The more he talked, the more normal Noah seemed. Perhaps she romanticized him a bit to begin with, taking his different appearance to mean that he lead some type of exciting life, but from the way he described things—skipping the gym, going to party, getting a lecture from his parents—Charlotte found that they were more similar than she thought. Knowing that didn't mean that the dark-haired young woman was no longer interested in Noah, he still lived in the city and his definition of a party was probably a little more risky than hers, but above all else, he was easy to talk to. Charlotte herself was a people person, but it was rare that she clicked with someone so instantaneously.

“You can tell me whatever you want,” Charlotte shook her head, hoping he wouldn't be discouraged. She would rather hear about his life than how much beer he could drink, or how he thought the Sox were going to do that year. In all honesty, she got enough of that from her other male friends, and there was only so much of Fenway's big green monster and home runs that she could take. Instead, she wanted to hear about his drawings, and whatever other off the wall details he could think up.

Laughing, Charlotte grinned, “clean. Accurate yet unexpected. I think most people would call it snobby.” Boat clubs and backyard parties quickly became boring and Charlotte would have been happy to let anyone from Boston take her place at such functions most days. “Where exactly were you trespassing?” she asked, her tone more curious than judgmental.

She sat back as their food was delivered to the table, and Charlotte laid her napkin across her lap after thanking the server. She poured a generous amount of syrup over the hot, blueberry pancakes on the plate before digging in and taking a bite.