Chapter 6
The Fire Between Us
I mirror Noah, and something clicks. The boat steadies. We're still trailing, but no longer flailing like drunk toddlers in a bathtub.
"That's it," he says. "You've still got good form."
The praise hits harder than it should. My chest tightens, something fluttering loose in my stomach.
We round the first buoy with only a minor overcorrection, and as we straighten out, I glance at him—face set in concentration, arms flexing with each stroke, his wet shirt clinging to every defined line of his torso.
He glances back, catching me staring.
"Eyes on the water, Bennett."
His tone is sharp. But beneath it, the corner of his mouth curves—just barely.
And just like that, we're moving together. Not perfectly. But for the first time in years—in a decade—we're in sync.
"We're definitely not winning," I pant, grinning.
Noah smirks. "But we're not sunk yet."
Except... we are.
The turn around the floating stage is tight. Too tight. I try to compensate with a hard stroke on the right, but overcorrect and shift too far forward in my seat.
"Riley—wait—"
Too late.
The boat lurches.
We tip.
And just like that, we're in the water.
I surface with a gasp, flailing for balance as lakeweed tangles around my arm. Noah's head breaks through the surface nearby, water sheeting from his hair.
"Jesus, Riley." He swims toward me, his voice tight. "Are you okay?"
I nod, coughing and pushing wet hair from my eyes. "Yeah—sorry, that turn—"
"I saw." His tone softens. "You panicked."
I start to apologize, but he reaches out, fingers brushing through my hair. "You've got..." He pulls a string of green muck free, letting it trail from his hand. "Lake goddess chic. Very trendy."
I laugh, breathless. "Better than lake monster couture, I guess."
We tread water together, bobbing gently, the sounds of cheering growing distant as the moment stretches between us.
Noah's eyes lock on mine.
The amusement fades. Heat builds.
His gaze drops to my mouth. My pulse stutters.
He drifts closer, barely a foot away now. The lake laps at our chests, the world shrinking to just the two of us—floating in a memory, suspended between the past and something dangerously present.
"Noah..." My breath catches.
His hand lifts—like he might touch my cheek. Or maybe just brush away another piece of weed. But he stops. Jaw tight. And then he pulls back.
"Come on," he says roughly, swimming toward shore without another word.
I follow in silence.
Together, we make it to the edge, drenched and dripping, hearts pounding—but neither of us says a thing.
I squelch onto the dock, dripping lake water and what I'm pretty sure is a chunk of lily pad clinging to my elbow, to scattered applause and good-natured laughter. My pride is soggy and sinking fast.
Noah emerges behind me, rising from the water like some mythic lake god—towering, soaked, and thoroughly unimpressed. His T-shirt clings to every unfair inch of muscle and heat, dark fabric outlining the ridges of his abs and the flex of his shoulders.
I try not to stare. I fail miserably.
"You think this is funny?" His voice is low, gruff, and pointed as he stalks toward me—more predator than judge.
I blink at him, lips parting in protest—only to see the way lakeweed drips from his hair and a twig sticks to the side of his neck. Something bubbles in my chest. Not nerves. Not embarrassment.
Laughter.
Full-bodied and sudden and impossible to stop.
"You should see yourself," I gasp between giggles.
His brow furrows—until he reaches up and plucks a piece of lake weed from my tangled hair. Our eyes meet, and something cracks wide open between us.
We laugh.
Real laughter. Stupid and breathless and soaked to the skin. For one perfect moment, we're not a firestorm of history and tension—we're just Noah and Riley, splashing through summer like no time has passed.
Noah rakes a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. "I need to change before the evening events." He nods toward the path. "Rain check on the tour?"
"Of course." Disappointment flickers through me.
"But..." He hesitates, then continues. "I could show you Lookout Point afterward? They're building a new observation deck—good material for your article."
"I'd like that." The words come out softer than intended.
His smile—warm, genuine, achingly familiar—does dangerous things to my resolve. "Meet me at the north trailhead at six."
The afternoon sun begins its descent toward the western peaks as I pick my way along the familiar trail to Lookout Point. After returning to Mabel's to change into dry clothes, I spent several hours gathering more material at the festival and interviewing local business owners and tourists alike.
