It was going to take us about four hours to get to our next destination, about the same amount of time we’d spent on that flight into Denver. When we first met, he’d seemed so intimidating, and I’d made about the worst first impression possible. Since then, we’d not only come to an understanding, but we had become…friends.
I squirmed in my seat, feeling twitchy.
Four hours on a bus was bad enough, but four hours alone with my own thoughts? Ruminating over the remnants of the life I’d left back in Rhode Island?
Torture.
Across the aisle, Babs was attempting to teach Mrs. Grady how to crochet. I couldn’t see much, just Babs’ voice floating over Noah’s sleeping form.
“No, Christine, gently. You’re crocheting, not strangling the yarn.”
Mrs. Grady grumbled something in return, but Babs just chuckled.
I stared out the window for another beat, then turned back toward them. “Hey, Babs,” I said, keeping my voice low, “you mind if I borrow a hook?”
Without missing a beat, she held out her bag. “Help yourself, Luna girl.”
I fished out a purple one, found a skein of yarn, and after handing it back, settled in. Noah didn’t stir—his arms crossed, his head tilted toward the aisle—and I exhaled, letting the soft rhythm of chain stitches soothe my frayed edges.
After the emotional whiplash of the last few days, I needed something familiar. Something steady.
And surprisingly, it worked.
The bus hummed along. The yarn moved through my fingers. For a while, I wasn’t spinning about my life; I was just breathing.
At some point, maybe an hour later, Noah shifted beside me and unfolded his arms. Maybe waking up.
I didn’t look at him right away. But I was aware of him again—his arm against mine, the space he took up. Just…him.
And instead of unraveling my own life in my head, I found myself wondering about his.
I had a thousand questions. About his work. His past. About what brought him here. About why he sometimes looked like he carried too much weight for one person.
But every time I opened my mouth, I shut it again.
Because when it came to me, Noah had been a surprisingly good listener.
But when it came to him?
He kept things locked up tight.
“What?”
His voice made me jump.
“What do you mean, ‘what?’” I shot back. But when I turned fully to face him, I didn’t account for the proximity of our seats.
Oh.
Oh.
It was bad enough—intoxicating enough?—to feel his shoulder, his arm…his thigh, to be hyper-aware of every little move he made. But now his face was mere inches from mine, and I suddenly forgot why I’d turned in the first place.
Noah tilted his head, squinting at me. “You’ve opened and closed your mouth three times in the last minute.”
I blinked.
“Out with it,” he said, arching one brow. Casual, like he hadn’t just caught me mid-spiral.
