evan. At some point, you deserve clarity.”

Callie set their glass down with a thud. “Evan, are you okay with THAT? Like, actually okay with it?”

I opened my mouth, ready with some automatic response. Something definitive, something that sounded convincing, but nothing came out.

Because the truth? The truth was complicated.

The truth was, I wanted him. I wanted more. But I wanted him more than I wanted to push for something he wasn’t ready to give.

So, I shrugged, and forced a smile. “I can wait. Where is all this coming from?”

Sam studied me for a long moment, then chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re in deep.”

Callie groaned. “We know.”

I shrugged. “We’re just… taking it slow.”

Callie laughed. “Evan, at this rate, you’ll die of old age before Noah Patel admits he’s dating you.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened. Because, for once, Callie wasn’t wrong.

Before either of them could press further, the sliding door creaked open, and Noah stepped back inside, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the weight of his work call.

He looked at the three of us with mild curiosity, not quite suspicious but definitely aware that something had shifted in the air while he was gone.

Callie, to their credit, pivoted fast .

“So anyway,” they said breezily, stretching their arms overhead, “did you know that the bakery stand at the market is actually owned by a former circus performer?”

Noah blinked, eyes darting between them and me, his brow creased just slightly. “Uh… no?”

Sam, always quick on his feet, nodded sagely. “Oh yeah. Full acrobat. Used to do aerial silks before switching to sourdough.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed, not in full skepticism, but with the kind of quiet observation he always carried. “You were not talking about that before I left.”

Callie lifted their wine glass with a flourish. “What can I say? We’re an endlessly fascinating bunch.”

Noah, confused, shook his head like he didn’t quite believe them, but wasn’t going to call them out either. He crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside me, his arm resting on the back of the cushions, almost touching my shoulder. Not quite, but close enough that his warmth buzzed between us.

And still, the weight of Callie and Sam’s words lingered, like an echo I couldn’t shake.

I kept turning it over in my head. Had they been supportive and I just missed it? Or had they held back because they didn’t know what to say? And really, why should they say anything? I was happy, wasn’t I? We were good, right?

And yet, I felt untethered. Unsure.

Still didn’t know what we were.

And yet, here we were.

Noah

The city lights filtered through the half-closed blinds, painting thin golden streaks across the bedroom.

The air was quiet, thick with the lingering warmth of body heat and the distant hum of Havenwood’s streets below in the warm May night.

Beside me, Evan slept soundly, sprawled on his stomach, his naked back rising and falling in a steady rhythm, hair a tangled mess against the pillow.

I should have been asleep too.

Instead, I laid on my back, one arm behind my head, my phone in my other hand, mindlessly scrolling through emails and headlines, swiping past them without absorbing a single word. My brain was too restless, too full .

This had become a habit.