“I ain’t ever stepped inside a gym,” Noa admits, smiling in the dark, propped up on an elbow so she can just barely see around the counter from her spot on the bed, and even then Pete is only a shape in the low light of the trailer. “I can thank all of this on my mama.” She’s never primped and preened at a compliment, but there’s always a familiar little bubble of something in her chest when she’s paid one. Noa doesn’t remember her mama much, but she still has a tattered picture somewhere, and the woman in it is as tall and thin as Noa, with the same dark eyes.
Noa pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, momentarily off guard. “With you?” She asks, but barely waits for an answer before she adds, “I think I'd like that, sweetheart.” What a date would look like is a bit of a question mark; it’s not quite like they can go to a restaurant or a bar these days. She never was a conventional date kind of woman though; it’s never been about the activity for her.
It’s not as easy as she thought to navigate the idea that whatever attractions been building isn’t one-sided. There’s a small pit in her stomach that feels a lot like nerves, but as always Noa’s determined to roll with the changes. It’s the good kind of nerves. “I like dancing,” she tells him, propping herself higher on her pillows. For once how she’s feeling is written in the curve of her smile, a conscious act on her part; she doesn’t want to seem indifferent, because at the very least she’d like to see what could be.