Noah blinked, sitting up straighter, and glanced at me, like he was checking in, but in a reassuring way.
I gave him a small, but maybe uneasy smile.
Cause there was something in her voice—a deliberate tone that reminded me of her “surprise” a few days ago. When she thought she was sending him away for the rest of the trip.
It put me instantly on edge.
But I wasn’t going to keep him away from her. She was his mom.
Also, if Noah and I did decide to date after we got home, which was beginning to feel more and more like a possibility, it would be so much easier if she just liked me!
I turned back to him with a smile that felt lighter than I did. “I need to check my email anyway.” My voice came out steady. Unbothered.
But before he stood, Noah hesitated.
His eyes lingered on mine, and for a second—just a second—everything around us faded: the tinkling fountain, the distant slot machine noises, the voices at reception.
He leaned in, the way he sometimes did before he kissed me. His hand grazed the outside of my thigh, warm and familiar. His face was so close I could feel his breath. And his gaze was fixed on my mouth like he was deciding something.
And then?—
“Ahem.”
His mother.
Noah pulled back, leaving me ridiculously disappointed.
His smile was sheepish. Apologetic. Maybe a little regretful.
Definitely a little regretful.
I told myself not to read anything into this. His mom just wanted a word. She was probably feeling a little neglected.
And that was fair.
But when he turned to wink at me, I found myself memorizing the lines of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the shape of his hands hanging at his sides.
It didn’t make any sense. And I didn’t want to give in to stupid insecurities.
I was also due to get my period next week. PMS. That was probably all this was.
I relaxed back against the bench, letting the cool air of the lobby settle against my overheated skin. For a second, I just breathed.
Then I pulled out my phone.
And…
The world shifted.
A wall of notifications hit me like a sudden downpour—Instagram pings, Facebook alerts, texts from numbers I didn’t recognize.
One hundred thirty-seven unread emails.
My stomach dropped.
I tapped open the email app, sorted it by oldest first, already bracing myself—but nothing prepared me for the subject line near the top: Legal Notice – Immediate Attention Required.
Sent from the station the day I flew to Denver!
