Page 4 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Noah arched an unimpressed brow, the kind of deadpan expression that had probably sent weaker men running.

“Is that just a fancy way of saying ‘annoying?’”

I smiled. “Exactly.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was physically collecting the patience to deal with me.

I just watched him. Watched the way he twitched slightly when he was flustered, like he needed something to grip on to ground him.

I watched the way his jaw clenched just a little too tight, a tension he probably didn’t even realize was there.

I watched the way his ears darkened at the tips, a soft flush that gave him away more than anything else.

Fascinating.

I meet a lot of people in my life, charming ones, difficult ones, flirty ones, reserved ones. But Noah Patel was in a league of his own. A walking contradiction. Bristly yet careful. Dismissive yet hyper-aware. Irritated yet, somehow, still sitting here, engaging and still letting me stay.

I leaned forward slightly, bracing my elbows on the table, the grin never leaving my face. “You know,” I mused, voice teasing but laced with something a little more curious, “for someone who acts like he hates distractions, you haven’t actually told me to leave yet.”

Noah’s hands twitched again.

And for the first time since meeting him, I thought, maybe, just maybe, he had no idea what to do with me.

I reached out and tapped the edge of his laptop, the solid click of my nail against the casing cutting through the quiet hum of conversation around us.

The glow of the screen carved shadows across his face, highlighting the furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his mouth.

He was still trying to ignore me, pretending I didn’t exist. Which was adorable considering he had been side-eyeing me like a cat watching an unfamiliar houseguest since he sat down.

“So,” I said, voice teasing. “What are you working on? World domination?”

Noah looked over the top of his laptop. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

“Nope.”

He lifted his coffee cup with both hands and took a sip, like he needed every ounce of caffeine to tolerate me.

When he finally lowered it, his eyes looked up, dark and unimpressed, holding mine for just a second longer than necessary; just long enough to make me wonder if he was actually calculating the odds of being able to get rid of me.

Then, another sigh. Defeated.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice a little lower now, a little rougher around the edges. “I’m debugging code for a new game launch.”

I perked up immediately, interest sparking in my chest. Oh. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Ooh, tell me more.”

That got me a full body pause.

His fingers stopped moving.

His spine went just a little too straight .

Then, slowly, he looked up at me, not just a glance this time, but a full assessment. His expression was wary, like he was expecting a joke, some offhand comment, something dismissive.

“You care about game development?”

I shrugged, leaning back slightly, hand idly tracing the rim of my cup. “Not really,” I admitted, voice light. Then, before he could roll his eyes or take that as a reason to shut me out, I added, “But I care about people who care about things.”

Silence.

And then, something shifted.

It was subtle, barely anything, really. Just the faintest shift in his expression, a hesitation, a pause where his usual sarcasm should have been.

He blinked. Like he wasn’t expecting that answer. Like it threw him off balance. And god, it was fascinating.

Then, almost like clockwork, the moment passed. His defenses slammed back into place so fast I almost felt the impact. He looked down, shaking his head, as if physically dispelling whatever that had been.

I tilted my head, letting my smirk curve just a little wider.

But he didn’t tell me to leave.

And that? That was another win.

I rose from the booth, stretching slightly like I hadn’t just been holding my breath the whole time, and strolled back toward the counter, feeling more than a little smug.

There was something exhilarating about breaking through his walls, even if it was just a crack.

He hadn’t thrown me out. He hadn’t stormed off.

He had actually talked to me, so that was progress.

Callie, perched on a barstool and tore off another piece of their bread, didn’t even wait for me to sit down before leveling me with a skeptical look. “So,” they drawled, crossing their arms, “how’d it go?”

I grinned, stealing a flaky bite of their bread before they could stop me. “He didn’t throw me out or throw up. That means we’re moving in the right direction. Right?”

Sam, who had been reading, or at least pretending to, set his book down with a slow, meticulous movement. His look was uncertain, dark eyes peering at me over the rims of his glasses. “Or,” he said, voice perfectly even, “it means he’s planning your demise.”

I winked, leaning against the counter. “Either way, he’s thinking about me. ”

Callie rubbed their temples like I was causing them a headache through sheer force of personality. “Oh god,” they groaned. “He’s really invested now.”

I winked at them as I popped a piece of bread into my mouth.

Callie let out a long-suffering sigh before nodding toward the corner booth. “Congratulations, Mitchell. You’ve chosen the most emotionally unavailable man in Havenwood to fixate on.”

Across the restaurant, Noah stretched, rolling his shoulders before snapping his laptop shut. He reached for his wallet, pulling out a few crisp bills and dropping them on the table. No hesitation. No waiting for a check. Just the swift efficiency of someone who didn’t want to linger.

He slid out of the booth, straightening, his movements smooth and purposeful. And just when I thought he would disappear out the door without a second glance, he looked at me.

Not a glance. Not an accident. A look.

It lasted exactly three seconds.

But he didn’t look away first.

The corner of my mouth curled up, satisfied.

Interesting.

Before he reached the door, Noah gave a small nod toward the bar, lifting his hand in a subtle wave. “Night, Callie. Sam.”

Callie, never missing an opportunity, lifted their glass high like they were making a toast. “Goodnight, Noah, you mysterious heartbreaker, you!”

I groaned under my breath as Sam smirked into his drink.

I watched as Noah strode toward the exit, shoulders squared, hands shoved into his pockets, moving like a man who wasn’t running away but wasn’t sticking around, either. He didn’t rush, but the door closed behind him with a little too much force.

Callie sighed, picking at their roll. “I give it two weeks before he breaks.”

Sam, still watching me, smirked. “Oh, I’d give it less.”

I leaned against the counter, still riding the high of minor victory.

Noah Patel was officially the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long time.

And me?

I loved a challenge.