Limitless.
“Come on,” Noah murmured, his hand warm against my back.
We stepped inside together. Just one step over the threshold, and yet it felt like we’d crossed into something else entirely. Even though the town was still visible—shops, traffic, bustling pedestrians—this felt separate. Slower.
This ride was made for watching the world go by: wide windows framed in brass and wood, long padded benches along either side. Not like the bus. Not like a plane. This was built for seeing, not just going.
“Here we are,” Noah said behind me, gesturing to the last open seats.
And sitting there, trying very hard not to look disappointed, was?—
His mother.
Without Babs there to soak up the conversational oxygen, the vibe between us felt…sharper.
“Where’s Babs?” she asked, scooting along the bench to make room.
“She decided to stay in town,” I said. “Something about getting a stitch fixed on Morty’s hat.”
Saying it aloud, I realized just how completely fabricated it sounded.
Noah arched a brow behind me. “She didn’t give you a choice, did she?”
“She really didn’t,” I offered, wincing and laughing at the same time. “She threatened to call my mother.”
Noah waited for me to sit down first, but honestly, I wouldn’t have minded—just this once—if he’d skipped the whole gentleman routine.
That way I wouldn’t have found myself seated smack dab between him and his mother.
The bench was cushioned but not cushioned enough to absorb the awkwardness settling around us.
Awkwardness for me, that was.
On one side, I had Mrs. Grady, trying, but failing, to angle away from me. On the other…
Sweet temptation.
With his thigh pressed firmly against mine, Noah stretched one arm across the back of the bench. Every time his fingers grazed my shoulder, a little zip of electricity jumped straight down my spine. I was trying to act normal—casual, friendly, platonic—but my body wasn’t cooperating.
Heat pulsed low in my belly. My breath had gone shallow. And his scent—clean, woodsy, Noah—wasn’t helping.
Except wafting over from the other side was the scent of gardenia, a soft, powdery perfume I remembered my mom using for a while. It didn’t smell bad on Mrs. Grady, but it was…insistent.
As if she was determined to make her presence known in every possible way.
I shifted slightly. So did Noah, and one of his fingers traced the skin behind my ear.
Deliberately?
I wasn’t imagining it.
I mean, I could be. But I wasn’t.
And all I could do was sit there, sandwiched between a woman who wished I were her former daughter-in-law, and her son, the guy I’d made out with under a freezing waterfall.
No big deal. Just keep breathing. In. Out. Ignore the heat. The tingles.
It was different from all the days before. So much harder to ignore!
