“Chiara,” he says quietly.
My stomach flips.
“You keep pretending that night didn’t happen.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’re hiding.”
“I’m being smart.”
“You’re being scared.”
That lands like a punch.
“I am not scared.”
“Then why are you fighting this so hard?”
I open my mouth.
Close it again.
Because I don’t actually have a good answer.
And Noah watches the entire internal battle play out on my face.
“You felt it too.I know you did,” he says.
My pulse jumps.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What are you talking about?It means everything.”
I shake my head stubbornly.
“It was one night.Just sex.”
He studies me for a long moment.
Then sighs.
“Alright.”
The sudden surrender catches me off guard.
“Alright?”I repeat.
“If sex is all you’re willing to admit to,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “then we’ll call it that.”
I blink.
“We’ll callwhatthat exactly?”
“To the fact that you and I aren’t through, and if you want to give it a label and call itjust sex, then that is what we’ll call it.”
“So you’re agreeing?”
