Page 22 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HANNAH

“ A carnival?” I ask, grinning at him.

Noah drops an arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t it great? There’s nothing that says summer more than a parking lot carnival.”

Looking around the massive parking lot full of carnival games, food stands, and rides, I have to agree. “It’s a real vibe.”

“Right? Definitely worth the hour drive. They do this one every year. My parents used to bring my brothers and me here every summer when we were kids.”

I glance up at him as we walk to the ticket booth, his arm still around me and his face lit by the carnival lights. “What was your favorite thing to do?”

He studies the scene in front of us, smile on his face like he’s caught in a memory. “I love all the fast rides. And cotton candy. There’s literally nothing better than carnival cotton candy.”

I shake my head. “No way. Funnel cakes are the superior carnival food.”

Noah scoffs. “As if, Han. Cotton candy or bust. I will die on this hill. ”

I elbow him in the side. “You might die on that hill, but you’ll die being wrong. Funnel cakes, Noah. You can’t go wrong with fried dough covered in powdered sugar. There is literally nothing better than that.”

“Agree to disagree, and I’ll bring you over to my side before the end of the night.”

“Keep dreaming, pal.”

He grins down at me. “Like I told you, I always dream of you, Gorgeous.”

Noah buys tickets and we walk into the happy chaos. Before I can get very far, he puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. “Before we go in, I have an idea.”

I side-eye him. “Your last idea led to us singing karaoke and accidentally getting married in Vegas. I’m not sure you get to have any more ideas.”

He laughs, digging into his pocket for something. When he opens his hand, I see two very familiar looking silver bands sitting in his palm, and my stomach drops.

“Why are you holding our wedding rings in your hand?” I demand. “How do you even have mine?”

He shrugs. “It was sitting on your coffee table. I grabbed it when you were getting changed. Come to think of it, why was your ring on your coffee table?”

I press my lips together, mildly afraid that the real reason will come tumbling out.

The real reason being I put it on a couple times when I was alone in my apartment this week, just to see how it felt to wear it and if maybe it would help me write.

I’m not proud. “I just never put it away,” I say casually.

Noah chuckles, like he’s not buying one single bit of my bullshit.

“Okay, we’ll go with that. I think we should wear them tonight.

Hear me out,” he says, cutting off my protest. “We’re an hour away from home.

No one knows us here. It’ll be fun. A little role playing. Husband and wife out on a date.”

“What’s the point of this, exactly?”

He shrugs. “Because we can? Because it’s a little adventure? Because it’s good fodder for your books and it’ll get your creative juices flowing?”

I make a face. “Please don’t ever say creative juices. It’s so gross.”

Noah takes my left hand and holds it up. “I solemnly swear to never use that horrid phrase ever again. Now, what do you say, Han? Will you do me the great honor of pretending to be my wife for the night?”

I roll my eyes, even though I’m biting back a smile. “I don’t have to pretend to be your wife. I actually, literally, am your wife.”

His eyes light up. “Fuck, it’s so sexy when you say that. So, is that a yes?”

I consider my theory that the only time I can write words is after I spend time with him doing whatever insane thing strikes his fancy, and I can’t come up with a single reason not to follow him down this road. “Ugh, fine, whatever.”

He grins and slides the ring on my finger. I suck in a breath at the little buzz of electricity, at the hint of a memory that flashes through my brain when he fits the ring in place. My eyes snap up to his, and he’s looking at me, a knowing gleam in his eyes like he felt that too.

“Here.” Noah opens my hand and drops his ring into my palm. “Put it on me.”

“You can’t put your own ring on?”

“It’s not authentic if you don’t do it.”

I heave a sigh, as if putting a ring on his finger is horribly inconvenient. “Fine.”

Taking his hand, I slide the ring on his finger, getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu.

Fuck yes, Gorgeous. I’m so excited to be married to you .

I blink at the words that come not from Noah now, but from Noah then.

A gaudy chapel. A red boutonniere pinned to Noah’s shirt.

His lopsided grin and his hair falling across his forehead as he watched me put the ring on his finger.

My matching grin, warmth in my chest at the way he looked at me like I was his.

