Page 22 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

A night where neither of us had to try too hard.

Chinese from the place down the block, a dumb action movie filled with explosions and terrible one-liners, the kind of ridiculous movie Evan loved, and I pretended to hate more than I actually did.

We’d stretched out on the couch, stealing bites of each other’s food without asking, tossing snarky commentary back and forth between scenes.

It had been normal. Simple. The kind of night that made me forget, for a little while, why I kept my walls up in the first place.

But now things felt strangely tense. The night was ending. And I could feel it.

A shift.

The expectation settling into the air, thick and unspoken.

I reached for my jacket.

And hesitated .

Evan wasn’t looking at me, not directly. But I could feel the weight of his stare in the space between moments, drifting toward me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Stay.

The word wasn’t spoken. It didn’t have to be. We’d been staying with each other pretty regularly. But something didn’t feel right.

And we both felt it. It was in the way he didn’t stretch, didn’t move to stand, didn’t shift the way he usually did when a night was winding down.

He was waiting for me.

Waiting for me to make the choice.

And I? I forced my hand to move, gripping my jacket tighter, pulling it on one slow sleeve at a time.

“You don’t have to go,” Evan said suddenly, his voice careful. Too careful. Casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all.

I swallowed. Felt the way my pulse ticked up.

I didn’t have a good excuse.

Didn’t have anything other than fear and feelings.

So, I fell back on the safest lie.

“I have an early morning.”

A beat of silence.

Short, but too long.

Evan didn’t argue. Didn’t push.

But I saw it.

The way his lips pressed together. The way his jaw shifted, a tiny flex before his attention snapped back to his phone, scrolling aimlessly, like that was the end of it.

But he didn’t stand.

Didn’t get up to walk me to the door.

And that, that was new.

That was Evan saying something without saying anything at all.

I lingered. Longer than I should have.

Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I took a step closer. Leaned down, just slightly. And pressed a kiss to the side of his face.

Or at least, I tried to.

Evan didn’t turn his head. Didn’t meet me halfway like he usually did.

Instead, I got his cheek.

A subtle shift. Something small and stupidly painful twisted in my chest.

I pulled back slowly. Straightened .

His phone screen glowed between us, but I could feel the distance now. Not the kind that came from space. The kind that came from a line I hadn’t even realized he was drawing.

I shifted my bag over my shoulder, fingers curling and uncurling at my side. “Are we okay?” I asked, quieter than I meant to.

He didn’t look up right away. When he did, his expression was hard to read, somewhere between tired and guarded. “Yeah.” But it didn’t sound like yeah. It sounded like maybe, or not really, or I don’t know.

And that confused me even more. “OK…?”

I nodded, though it didn’t feel right. “Good night, Evan.”

He hesitated, then said softly, without the usual teasing in his voice, “Night, Patel.”

I turned. Opened the door. Stepped into the hallway. And let it close behind me before I could change my mind.

Evan

A couple nights had passed. We’d texted here and there, nothing heavy, nothing serious, but something felt off. Not bad exactly. Just… different. Like a beat was missing, a note slightly out of tune.

Giorgio set down our plates with a warm smile.

The restaurant buzzed softly with low conversation from couples and families, the clatter of dishes from the open kitchen, and the occasional burst of laughter from the cooks in the back.

Overhead, the faint strains of an old Italian love song played, all sweeping strings and crooned longing.

Sorella’s had that warm, candlelit glow that made everything feel softer, closer. Familiar. I caught myself thinking maybe this is our place.

Then immediately corrected. Not ours. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Noah sat across from me, weirdly relaxed, swirling his wine. His posture was at ease, like this was just another night. Just another meal. Like we did this all the time. Like we were just two people, enjoying dinner together.

But that was the problem.

It felt like a date. It was a date.

But I couldn’t call it that.

Because Noah wouldn’t let me .

He was here, but not fully. Present, but distant in ways that mattered. Giving me just enough to keep me wanting more, but never everything.

And I couldn’t keep doing this.

I let out a slow breath, reaching for my glass, taking a large gulp. The wine was deep, rich, full-bodied, the kind that lingered on the tongue. The kind that should have been perfect for a night like this.

But it tasted bitter.

I glanced at Noah as he twirled his pasta onto his fork, taking a bite without a second thought, completely unaware of the battle happening in my head.

I had waited. I had been patient. I had given him space, let him move at his own pace, let him figure out whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

But at what point did waiting turn into wasting time?

My grip pulsed around my glass before I set it down carefully.

Too carefully.

I saw Noah’s eyes lift, noticing the movement. His brows rose slightly, his fork pausing for just a second.

“Hey, Noah?” My voice was steady. My pulse wasn’t.

Noah chewed, swallowed, and reached for his wine, as if he had no idea what was coming. “Yeah?”

Air slipped into my lungs too slowly, heavy with the weight of the words, curling into something sharp and sour in my gut. I had to say it. Because if I didn’t now, I never would.

“Are you ever going to let this be real?”

Silence.

Noah’s fingers stilled around his glass, curling slightly around the stem. His brows drew together, eyes searching mine. “Where’s this coming from?” His voice was quieter now, confusion lacing the edges. “Is this what’s been bothering you lately?”

I met his look. “It’s been everything, Noah. The way we are together, but not really. Close, but not close enough. I keep trying to read you, to figure out where I stand, but I’m tired of guessing.”

Noah opened his mouth like he wanted to answer, then shut it again. His thumb traced the rim of his glass, slow, as if stalling for time. His eyes dropped to the table, then looked back up at me.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until even the low hum of the restaurant seemed too loud.

And then, just for a second, his expression faltered .

A split-second moment where I saw something real. Something raw.

Not the usual detached calm he tried to wear like armor. Not the carefully measured responses or the smirks that danced around the things we never said.

Fear.

Just for a heartbeat.

And in that moment, I knew.

I knew that no matter how much I wanted him, no matter how much I cared, he wasn’t ready. And maybe… maybe he never would be.

I swallowed hard, staring down at my plate, at the food I suddenly had no appetite for. “OK.”

Noah shifted slightly, his attention dipping away, just for a moment. His voice was quieter when he finally spoke. “Evan…”

I shook my head, forcing a small, humorless smile as I picked up my napkin and folded it gently on the table. “I get it,” I said softly. And I did. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Across the table, Noah watched me, his eyes dark and clouded, but I saw it now. The way he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

And suddenly, for the first time since this whole thing started, I asked myself, what happens when waiting isn’t enough?

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I liked the answer.