Thankfully, he spoke first. “Speaking of New York, I found this article online that said staring into each other’s eyes is supposed to increase intimacy and put our brains in sync with one another.”

“That sounds made up.”

He made an X on his chest. “I swear it’s not.”

The server returned with glasses of water for both of us, and we thanked him. When he had cleared out, Noah asked, “Do you want to try it?”

“Sure.”

We leaned over and began staring into each other’s eyes. Even if people did normally leave him alone here, I had the feeling somebody was going to call in a padded wagon if we kept doing this. I felt silly.

Until I didn’t. I was focused on his light-brown eyes, the way there was a darker-brown ring around his pupils and another one surrounding his iris. How had I never noticed that before?

He spoke, and it startled me because I was so caught up in staring at him. “I love your eyes. The way the color seems to swirl between green and brown, depending on how the light hits it.”

Why did this make me uncomfortable? Him seeing me this way? I pitched forward slightly so that my hair would fall like a curtain around the sides of my face. “They’re just eyeballs. Almost everybody has them.”

“It’s not just your eyes. Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked, reaching up to lift my chin, and then tucked my hair behind my ears.

I accepted myself, flaws and all, and considered myself pretty average, but for him to call me beautiful? That did something to me. Some kind of exhilarating free fall was happening in my gut. Like he’d somehow infused me with some of his confidence and strength. I believed him, that he thought I was beautiful. His words shifted something inside me, and I found myself saying, “I want you to kiss me.”

There was only a slight glimmer of fear, so faint I almost didn’t feel it. There was more anticipation than anything else. I knew what would happen after, but I was willing to risk it.

“I was planning on it.”

He wasn’t understanding what I was saying. I put my hand on top of his. “No. I mean, I want you to kiss me.”

I saw the moment when comprehension set in. “Now?” he asked.

“No, not now.”

“In the van?”

“We can’t kiss there,” I said.

“Why not? A lot of kissing happens in cars. Are you worried people will see us?”

“Maybe.”

“And that they’ll judge you?” he asked, and it was a bit annoying how perceptive he was and how he seemed to understand things about my psyche that I hadn’t even considered. “No one’s going to judge you or laugh at you. If anyone does notice, they’ll just be jealous that you’re kissing me.”