Now, dressed in jeans and a light sweater, notebook tucked in my back pocket, I ascend the winding path through pine and aspen groves. The scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth rises around me, carrying memories of countless summer hikes.
Noah waits at the bend where the trail opens to reveal the spectacular view that gives Lookout Point its name. He's changed into dry clothes as well—faded jeans and a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves that reveal tanned forearms. His hair has dried in those unruly waves I once knew by heart.
"You came." He sounds almost surprised.
"I said I would." I join him at the wooden railing that marks the viewpoint's edge. "Wow. I'd forgotten how beautiful it is up here."
Below us, Angel's Peak spreads like a picture postcard—charming buildings nestled in the valley, Alpine Lake shimmering in the late afternoon light, and beyond, mountains stretching to the horizon in waves of purple and blue.
"Best view in the county." Noah leans against the railing beside me, close enough that I catch the scent of his soap. "The new observation deck will extend another fifteen feet, with interpretive signs about the local ecosystem and history."
"Smart tourism development. Enhances the experience without compromising the natural setting."
Noah glances at me, one eyebrow raised. "That's very professional of you."
"I am a professional." I pull out my notebook, jotting down details about the observation deck project.
"Right." He pushes off from the railing. "This way. I want to show you where they're breaking ground."
I follow him along a narrower path that branches from the main viewpoint. The trail ends at a natural stone outcropping that extends farther over the valley.
"Careful." Noah offers his hand to help me navigate the uneven surface. "It's stable, but the footing can be tricky."
I hesitate, then place my hand in his. The simple contact sends warmth spiraling up my arm. His fingers close around mine, steady and sure, as he guides me to the edge.
"They'll anchor the deck into the bedrock here." He points with his free hand. "Glass panels along the sides for unobstructed views. Maybe even a small wedding venue eventually."
I try to focus on his words, making appropriate noises of interest, but I'm distracted by the fact that he hasn't released my hand.
The setting sun bathes everything in golden light, turning Noah's profile to burnished bronze as he gestures toward various landmarks. He's so at ease here, so connected to this place and its future. I find myself envying that certainty, that sense of belonging.
"You really love it here," I observe.
"Is that so hard to believe?" He turns to face me fully.
"No. I just..." I withdraw my hand from his, suddenly needing the distance. "I remember how you used to talk about leaving. Seeing the world."
"People change." His gaze is steady, assessing. "Dreams change."
"Yes." I look back toward the valley, where festival lights begin to glow as dusk approaches. "They do."
Silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken words and shared history. The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of pine and the distant sound of music from the festival below.
"Do you ever think about it?" Noah asks suddenly. "About us? What might have been if..."
"If I hadn't left?" The question I've been avoiding since I arrived. "Sometimes. More often than I’m comfortable admitting.”
It's the whole truth. I've thought about it more than sometimes—in quiet moments alone in my apartment, when relationships ended because no one quite measured up, during achievements that felt hollow without someone to share them with.
"Me too." His admission is quiet, almost lost in the wind. "More than I should."
I turn to find him watching me, eyes reflecting the golden sunset, expression open in a way it hasn't been since I arrived.
"I'm not trying to guilt you," he says, voice rough. "You did what you needed to do."
I open my mouth, but he lifts a hand—gentle, firm.
"Please. Just... let me say this."
I nod, heart thudding.
"I was angry for a long time. When you left without a word, without a goodbye, it felt like I'd been hollowed out. You were just... gone. And I didn't understand. I thought I'd done everything right. I thought what we had was—"
He breaks off, jaw clenching, then exhales like the words cost him. "I blamed you. Told myself you ran because you couldn't handle it. Because you were scared of how deep we'd gone."
"Noah—" I try, throat tight, but he cuts in again.
"No. Let me get this out. I need to say it."
He turns to me fully, eyes burning with something I haven't seen in a decade—anguish, maybe. Honesty.
"We were kids, and what we had was intense.
Beautiful, yeah, but also dangerous in ways we didn't understand yet.
I was so caught up in the rush of it, in how good it felt to have you trust me that completely.
And you were so eager to give, so quick to put me first. Too quick.
And I let you. I let you because I was drunk on the power of it and how it felt. On being the center of your world."
I feel that truth settle deep in my chest.