Page 37 of My Star-Crossed Summer

Aside from my burning calves and the stitch in my side, I’m great. So I give him a wave and a thumbs-up that says,All good.

“Okay,” he says to the group, “we’re almost to the falls. Remember to watch for slippery rocks.”

Sophie leads them onward while Noah waits for me to catch up. His eyes drift to my feet and then back up to my face as if he’s looking for any outward signs of distress. I’m certain he can hear the pounding of my heart from ten paces, even as I plant my hands on my hips and inhale slow and deep. I’m breathless from the hike, but also from this feeling of wonder—and a persistent thought that I’ve been chasing the wrong kind of success.

And the wrong kind of meaning.

That pursuit hasn’t felt right for a long time, but I’ve been afraid to admit it. Because, at best, it means I’ve wasted my time and effort. At worst, it means I’ve been sacrificing what’s most important to me because of someone else’s expectations.

Both feel like a loss.

“You all right?” he asks. His hair’s standing out every which way, his eyes curious. It’s such a simple question, but it has a complicated answer.

“Sure,” I tell him, because now’s not the moment to explain my existential crisis. “Just wanted to stop for a minute. It’s been a while since I saw a place with zero concrete.”

That lazy smile pulls at his lips, and now my heart’s pounding for a different reason. Ever since we kissed, I’ve been trying to keep more distance between us. Because as much as I’d like to do that again, we can’t.

My brain has gone over the logic of this line we’ve drawn a thousand times, but my body’s having none of it.

“It’s not far,” he says, nodding in the direction the kids went. “And it’s totally worth the screaming quads.”

I swallow hard because I do not need to think about Noah’s muscular thighs and powerful glutes and the masterful way they propel him up this mountain.

Nope.

He leads me onward, and I keep his pace as we climb rustic steps made from packed dirt and railroad ties. The trailturns downhill again where there’s a drop-off to a clearing, the waterfall just beyond. The sound of crashing water fills my ears, and Noah holds out his hand to help me down.

I hesitate, but only for a second. The downward part of the trail is steep and rocky, and I don’t trust myself to not slip. I take his hand, and his fingers squeeze as he gently guides me to where he stands solidly on the earth.

His eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches as I try to focus on my feet and not the firm grip of his hand. Then my foot slips on a loose rock, and I instinctively reach out to him. Noah steps forward, placing his other hand on my hip to steady me. “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.

Heat rushes through me as he lowers me to the ground. And then I’m just a breath away from him, the toes of our boots touching and my whole body pressed against his. Somehow, both of his hands are on my hips, and my hands rest on his chest. When I look up at him, his pupils widen, and a blush races from my cheeks down to my collarbones.

“Thanks,” I say, and the word whooshes out in a way that’s entirely too breathy. My heart’s pounding from trying to keep his quick pace going uphill, and I know I should put more space between us, but I can’t.

Or rather, I don’t want to.

His eyes darken to a deep green, and I know he feels it too—the invisible thread that tugs us closer.

“Anytime,” he says.

As he glances over his shoulder at the clearing where the kids are gathered, his hands tighten, and my entire body hums in response. It’s only then that I notice the fifty-foot waterfall behind him—because as gorgeous as that rushing water is, it still has nothing on Noah Valentine.

Turning back to me, he whispers, “Come on. The falls are the best part.”

Debatable, I think. Because this part—right here—is tough to beat.

I follow him to a quiet pool near the waterfall, encircled by rocks. A wooden footbridge stretches across the stream, and the kids have fanned out into groups to explore. Some are on the bridge with Sophie, some are gathered on the rocks, and a few have taken their shoes off to wade in the shallow pool.

“Derrick caught a chipmunk!” Layla sings, because she apparently lives every day like she’s in a high school musical. She’s impossible to miss out here, in her bright red top and yellow shorts, aqua socks pulled to her knees. Her wardrobe is like a rainbow—in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many colors on one person.

Noah turns toward the pool, where Derrick’s crouched by the rocks with Priya. He waves at us with one hand, the chipmunk peeking out of the other.

“Careful,” Sophie calls to Derrick. “They can get bitey.”

Noah lets out a weary sigh and gives me a look that says,We’ll continue this later, before jogging off to join the kids gathered around Derrick.

Still reeling from being held in Noah’s firm grip, I inhale deeply, taking in the beauty of the falls. I count to four with each breath to calm my racing heart because one minute with Noah has turned it into a powder keg.

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