Snippet #1 – Willa’s POV

“Is this the only table you have available?” 

My eyes cannot be deceiving me. I’m standing in a restaurant with no one else in it, save another couple at the opposite end of the room. Surely the only table they have for me to sit at is not the one that happens to be directly beside Noah? Not to mention the fact the place is small enough I’d practically be sitting at his table anyway, the tables are that close to one another.

The young girl looks at me woefully. “I’m really sorry, but we’re full with reservations tonight.” Her tone is apologetic, and she’s young, so I’m not going to debate the situation … but still. The odds. I flex my hands, stretch my fingers, and take a deep breath, trying to fight back my irritation when I see a sliver of my tattoo under my sleeve. 

Believe. Ha. I almost snort out loud. How about I believe I’m Harry Potter and I cast a quick spell to time travel to another restaurant in another town altogether? 

“What about the bar?” I nod my head toward the old wooden bar where an older woman is busy making drinks and watching me through narrowed eyes. “Looks like there’s space there.”

“Our bartender isn’t on duty for another hour.” When I shoot her a questioning look, obviously confused by the woman pouring herself a soda from the beverage gun, the young girl stammers. “I’ve been asked to not have anyone sit there until his shift begins.” 

So this fact leaves me to be seated by the blight that plagues me. Yes, I’m being ridiculously overdramatic, but the thought of chewing my dinner and having to stare at Noah, or work hard to look anywhere in this room besides at Noah, turns me off in the biggest way. Like a light switch after a big night out. I didn’t go to that party tonight because I wanted some time alone, time to myself to plan out the schedule I need to juggle in the days ahead.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh, pulling out my notebook and phone. When I look Noah’s way, he’s watching me, his expression frozen. I can’t read him, but he could be as weirded out that I’m about to be seated beside him as I am. I’ll save us both the trouble. I pick the chair where my back will be facing him and pull it out and settle in. 

The hostess hands me the menu and asks for a drink order before she disappears from sight. I make a mental note to apologize to her. Poor thing. It’s not her fault she’s seated me next to the devil. 

“Hi, Willa.” Of course his voice is like hot chocolate. The devil’s would be velvety and delicious. My instincts tell me to ignore him, but I’m here to work. I can hear my mom’s voice in the back of my mind telling me to play nice.

I pick up the menu and fake peruse it. Fake because of course I can’t think about anything else right now except that he’s right there.

“Hello, Noah. Fancy running into you at dinner.”

“A man’s gotta eat,” he responds. 

“No doubt, but when I heard about the party happening in town tonight, I figured you’d be the first one signed up to be there.” I flip a page of the menu a little more aggressively than intended and manage to rip it a tiny bit. Must. Breathe.

“Contrary to past reports, I’m not the guy who goes to all the parties any longer.” 

I want to turn around and face him, see the look on his face, but the stubborn part of me refuses. He’s the one who is engaging me; I can only imagine that eventually my lack of wanting to chat will catch on and he’ll focus on something else.

“So, you’re telling me a leopard can change his spots. That’s nice,” I manage to say, doubt dripping with each word. Holding my menu up in the air for him to see. “But, the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned. If you’ll excuse me, I need to decide on my meal.”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Of course, sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

A weight slides off my shoulders. Was it really that easy? I decide it has to be and go about choosing my meal, landing on the lasagna, then turning my attention to my notebook. This was to be a planning session for Noah’s photos amongst other work, and I intend to stay focused, even if he is right behind me and I can hear him breathing. 

 

Snippet #2 – Willa’s POV 

Noah picks up a large, vibrant maple leaf and watches as the woman in charge gives a quick demonstration on how to make a leaf crown. As he works, his hands mimic hers and move with a gentle precision, selecting each leaf with care and arranging them just so. I point my camera at Noah and at his crown, snapping away steadily. The rustling of the leaves is soothing, and I find myself entranced by the rhythmic motion of his fingers.

In a matter of minutes, he finishes the crown and then gently places it on my head. I reach up to touch it, marveling at the intricate design. “Thank you,” I say, my voice filled with gratitude.

“My pleasure. Every queen deserves a crown.” He smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “It looks good on you, Willa.”

Something inside of me hitches. It’s like a rope has been tied to my insides and they’re pulling them to my outsides. I feel exposed, vulnerable. We may be standing in the middle of a busy fall festival, but it’s like the world has fallen away and it’s just us. Me and Noah and those beautiful pink lips of his that I hadn’t noticed before. 

When those lips turn up at the corners, I feel a surge of ice inside of me. A quick glance tells me I’ve been busted. He caught me staring at his lips. Which is exhausting, considering a few days back I was ready to wrestle him and drown him in the river. 

