Page 51 of My Star-Crossed Summer

He’s silent for a long while, lying on his back. Just when I think he’s asleep, he says quietly, “Listen, about the bridge. I’m really sorry. If I’d known you were afraid of heights, I would have planned a different hike.” His voice has a sad edge to it, like he’s been thinking about this for a while. And knowing Noah, he has.

“It’s okay,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to say that. It can be not-okay.”

I breathe in the faint scent of woodsmoke, listening to the quiet thump-thump of my heart. “I didn’t think I was that afraid of heights. I don’t know what was different today. I just froze.”

“I still feel bad about it,” he mutters. It sounds like he’s biting off the rest of the sentence. There’s more he isn’t saying, and I wish he would let those words out, too.

“Don’t,” I tell him, a little too sharply. “You have no reason to.” Something twists in my chest, and I wonder if we’re still talking about a bridge.

“I don’t have anything else like that planned,” he says. “After the canoe trip tomorrow, everything else is low-key.”

I remember this from the schedule, of course, but he says it like the words might be a balm. Like he’s trying to protect me and put me at ease. It’s typical Noah—he might have changed in some ways in the last six years, but not in that way. He’s still looking out for me.

“I didn’t do what I wanted to,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

“What do you mean?”

He turns toward me and sighs. “When we were on the bridge. I wanted to be the one to take your hand and give you what you needed.”

The words strike me dead-center. “Oh,” I breathe.

“I thought you wanted me to keep my distance. To give you space. But that’s not what you wanted, was it?” His voice is so tender I want to fold myself in his arms.

I swallow hard because I’m not sure what happens if I admit this truth. But I have to be braver. I can’t keep bottling all these feelings up, pretending they don’t exist.

“No,” I said. “It wasn’t.”

He reaches for my hand under the blankets, lacing his big fingers in mine. “I knew what you needed, but I did what you asked.” He slides his thumb along my palm in a way that makes my heart flutter. “But you’ve never liked asking for help.”

I nod, feeling a lump in my throat.

“I won’t make that mistake again,” he says, eyes wide in the dim light. “Because that summer, I thought you wanted space, then, too. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

I swallow hard. Then whisper, “Yes.”

His big hand squeezes mine, and it’s taking everything in me not to dive under this blanket and remove every scrap of fabric that’s stopping all of his skin from touching mine. No one’s ever come close to knowing me the way that Noah does. Over the years, I tried to tell myself that other guys did, but that was a lie that I told myself to make losing him hurt less. All of these feelings I have for Noah? They’re tangled and complex. They didn’t diminish over time, and now that we’re here together, I can’t keep lying to myself and telling myself they aren’t real. What I feel for Noah is deeper than anything I’ve ever felt for anyone else, and I don’t want to tamp it down anymore.

I want to climb on top of him and kiss him until we both come apart.

But we can’t do that here.

I think of Roxy, who got me this job. The kids, who deserve a summer camp that only has kid-drama and not drama from two adults who have to sort out their own complicated wants and their complex past that’s riddled with mistakes, missteps, and wounds that are hard to name.

I think of ice cold water, pounding rain, hungry bears, itchy sports bras—anything to take my mind off Noah Valentine and his big warm hands and sexy scruff, his molten stare that still makes me feel like I’m the eighth Wonder of the world.

He always seems to know what’s in my heart. I can’t hide anything from him, which means he has to know how I’m feeling right now: elated to be so close to him again and devastated because I can’t yet tell him all the truths I’ve been holding back and touch him the way I want to.

I lie quietly in the darkness, willing my breaths to be deep and even. I may not be able to sleep, but I can at least fake it for his sake. In the stillness, I feel his heartbeat in the palm of his hand, slowly falling into rhythm with mine.

Lord have mercy. This is going to be the longest night in the history of the world.

Just when I think he’s asleep, he turns over, so he’s facing me. In the darkness, I can barely see the furrow in his brow, the intensity of his stare.

“I have so many things I want to say to you,” he says. “Starting with this: I never should have taken that trip with Samantha. I was head over heels for you, and it completely terrified me. I’d convinced myself that you didn’t have feelings for me, and then the moment you showed me you did, I froze.”

He brings my hand to his lips. “I felt like I had to be the good guy and follow through with that trip with her because backing out meant I was like my dad. But doing that hurt you, and that was never what I wanted.”

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