Page 29 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“Nope. Wrecked that, too.” I force out a smile. “But actually, that was for the best. Even though I left him at the altar and fueled the town gossip mill for the next three years, the real tragedy would have been going through with it.”

Noah rakes a hand through his hair. The look that passes over his face looks like relief, and my heart flutters in my chest.

“I let myself believe we were good together, but now I see that I was settling. Truth be told, I was just afraid that something better wasn’t out there.” I shrug, feeling like a dam has burst and all these truths can finally emerge. “I told myself that what I had was good, but I was just so wrapped up in everyone else’s expectations that I couldn’t see how lost I’d become. And now sometimes I feel like I don’t know who I am because of that.”

He nods, resting his hands on his knees. “You shouldn’t let other people’s expectations run your life.”

I nod, listening to the chirping crickets and the calls of the night birds. Something about being here makes me feel free, and Noah is still so easy to talk to. It’s like he sees parts of me that I can’t always see so clearly. “Sometimes that’s easier said than done,” I tell him.

His brow lifts. “I know.”

“It probably sounds silly to you,” I tell him. “But Roxy thought I’d be a good fit for another position that’s coming uplater this year. This was a way to get my foot in the door, even though it’s totally out of my comfort zone.”

“Doesn’t sound silly.” He shakes his head, shifting so his knee’s pressed against mine again, grounding me. “But you know, my mom told me once that other people’s thoughts about you are none of your business. So why bother worrying about them? At the time, that concept blew my mind. But then I understood what she was saying. People are going to feel the way they feel, but don’t let that undermine howyoufeel about yourself and your dreams.”

I stare at him for a long moment, feeling once again like Noah Valentine can see right through me. Right into the deep corners of my heart where all the fears lie. It’s both comforting and unsettling, and the truth is that no one has ever made me feel seen the way that Noah does.

“What about you?” I ask. “How’d you land here?”

He’s close enough that I can see his unfairly full lashes, the faint freckles high on his cheeks.

Frowning, he leans back against the top of the picnic table. “The short version is that after graduation, when Samantha dropped me like a hot potato, I decided to finish that backpacking trip on my own. That led me to a group that was sort of like Outward Bound, and then I found this program.” He shrugs. “I just decided I was going to be open to whatever happened next, and things clicked into place.”

“That’s an incredibly mature response to being dropped like a hot potato.”

His lip curves in a hint of a smile. “I wasn’t so mature about it at the time. In the moment, it felt like she was following the pattern.”

“What do you mean?”

Another shrug. “I’m never the most interesting guy,” he says. “I’m the guy people talk to until someone more intriguing comes along.”

“Noah,” I breathe. “That’s not true.”

His sidelong look is the only argument he offers.

“I’m sorry that happened,” I say. “The hot potato part, that is.”

“Are you?” His brow lifts.

“Well, maybe not. Since everything seems to have worked out all right.” I give his shoulder a nudge. “We have to have some rough patches to appreciate the good things, right?” I gesture toward the cabins, the towering firs that encircle us. “And anyway, you seem to have found your happy place.”

His eyes meet mine, and something tugs tight in my chest. Then he smiles and says, “I have no doubt you’ll find yours, too. You always could do anything you set your mind to.”

“Except salsa dancing. I will forever be terrible at that.”

He laughs because he clearly hasn’t forgotten the time I insisted we join the ballroom dancing club during our junior year. I stomped on his feet no fewer than one thousand times and gave him a black eye when I flailed my arms during an over-energetic swing lesson.

“It’s okay to not be amazing at everything,” he says. “If you don’t fail, then you can’t grow.”

“You make that sound so simple.” Failure wasn’t an option in the Griffin household. Failure meant embarrassment. Shame. Weakness. Logically, I know that’s not true—but for decades, my parents made me feel like it was.

“Our feelings make it complicated,” he says.

Right. Feelings. Like the tingly ones surfacing now. The ones I have to keep locked down because this is Noah, my colleague, practically my supervisor.

He’s completely off-limits, but I don’t want him to be. And all that stuff I said about pretending we don’t have a history? I don’t want that, either.

“I should turn in,” I blurt, jumping to my feet.

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