The way I liked the thought of belonging to him.

“You okay, Han?”

I shake my head to clear it, bringing myself back to the present. “I’m good. Just weird memories.”

Noah gives me an understanding smile. “They’ve been happening to me, too. Little flashes from that night. We should compare notes. Maybe we’ll be able to piece the whole thing together.”

I shrug. “Maybe. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? I mean, we’re going to get the whole thing annulled anyway.”

Something flashes across Noah’s face that looks almost like…disappointment maybe? But it’s gone too quickly for me to be sure, replaced by a grin and a wink. “Let’s not talk about that tonight. Tonight, we’re Hannah and Noah, newlyweds, and this summer night is ours. So where to first?”

I slide an arm around his waist because even a hint of disappointment in this beautiful man’s eyes is all kinds of wrong. “I’ve always been a Ferris wheel kind of girl.”

Noah wraps an arm around my shoulders and bends, pressing a kiss to my temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Then the Ferris wheel it is.”

Ten minutes later, we’re sliding into a red gondola. The seat is big enough for each of us to have plenty of room, but Noah gets in second, crowding my space so we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder as the ride attendant closes the door behind us.

“You know there’s a whole entire seat. You don’t need to sit, like, right next to me.”

Noah answers me by sliding even closer, pressing the side of his body to mine as the ride starts, our gondola rising up in the air. “But I like being right next to you.”

I turn to him, bending one knee against the back of the seat so I can face him fully as we keep climbing, and he does the same. His eyes bore into mine, and the air around us feels electric. “Is that real you speaking, or role-playing you? ”

The Ferris wheel stops to load more passengers, leaving us dangling right at the top.

The lights of Plymouth, Massachusetts,stretch out before us, and the night air wraps us in its warmth, blanketing us in a sky full of stars.

My question hangs in the silence between us, our gazes locked, bodies drawing closer without consciously moving.

Noah reaches out and splays his hand lightly over the side of my neck. “It’s always the real me.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, my question a whisper, like I want to know the answer and I’m afraid of it at the same time.

Noah’s thumb strokes my jaw. “It means I like you, Hannah. I’ve liked you for a long time. It means I’m not sorry we got accidentally married if I get to be here with you like this. I know we did everything backwards, but no matter what happens, I’m just glad to be here with you now.”

Noah’s honesty smashes through my carefully constructed filters, and uncharacteristically, I say exactly what’s on my mind. “I think the only time I can write is after I spend time with you,” I blurt out.

Noah says nothing, just watches and waits for me to continue. His expression is so open, so patient, that I can’t do anything but keep talking.

“Everything I’ve written worth keeping in the last month, I’ve written after being with you.

It’s not a lot, but it’s more than I’ve been able to write in months.

After we accidentally got married, I wrote an entire chapter, and I think it was good.

Then we came home, and I ignored you for a week, and I haven’t been able to write much of anything at all. ”

A grin splits Noah’s face, and he tangles his free hand with mine, his other hand still on my neck. The Ferris wheel starts its descent. “So, what you’re saying is I’m your muse?”

I roll my eyes, even as I smile. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hannah, I am so flattered. I’ve never been a muse before. I think I like it.”

“I don’t know if I do. What does it mean that I can only write when I hang out with you? It’s not like I can attach myself to you twenty-four hours a day.”

Noah chuckles and squeezes my hand. “I don’t know, I kind of like the thought of that, but point taken. I have an idea.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Another one?”

He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles as the Ferris wheel rounds the bottom and we start to slowly rise again. “Humor me. Let’s stay married for a little while longer.”

“No,” I say immediately. It’s a knee jerk reaction, mostly because I feel like I can’t admit to him that I had the same thought during a low moment this week, staring at my blank screen and blinking cursor.

“Just a couple months. The summer maybe. An experiment of sorts. You said you wrote your best words in months in Vegas after we got married. I was already helping you get back into your writing groove. This is just, like, an amendment to our original deal.”

“An amendment that involves us being legally tied to each other?” My protest feels empty even to my own ears.

Noah shrugs. “I mean, we’re already legally tied together for the time being. We’re just deciding to stay that way for a little longer than expected.”