Page 58 of We Can Do
But sitting in my car, I’m hit with a wave of loneliness so acute it takes my breath away. I don’t want to face the urology appointment alone. But my friends have enough on their plates. They’re dealing with their own battles, and now Devin needs them.
If only...
I stare at my phone, Noah’s contact information right there. One tap away. It’s too soon to ask him to come to a medical appointment with me. We’ve only been together a month. That’s definitely crossing some unspoken relationship timeline boundary.
But God, I want him there.
I take a breath and tap his name. Not to ask him to come—just to hear his voice. To remind myself that there’s good in this world, that despite the chaos and uncertainty, there are still reasons to feel giddy and hopeful.
The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.
Voicemail.
Of course. I check the time—eight thirty. Peak rush hour at Rye Again. He’s probably juggling French presses and sourdough orders, charming customers with that smile that makes my knees weak. I’m an idiot for calling now.
I end the call without leaving a message and back out of the parking spot. The drive home stretches ahead, but I’ll see Noah eventually. The thought should be comforting.
Instead, it triggers something unexpected. This urgency, this need to grab him and hold on and never let go—it’s not just about comfort or support.
Oh.
Am I falling for him? As in... falling in love with him?
I wait for the panic. For my hands to go white-knuckled on the steering wheel. For that familiar dread that’s accompanied every serious feeling I’ve had for a man in the past five years.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, there’s this warmth, this lightness, like helium filling my chest. I’m not scared. Not like last time with Miles, when every deepening feeling came with a side of terror. Or the time before that, when love felt like walking into a trap.
This is different. This is Noah.
A smile spreads across my face, completely involuntary. I catch sight of myself in the rearview mirror—exhausted, no makeup, hair a disaster, and grinning like an idiot.
I’m falling in love with Noah Reynolds.
The realization doesn’t feel like falling at all. It feels like flying.
I smile the whole way home, this secret knowledge glowing inside me like a candle behind glass. Even with everything that’s happened this morning, even with the uncertainty and fear and exhaustion, this one truth makes everything else bearable.
I’m falling in love with Noah Reynolds, and for once in my life, I’m not afraid of what that means.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alexis
“Come on,” I whisper through gritted teeth, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel as Portsmouth’s morning traffic crawls at a pace that makes my chest tighten with each passing second. The digital clock on my dashboard glows accusingly—already seven minutes past when I should have been sitting in Elaine’s office.
The traffic gods have abandoned me completely. A delivery truck blocks the right lane ahead, hazards blinking, while the left lane streams with an endless parade of cars that refuse to let me merge. When I finally spot an opening and dart into it, earning an angry horn blast from behind, I’m already calculating how many traffic lights stand between me and complete professional humiliation.
Ten minutes. I’m now ten full minutes late.
I swing into the first street parking spot I can find, three blocks from the newspaper building. My hands shake slightly as I grab my bag and slam the car door, already breaking into a half-jog down the sidewalk. The morning air is crisp against my flushed cheeks as I smooth my hair with one hand,straightening my blouse with the other. Professional. I need to look professional, not like someone who just sprinted three blocks in heels.
“Hold the elevator!” The screech tears from my throat as I burst through the lobby doors, spotting the closing elevator. Someone’s hand shoots out, catching the door, and I stumble inside with a breathless “Thank you.”
The ride to the second floor feels eternal. My reflection in the polished doors shows exactly what I feared—slightly mussed hair, color high in my cheeks, the general appearance of someone frantically trying to hold it together.
I speed-walk past the receptionist, tossing out a quick hello that probably sounds more like a gasp, and arrive at Elaine’s closed door. My knuckles rap against the wood before I can second-guess myself.
