“Take off your watch,” he says at one point. “I want it to look natural. Pretend you just came here after a run, not like you’re on the cover of Sports Illustrated.”
I unbuckle the strap and toss it onto the grass, shooting him a look. “Anything else, boss?”
He bites his lip, cheeks flushing, but not backing down. “Lose the attitude.”
I bark a laugh, unable to help myself. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir,” he mutters, and that flustered edge is back, but it only lasts a second. He checks his settings and then nods at a spot near the water. “Go sit there. And look away from me, just for a second. Pretend you’re thinking about something important.”
I do as he says, except I’m not pretending. Iamthinking about something very important:him.When I glance back, he’s lowering the camera, just watching me, eyes wide and dark. For a second, neither of us says anything. It’s quiet except for the slow trickle of the stream.
Noah moves closer, stepping around a fallen branch, his shoes crunching in the grass. “You always this obedient?” he asks, teasing, but his voice cracks at the end.
I swallow, pulse stuttering. “Depends who’s giving the orders.”
That gets me another real smile, bright and soft, and I swear my heart does a somersault. He crouches down beside me, camera forgotten for the moment, elbows on his knees. We sit there, side by side, neither of us speaking for a long minute.
He turns to me, voice barely more than a whisper. “You really never brought anyone else out here?”
I shake my head. “No one.”
“Not even…?”
“No,” I say firmly, cutting him off before he can name names. “Just you. No one else gets my quiet, Blue.”
He nods, gaze dropping to his shoes. His fingers toy with the strap of his camera, winding it around his hand and then unwinding it. “I like it here,” he says. “It feels safe.”
“You’re always safe with me,” I reply, the words slipping out before I can catch them.
He looks up, startled by the intensity in my voice, and for a split second, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But then he smiles, soft and a little sad. “I know.”
We’re too close now. I can feel the heat coming off him, the nervous energy that radiates when he’s about to do something brave. He inches forward, his knee brushing mine, and every part of me goes still.
Noah’s the one who breaks the moment. “Okay, last set,” he says, all business again, pushing to his feet and snapping the camera up. “Stand by the edge, just there—and look back at me.”
I move to where he’s pointing, the grass damp and cold under my feet.
“Damien,” he calls softly.
I turn, meeting his gaze, and the look on his face nearly guts me. He watches me through the lens, and this time I see it—all the longing, all the hunger, all the questions he’s too scared to ask.
I walk up to him as he lowers the camera slowly, breath catching when he sees how close I am. Instead of putting distance between us, he steps closer, too—so close I can see every freckle on his cheeks, every tiny fleck of color in his eyes.
Beautiful. He’sfuckingbeautiful.
For a second, I forget everything except the shape of him, the want written so plainly it’s almost painful. “Blue…” I whisper, leaning in so close our noses brush. My breath catches, and then—panic.
I break first and pull back, cursing myself for being so fucking weak. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, stumbling back and shoving a hand through my hair. “I shouldn’t have—fuck, Noah, I’m sorry.”
Noah blinks, cheeks flaming red, mouth parted. He fumbles with the camera, nearly dropping it before looping the strap around his neck and stepping back. “It’s fine. You didn’t… You did nothing wrong.”
I swallow, guilt making my chest ache. “I didn’t mean to make that weird,” I rush to say, pulling at my hair. “It’s just—I got caught up, and you were—fuck, I’m sorry.”
“I should probably go,” he mumbles, and both his hands and voice are shaky. He doesn’t look at me as he busies himself with putting the lens cap on and stuffing his phone into his pocket.
I run a hand over my face, frustration simmering under my skin. The sun’s almost gone now, the light turning everything blue and cool, shadows stretching across the ground. I put my shirt and shoes back on again, and we walk back to his car in silence, tension stretched tight between us. I follow him to the driveway, wanting to fix it, wanting to say something that’ll make it better, but the words don’t come.
When we reach his car, he fumbles for his keys, dropping them once before managing to unlock the door. I try again. “Noah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it weird.”
