He turned his head slightly, his eyes on me now instead of the sky. “You do?”
“I grew up thinking wealth meant security. My family had money. More than enough. But it never made us…safe. Not from people like my uncle or Annamaria. Not from what happened after.”
Noah didn’t look away, didn’t try to say something shallow. He just listened.
I licked my lips. “Turns out, money isn’t the problem. People are.”
A beat of silence. Then?—
“My sister always said money makes you more of what you already are,” Noah murmured. “If you’re an ass, you become a bigger ass. If you’re good, you do good things with it.”
I frowned slightly. “Your sister?”
At first, he didn’t react. He just watched the sky like he hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud. But then I saw it, something shifting in his expression, something I hadn’t noticed before.
I smiled a little. “You never mentioned having a sister.”
Now that I thought about it, no one ever had. When people talked about the Lucas family, it was always about one person—Elia. At least at first. Even Sheryn hadn’t known about Noah right away.
Noah didn’t answer for a long time.
Then, finally, he murmured a quiet, “She died.”
The words landed like a stone between us.
I didn’t push or ask for details. I just let the silence hang there, filling the space between our bodies and stretching across the blanket, the stars, and the night.
He didn’t move. Didn’t say another word.
And I understood.
He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see the look in his eyes—something serene and grateful. Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to let it be, that he’d been bracing for questions, pity, and something he didn’t want to hear.
Instead, I gave him space.
And in return, he gave me something else entirely.
His gaze dipped, briefly and almost imperceptibly, to my lips.
A breath passed between us, charged and heavy. And there it was again, that trace of sawdust I’d come to recognize as his signature. The one that scrambled my brain like a switch had flipped.
I knew what he was thinking.
I knew what he wanted.
And for one, reckless second, I wanted it too.
But I couldn’t.
Not when I was leaving. Not when I knew how this would end.
I turned my head, breaking the moment.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t say anything. He just exhaled, letting the tension slip away.
I sat up, smoothing down my shirt. “We should go.”
It was too dim to really see his expression, but I felt it—understanding, patience, maybe even restraint. “Yeah. Okay. How about we ride back before you turn into a pumpkin?”
