Page 33 of My Star-Crossed Summer

He pauses, brows raised in surprise. When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are stormy gray-green. “Lots of times.”

It would be so easy to lean over and kiss him right now and turn all of this hurt into something else entirely. “Did you miss me?”

His voice is gravelly. “You first this time.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He leans closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. My heart leaps into my throat.

“Same,” he says. “So much.”

He reaches up, and my body hums, waiting for his touch. He tugs a blade of grass from my hair, his thumb grazing my cheek.

Heat blooms in my chest. He’s just a breath away, and I’m about to combust. It would be so easy to kiss him, and no one would ever have to know.

No more pretending.

I move closer until we’re only a breath apart. His hand rests on my thigh, and that small touch breaks the last of my resolve. When his eyes lock on mine, he dips his head—an invitation—and I’m a goner. In a blink, my hand is in his hair, and my lips press against his gently at first. He’s still for a moment, but then I catch his bottom lip in my teeth, and he makes a low sound, deep in his throat that makes those butterflies swirl in my ribcage like a hurricane. His tongue parts my lips, and I know I should stop this—but this isNoah,and it just feels so right.

A door slams down the hall, and Noah jumps back as if he’s been zapped with a cattle prod. We both leap from the bed at the sound of the boys’ voices as they come closer, their sneakers squeaking on the tile. Noah glances toward his half-open door, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“I should go,” I tell him, just as he says, “I think you’re all set,” and eases away from me. It’s a tiny movement, but says everything.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... brought up ancient history.”

His lip curves into a sad smile. “It’s okay.”

“We can’t,” I whisper.

His brow lifts. “I know.”

Willing my heart to go back to its normal rhythm, I take a deep breath, pushing all of the feelings I stupidly brought to the surface back down again.

“I’m going to go,” I tell him, even though leaving him is the last thing I want and my feet feel rooted to this spot.

His gaze pins me in place. “Yeah.”

I head for the door and pause. “I had a thought. Before I ate dirt.”

He busies himself closing the first-aid kit. When he glances up at me, there’s a hunger there that nearly unravels me.

“What’s that?” he says, his voice low.

“What if we had a second activity each day for the kids? We could offer a sporty-sport like Frisbee, and then also something that’s a little less... contact.”

“A sporty-sport?” he says lightly, and just like that, my teasing Noah is back.

“We could do yoga, or dancing, or just walk one of the easy trails around the property.” I shrug. “Some of the kids were hanging on the sidelines, looking like they’d rather be at the dentist than standing out on that field. I remember that feeling as a kid—playing sports was agony if you felt like you were terrible at it.”

“You want to lead the alternate activity?” he says.

“Given my record with the sporty-sports, I think that’s the safest solution.”

He smiles. “That’s a great idea. Make a list of what you want to offer, and I’ll add it to our schedule. We can start tomorrow.”

“Thanks for patching me up,” I tell him.

“Of course,” he says.

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