Page 91 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“Is this a dinner cruise?” I ask, immediately feeling anxious about being packed on a boat with a bunch of strangers on New Year’s Eve. Although seeing the fireworks in the harbor would be amazing.

“Nope.”

“Carriage ride?”

He snorts. “Please, Griffin. You deserve better than the typical touristy stuff. And you know I strive for first-rate surprises.”

I grin as he parks the car and cuts the engine. In a flash, he’s opening my door and helping me out onto the sidewalk, one hand clutching mine and the other looped around my waist as I find my footing. I can see the tiniest sliver of pavement and grass through the bottom of the blindfold, but I won’t peek because Noah’s probably been planning whatever this is for weeks.

The man delights in surprising me. And as it turns out, I like surprises when they come from a place of love. And the surprises that Noah cooks up? They’re the best.

Well, except for that one with the terrifying bridge over the bottomless gorge in the mountains—but even that one worked out all right in the end.

“About twenty steps on the pavement,” he says, slipping his arm through mine. He leads me a few paces down a sidewalk, then turns onto a walkway lined with palmettos that brush against my arm as we pass.

A floral scent hangs in the air, mixed with the comforting woodsy scent that’s all Noah. With one hand at my lower back, he leads me up two steps and then pauses as he punches a key code into a door. After two tiny beeps, the bolt flips, and he ushers me inside. My boot heels clack on the hardwood floor, and I immediately feel more at ease. This is no restaurant—it feels like a home. The air is fresh inside and warmer, with a hint of cloves that must be left over from the holidays.

“Now?” I ask, touching the blindfold.

He places his fingers over mine and leans close. His lips move against my ear as he whispers, “Not yet.”

Before I can reply, he scoops me over his shoulder into a firefighter’s carry and heads up a flight of stairs. My hearthammers in my chest as I shriek in surprise and tug at the hem of my skirt.

“You better not drop me, Valentine,” I say between giggles.

He gives my backside a playful smack, earning another shriek from me.

“Have a little faith, Griffin,” he says, his voice doing that sexy-rumble that I will never, ever get tired of hearing.

I have nothing to worry about, though. With Noah, I always know I’m safe. The sky could shatter around us, and he wouldn’t let me go.

The floorboards creak under his feet, and then I hear the sound of another door opening. A breeze lifts my hair as he sets me back down on my feet. His face is just inches from mine when he slides his fingers along my cheeks and slips the blindfold off.

The first thing I see is his mischievous grin. He’s proud of himself, and soon I see why.

We’re standing on a small balcony that’s decorated with huge potted plants and strings of outdoor lights. With a canvas canopy covering half the sitting area, it’s like a little oasis. The houses here are close enough together that you can see straight into everyone’s tiny yard, but the plants around us create a privacy screen so we’re hidden from view. I’m still taking in all the details when I realize that this isn’t just any vacation rental—it’s the balcony where we met.

“Noah,” I breathe.

“My uncle can’t bring himself to sell this place,” he says. “He’s out of town for the week and offered to let us stay.” He gives me a tiny shrug. “New Year’s getaway.”

“Can’t say I blame him. Is that awesome little bakery still right down the block? Because if so, I wouldn’t want to let go of this house, either.”

“Ah,” Noah says, holding his finger up. “That reminds me.” He ducks back inside through the French doors, leaving me tosoak up the last few rays of the sun. I’d forgotten how this corner of the neighborhood lights up during the golden hour, all the bricks bathed in warm light as the sun sinks below the tree line.

The balcony’s had some serious upgrades since I was last here—including a new iron railing, new floorboards, and a small table that comfortably sits two. Long gone are the rickety ladder of the fire escape and the beat-up chairs where we once sat dressed as a reluctant superhero and a cheeky wood nymph. Now, the cute bistro-style table is set with a big bouquet of fresh-cut lilies, surrounded by tea light candles and hanging holiday cacti bursting with blooms. This looks like a photo from a magazine, from the bright-colored rug to the wicker loveseat and the wind chimes.

When he comes back out, he’s carrying an open bottle of wine and two stemless glasses, looking effortlessly sexy in his slim-cut jeans and green wool sweater. After all the traveling with camps over the last few months, it’s nice to be in a quiet place, just the two of us. Between the kids’ camps and overnight stays at Noah’s, I’ve barely spent a night in my own home since the summer. Hannah just found a new apartment two weeks ago, and though I haven’t officially moved in with Noah, he’s asked me to about a hundred times.

As he fills our glasses, he says, “I considered whisking you away to a more exotic location for our time off. But I needed to discuss something with you, and this place seemed more appropriate for that.”

I give him a teasing finger-wave. “If this is another shameless attempt to get me to officially move in with you?—”

“Nah,” he says with a smile. “We’ll get to that part when you’re ready. You just say the word.” We’ve talked about our next move several times, but I can’t imagine selling my house—formerly my Aunt Bernice’s that she left to me. I know I won’t live in Jasmine Falls forever, and maybe not much longer,because commuting to Charleston when we’re in the off-season isn’t the greatest. But I can’t quite make myself sell the house yet. I’m not ready to cut ties with my hometown entirely.

He hands me my wine and clinks his glass against mine. “To the new year,” he says, holding my gaze. “And to our next adventure, wherever it might take us.”

“To second chances,” I add.

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