Noah wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face?”

I feel a flush of heat as my cheeks surely are now red with embarrassment. “Ah, no, I was thinking …” Quick, Willa. WHAT were you thinking? Looking around, I’m at a loss for what to say next when I see a sign for a photo booth. 

“I was thinking instead of me making a crown, that we should stick you in the photo booth. In a new outfit, of course.” 

“Why do that when you have a camera?” 

“Options.” Yes, Willa, go with that. “I can give the magazine some pictures of you from the photo booth to use as well. Who knows if they’ll use them or not, but we can try.”

Noah narrows his eyes but reaches for his backpack. “I’ve got one other top I brought with me. Do I need to change my pants as well?”

“Your jeans are fine. I’ve been taking photos from the waist up, and unless you plan on doing a handstand, we shouldn’t see your bottom half in these pictures, either.” 

“You said bottom half.” Noah chuckles as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. 

“What happened to Mr. Conservative who needed to hide behind the food truck?” I tease as his sweatshirt comes off—and the T-shirt he was wearing underneath comes along with it. Leaving me standing, up close and personal, in the middle of Maple Fest with one half-naked Noah Beaumont. 

And he ain’t hard to look at. 

My eyes take on a life of their own, widening as I digest the sight before me. Noah’s body is, to put it mildly, a work of art. His chest is broad and chiseled, each muscle appears to be sculpted by a master craftsman—or perhaps just years of intense training. His abs are a perfect six-pack, each one defined and glistening slightly in the crisp fall air, making me wonder if he has a personal ab-polisher on standby.

His arms, well, let’s just say they could probably lift a car or two, maybe even a small house. They’re muscular and toned, veins running down them like a roadmap of strength and power. His shoulders are wide and sturdy, the kind that could probably carry the weight of the world—or at least a couple of teammates after a victory celebration.

As if the Universe couldn’t resist adding a touch of the ridiculous, a stray autumn leaf gently floats down and lands right on his left pectoral. It sticks there for a moment, as if even nature wants a piece of the action. I can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

Noah, blissfully unaware of the spectacle he’s created, looks around in confusion. “Uh, why is everyone staring?”

“Maybe because you’ve turned Maple Fest into Male Feast-for-the-eyes,” I manage to quip, trying to keep my voice steady.

He glances down at his bare chest and then back up at me, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Oh, whoops.”

I’m trying to maintain a straight face, but failing miserably. “You might want to put your shirt back on before the festival organizers start charging admission.”

He chuckles, quickly pulling his shirt back over his head, but not before giving me one last, all-too-smug wink. “You think anyone got a good look?”

“Oh, I think they got more than a good look,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve just become the highlight of the festival.” 

 

 

 

Snippet #3 – Noah’s POV

“I’ll keep apologizing if I have to, Willa. One thing I learned doing my own self-discovery was how far and wide my choices reached when I was acting so destructively. Hearing the pain you were in when we met, it’s no wonder you hated me.”

“Wanted to hate you, but there’s a fine line between love and hate, isn’t there?” She chuckles. “I’m realizing now there is a difference, though, between actually being angry at someone versus having them be a part of the hurricane that is the crapshoot landing in the dumpster fire that was my life. All that to say, I accept your apology.”

“So we’re on a clean slate?”

She smiles, holding out her hand. “Clean slate.”

We’re sitting in the back of the car, the hum of the engine the only sound breaking the silence between us. Yet here we are, about to make an agreement that could change everything.

The gesture catches me off guard, a moment of vulnerability that makes my heart race. Our eyes meet, and for the first time in a long while, I see something beyond the wariness and caution in her gaze. And that pounding in my heart? It’s back. 

When I place my hand in hers, the warmth of her touch sends a jolt through me, and suddenly, I’m acutely aware of just how much I want her to see the man I’ve become. Her grip is firm, steady, and her hands are soft, smooth, gentle; in that simple handshake, a rush of emotion floods through me.

This isn’t just a handshake to clear the air—it’s a chance to rewrite my story with her, to prove that I’m not the reckless guy she once crossed paths with. Her hand lingers in mine, and I’m in no hurry to let go. Our eyes lock together, hers bouncing back and forth, looking at me as her lips part and she takes in a breath of air. Once again, that pouty lower lip of hers almost beckons to me.

At this moment, I know. I know that I’m falling for her. It’s more than a need for redemption—it’s a genuine desire to be with Willa, to show her I’m worth her trust. It’s a foreign feeling to me and the body slam it gives is enough to shake me to my very core.