Two Weeks to Fall in Love

4. Two Weeks to Ask the Questions

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and I felt personally attacked by how peaceful everything seemed compared to how I felt; like a raging typhoon was building up inside of me.

Glancing at my surroundings, I nervously tried to spy the familiar figure of one Noah Archer, and almost did a little dance when I couldn't find him. My excitement was short lived however, because as soon as I took a few steps, I could see him standing at the bottom of the staircase, his usual headphones firmly placed on his ears, head nodding in rhythm of whatever song was playing.

I let out a deep sigh, and jogged down the steps toward him. Better to get this over quickly. As if he sensed my presence, he looked up and pulled down his headphones.

"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind and that you wouldn't show up." Noah tilted his head to the side, smirking. He clearly had an inkling that I wasn't dating him because I had feelings for him. Which just made me more confused over why he'd accepted me in the first place.

"I don't know why you would think that," I muttered trying to plaster the sweetest possible smile on my face. In the end, it felt more like I was grimacing. "We're dating, no?"

Noah laughed and shook his head, offering me his hand. I stared at his outstretched hand blankly, then looked up at his sparkling eyes. He closed his hand and opened it again, raising one eyebrow significantly.

"We are dating, no?" He repeated, mockingly.

I narrowed my eyes, but not wanting to admit defeat to him -- again! -- I took hold of his hand and started walking toward the parking lot with wooden steps.

He changed the grip he held on my hand, entwining our fingers, and a shudder ran down my spine. His hand was gentle, but his fingertips felt curiously rough and worn.

I'd read about this sweet moment in so many books. When I was younger, I'd even imagined what it would be like by grasping my own hand -- as lame as that made me feel in the end. In a way, it was this sweet moment when the protagonists would lovingly entwine their hands that always made my heart clench happily in my chest when I read romance books.

So why, oh why, was Noah Archer the first guy I held hands with like this?

He pulled me along as we walked to his car, and I tried to think about anything but the feeling of his fingers wrapped around mine.

Suddenly he stopped in front of a blue Range Rover, and let go of my hand, much to my relief. In embarrassment, I realized my hand had gotten unexpectedly sweaty and quickly wiped it against my black jeans.

Noah took out his keys, unlocked the car, and held open the passenger door for me. "After you."

I rolled my eyes and settled down into the surprisingly comfortable car seat. Until today, I hadn't paid much attention to the kind of life Noah led, but he did drive a car that was nicer than a lot of kids at school.

As he sat down on the driver's seat and pushed the keys into the ignition I tapped the control board in front of me.

"So, you're rich." It was more of a statement than a question.

He flinched, and cleared his throat, "I'm not rich."

"That's a pretty nice car for someone who isn't rich, then." It was the first time I'd actually gotten a reaction out of him that didn't involve a condescending smirk, and my detective instincts were telling me to investigate.

Noah sighed, giving me a sidelong glance before he started the car, "I'm not rich, my dad is."

Hm, interesting. I didn't know a single high school kid that made that kind of distinction when it came to money. In fact, if you spoke to any spoiled rich kid, they'd usually act like they'd earned the money they have themselves, instead of having it all simply thrown into their laps.