“So...this is the one you couldn’t walk away from?”
Noah didn’t answer. And from the corner of my eye, I saw the small shake of his head, eyes narrowed, before he followed me into the briefing room.
And just like that, the comment slipped to the back of my mind.
There was a helicopter ride ahead and a whole lot of other things to feel nervous about.
A short safety talk followed—rotor awareness, seatbelt checks, “don’t open the doors midair” (obviously)—and then Rocky guided us back outside with four other passengers to the helicopter, which looked both sleek and terrifying.
Like a wasp made of glass and…hope.
Noah helped me in, insisting I take the window seat. We clipped on our headsets. And the moment he took my hand, I had this feeling.
This is right. This is it.
He just looked at me. You okay? his eyes asked.
I nodded.
The blades spun faster. The engine roared.
And then we lifted.
It wasn’t like a plane. There was no runway, no build-up. Just earth beneath us one moment, and sky the next. The ground dropped away and suddenly, the world felt impossibly large. And even though it made me feel incredibly small, that was okay.
Within minutes, we crested the canyon, and the view? It just opened up beneath us, the rainbow of reds and golds stealing the breath from my lungs.
The Colorado River shimmered far below, a silver thread that had carved through layers and layers of stone, each stratum telling a story millions of years old.
When I turned to look at Noah, he was already watching me, and his hand on my leg gave a little squeeze.
And in that moment, I realized that I still wasn’t scared.
Limitless.
Like I had felt back at the amusement park when I’d been suspended over another canyon. Like I had felt climbing up to that waterfall, feeling the pulse of bravery I’d forgotten even existed.
Every moment I’d felt more like myself lately, Noah had been there.
At the same time, I wondered if there was such a thing as too much bravery.
Was sharing my heart with this man—even just for a fling—more dangerous than flying over the Grand Canyon?
It was a question I didn’t want to answer.
But as we soared above the edge of the world, and Noah pulled me just a little closer, I already knew.
If it was, it was worth it.
“Today must have cost a fortune,” I said, glancing over at Noah from where I sat beside him in another shuttle, this one traveling west, to where we’d meet up with the group later tonight. “Let me pay for part of it. At least the helicopter.”
Noah just smiled and shook his head gently. “It was as much for me as it was for you.”
“Which is why I should pay for my half?—”
“Luna. Let me do this. Please.” A part of me really wanted to insist on paying my own way, but the look in his eyes stopped me.
It wasn’t ego. Just…sincerity. Like it really had been for him as much as for me. And how did a girl argue with that kind of reasoning?
