“Thank you for saying that,” Norah said. She turned to Chase, looking directly into her face for the first time all night—maybe for the first time in years. Her green eyes were thick with pain and questions, her lids heavy and brimmed red. The paleness had settled back into her cheeks, and a stray wisp of brown hair fell softly over her forehead. Chase’s vulnerability was evident, and Norah found it disconcertingly sexy. Lust was one of the last things she expected to feel that night, although really it shouldn’t have been. Not when Chase was involved.
“It’s not an excuse. But it’s a part of the story, and I thought you should hear it.” Chase stretched out onto her back and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Would you look at those stars?”
Norah followed, not minding when their arms touched ever so slightly. “It’s stunning. You won’t see that in Atlanta.”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw stars, actually,” Chase said.
“Me either. What do you think that one is?” She pointed to the brightest object in the array of the universe’s nightly light show.
“I’m not sure. A planet maybe? Mars?”
“Huh.”
Looking up into the vast universe, Norah suddenly thought how strange it was that the two of them had lived in the same city for years and never crossed paths. And here they were, staring up at the stars on the hood of a jeep, in the middle of the South. She wasn’t sure why, exactly, but Norah felt overwhelmed with what she could only describe as immense gratitude in that moment. She slowly moved her hand to where Chase’s was resting on herbelly and took it, weaving their fingers together tightly, never moving her eyes from the infinite star-scape above her.
“Hey, Norah?” Chase said softly, her grip on Norah’s hand tightening just a little.
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe people can change?”
Norah thought about the question for a while before deciding to answer. It felt like the most important question she’d ever been asked. She leaned onto her side and propped herself up on one arm, looking down at Chase.
“I do. The ones who really want to, at least. And mostly, I believe that forgiveness and time are powerful things.”
They gazed at each other, both as still as the night that stranded them there on that back road. Norah’s mind was quiet, and her racing heart echoed in her ears as she placed her free hand on Chase’s cheek and leaned down in what felt like certain slow motion, until their lips met. An explosion inside Norah so loud it sounded like acrackstarted in her gut and ricocheted through her chest and into her head, which was so light now she thought she might pass out. Chase’s lips were as soft and giving as Norah had remembered—maybe more. And the feelings they brought with them forced Norah directly to her knees. She knew she should break the kiss, knew it was a terrible idea. But the magnet that connected them was far too strong. And Chase’s tongue felt far too good as it gently inched its way past hers. Finally, Norah found the fortitude to stop, the lingering explosion still hanging heavy in the air around them.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Norah muttered. It was probably true, but she felt like she said the words more out of obligation than anything else.
“I figured you’d say that.” Chase smiled, a hint of hurt hiding behind her expression, then nodded with apparent resolution. “It’s okay. We can just forget it happened. All right?”
Norah nodded back. But she knew she couldn’t forget. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to.
Chapter Seven
The sticky, blistering heat woke Chase up the next morning. That, and the sense that she was lying next to someone who definitely wasn’t Olivia, or any of her other past trysts. A head was resting heavy on Chase’s shoulder, and the scent of strawberries invaded her nostrils. It hadn’t been a dream. Norah was really asleep next to her. The sun beat down through the topless jeep onto Chase’s bare arms, a glisten of sweat already forming under the collar of her T-shirt. The evening’s blankets had been long since tossed aside when the sun started its ascent. It was probably near six thirty a.m., and the little analog thermostat on the dash read ninety degrees. But Chase didn’t want to move. Norah’s soft breath blew across Chase’s neck, and the occasional breeze tossed a piece of stray hair, tickling Chase’s face. She would burn to death before she left this moment.
A few minutes later, Norah’s breathing picked up, and she groaned quietly—a sweet sound that reminded Chase of waking up next to her so many mornings in the past.
“What time is it?” Much to Chase’s dismay, Norah lifted her head and wiped her mouth, tucking her hair back behind her ear.
Her arm now depressingly free, Chase lifted her wrist and glanced at her watch. “6:05.”
“No sign of anyone yet?”
“Not yet. But they’ll come. Don’t worry. Someone’s gotta be headed to work soon, right?”
“Right.” Norah seemed to brush some of the sleep out of her eyes. “Hopefully sooner rather than later, though, because I could really use a cup of coffee.”
“Same.” Chase desperately wanted to touch her again. But Norah had been clear last night. The kiss shouldn’t have happened. Except Chase was having a hell of a time reconciling that sentiment with the mind-blowing kiss they’d actually shared. She thought briefly back to their first kiss, sitting with their bar stools pushed close together at last call at the Saddle Room, where they shared a five-dollar pitcher of PBR. More than a little tipsy, Chase had leaned in, grateful to this day she didn’t fall off the high stool, and kissed Norah. It was the kind of light kiss that asked for permission and then evolved into a firestorm. The kiss last night wasn’t all that different. Except behind it was a decade of hurt and love and knowing someone—a decade of history. It had evolved, as they had evolved. And Chase wanted to see what else was hiding behind the next one.
The rumbling of an engine crescendoed in the distance, and Chase’s heart sank just a little. Being rescued meant going back to the others. Back to reality. Norah had always been better than Chase at compartmentalization. On the rare occasion they would fight back in medical school (usually about something stupid like who was going to do the dishes or why Chase could never decide what to have for dinner), Norah was well practiced in shoving any sadness or anger down deep and going back to work studying for her pathophysiology midterm. It used to drive Chase crazy, and what she saw as cold aloofness was actually just Norah’s attempt at self-preservation. Once they got back to camp, the kiss really had never happened. And they were back to colleagues, or friends at best, at least as far as Norah was concerned.
“Do you hear that? Or am I hallucinating? I never know when I’ve spent this long decaffeinated,” Norah said eagerly.
“No. I hear it too. It’s getting closer. Here. Put these on.” Chase hit the hazard lights, amazed that the old girl still hadenough juice left. The jeep flashed her blinkers weakly, as if giving her dying breath.
“Good idea.” Norah jumped from the jeep, the approaching engine growing louder until a pickup old enough to have voted for HW Bush putted around the corner.
