“Huh, go figure. A high school jock with a green thumb.” I tease him. “I thought you went to school on a baseball scholarship. How did all of this come about?”
“We have all night to catch up, Mia. Why don’t I show you inside?”
I simply nod, taking his lead.
He places his hand at my back, persuading me along to his front door. This time there’s no flesh to flesh sensation. My attire is much more casual—jeans and a flowing silk top seem perfect for what Noah has in store for us. Suddenly the idea of staying in seems a lot more dangerous than going out.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken you here instead of some fancy restaurant. I wasn’t sure you were ready to...”
I interrupt because I know exactly where he’s going with this. “Be seen in public with you? It’s okay, Noah. Don’t be afraid to talk about it. It’s a weird situation...probably strange for you and even stranger for me. But I appreciate you taking that into consideration.”
He unlocks a pair of large, vintage, carved mahogany doors. I’m already impressed by his remarkable attention to detail and I haven’t even been inside yet.
We walk into a large entryway decorated with a circular table that matches the wooden doors. It holds an arrangement of flowers so large and fragrant that it almost stifles the aroma coming from what must be the kitchen.
“Noah, please tell me you have a personal decorator—or a sister. I’m sorry, but there is no way a man as rough and tough as you could pull all of this off without a woman’s touch.” His home should be featured in a catalog or an interior decorating magazine.
“I should take offense to that, but I can’t—I like the idea of you calling me rough and tough.” He leans down and kisses me just below the earlobe, sending prickles across my skin.
I practically melt, taking in a deep breath to ease my nerves. Once I do, the delicious smell from the kitchen invades my senses and I find myself walking towards the scent without even being invited into the house. “Tell me you cook too and I might have to pack my stuff and move in.” Yikes, too much? Too soon?
“It’s been a long time since I wanted to impress a woman. I pulled out all the stops for tonight, Mia.”
Boy, am I in trouble.
How many different shades of purple are there? It’s my favorite color. I should know. It’s what I wanted, what I envisioned. But whether you want to call it lavender, fuchsia, magenta, or violet, the arrangement of different hues, no matter how beautiful, is doing nothing to calm my nerves. As I stare down, picking at the elaborate mixture of tinted calla lilies, orchids, hyacinth, and ranunculus, all I can think about is running.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Declan with all my heart. But marriage already? Right out of college? What’s the flipping rush?
After the proposal, I had to ward off Grace and my mother. It started with a new bridal magazine crammed in my tiny mailbox once a week. Then came the emails, jamming up my campus account with dress designs and venue suggestions. Finally, after weeks of being attacked with seating arrangements and arguments about why Aunt Margie couldn’t be seated next to Aunt Ida, I had to put my foot down. I wanted to plan the wedding on my terms, on my time! They got the picture when I stopped taking their calls and deleted their emails before I even read them.
Declan wasn’t opposed to waiting until after we both graduated and until that date got closer, I didn’t want to hear anything thing from Martha Stewart or her overzealous side kick. I’d managed to keep them at bay until my graduation day, but even Declan changed once I donned the cap and gown and received my diploma. Instead of that day marking the culmination of my achievements, it became the day the countdown began.
I wanted to be Mrs. Mia Murphy, but my only gripe was that it had to be so soon. Was it wrong to want to establish myself in my career? To relax a little after so many years of studying? To want to enjoy being a grown up without any responsibilities for just a little while?
Apparently, those things were all wrong. No matter how much I hemmed and hawed (as my mother put it) getting married was the right thing to do. I had listened to my parents and Grace and tell me countless times Declan was a good man, that he wore his heart on his sleeve and that there was nothing wrong with someone so young knowing what they wanted. I shouldn’t make him wait. He would change his mind and I would lose the best thing to ever happen to me because of cold feet. Everyone, including my own stubborn subconscious, convinced me that that’s all it was—cold feet. I felt then that I would regret it later if I turned my back on my happiness and the wonderful life that Declan could offer me.