Chapter 8 Maya #2
Sheryn clasped her hands together and gave Noah the full treatment. “Please? Just for the rehearsal? We’re one short, and I’d hate for Maya to miss out.”
He looked my way, then quickly back to Sheryn, dodging an awkward stare-off.
We’d all gathered now at the tent flap, too many bodies and too much attention.
“Wait a second,” Sheryn said, tilting her head. “You look so much like Elia. Are you—?”
“Yeah,” Noah said stiffly. “I’m his brother.”
“You two haven’t met?” Claire winced. “Oh gosh, I should’ve introduced you. I’m so sorry, Sheryn.”
Noah’s mouth twitched, like he found the whole thing mildly entertaining. I, on the other hand, was doing everything I could not to ogle the man’s torso, which was like it was carved by divine commission. Abs. Man-chest. Nipples. The V. My thoughts weren’t holy.
“You can dance, right?” Sheryn asked.
Before he could answer, Elia jumped in and said, “C’mon. He was in media. Of course he can dance.”
Noah shot his brother a look. “That’s not how it works.”
“It is how it works,” Elia said.
I forced my eyes upward. To his face, this time. He looked equal parts wary and amused, unsure if this was a setup but still tempted to play along.
“Well?” I asked. “Can you?”
His eyes flickered to mine…and damn if there wasn’t something playful in them.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” he said. Then, glancing down at himself, he added, “But seriously, at least let me…”
While I wouldn’t have minded taking him exactly as he was, Sheryn was more sensible. “Five minutes.”
For Noah’s sake, I was glad she called it.
A few minutes later, he was back, his hair damp from a quick shower, wearing a casual blue shirt open at the collar, slacks that actually fit, and a respectable pair of loafers. And that whiff of cologne? Perfect. Just enough to notice but not enough to announce itself.
The music started elegantly, a tune meant for fairy tales and grand ballrooms. Not a wedding tent on a ranch.
I swallowed, my hands hovering as I faced Noah. He did the same, standing there like he was walking a wire without a net.
“You ever done this before?” he asked.
I raised a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His mouth twitched. “Considering we’re supposed to dance, yeah.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine. A little. You?”
He smirked. “I worked in media. Of course I can dance.”
I snorted. “Oh yeah? They teach you the waltz between power lunches and marketing strategy?”
“Something like that.” His grip was firm but not overbearing as he placed his hand on my waist.
I placed mine on his shoulder, and the moment our palms met, every muscle in my body clenched.
Great. The last thing I needed was to be hyper-aware of how strong he felt beneath my fingertips.
He moved with ease, following the choreographer’s cues and adjusting effortlessly to the shifting gaps between couples.
The dance wasn’t overly complicated—more about placement than precision—but the way he carried himself and the quiet confidence in how he navigated the space without intruding on anyone else?
Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Me? Not so much.
I wasn’t bad at dancing, but I sure as hell wasn’t making it easy for him. My steps were hesitant, my rhythm just a little off. The hem of my dress brushed against his legs, throwing me out of sync again. It felt like we were wading through wet cement.
Or at least, I was.
“You’re the kind who just can’t follow a guy’s lead, huh?” Noah murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his voice.
“Perhaps,” I admitted. “So, how do we fix that?”
His grip on my waist firmed just enough to be felt. “Let go,” he said. Then, softer, he added, “Trust me.”
Before I could answer, he guided me into a Reverse Corte, a move I wasn’t expecting. My balance tipped, instinct tightening my muscles, but Noah was already there, catching the motion before I could stumble.
And something shifted.
It wasn’t just the dance anymore.
It was him—the way his hand steadied the small of my back, the way his other palm cradled mine, and how he guided me forward so easily that it felt impossible not to follow, even when I didn’t trust myself to.
One beat later, we weren’t fumbling anymore.
We were moving.
Gliding.
My body finally understood what he’d meant by let go. The tension unraveled, and suddenly, the steps weren’t something I had to think about. They just happened.
Noah led, and I followed.
Not because I had to.
But because I wanted to.
I barely had time to process the change before I heard a gasp. Sheryn clutched Nick’s arm, and Claire covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Are you seeing this?” Elia muttered.
Nick let out a low whistle. “Damn, they’re good.”
Noah’s eyes locked on mine, his hold confident. “Not bad, thief.”
I scoffed. “Excuse me?”
His smirk was lazy. “I meant…you stole the show.”
I nearly tripped. “That was so bad.”
“You smiled.”
“Out of pity.”
He dipped me slightly, the motion effortless, controlled. Meanwhile, I was not in control of myself because I smirked, feeling just a little too pleased with myself. And something else.
Noah cleared his throat. “I swear, if you bring up the tent incident, I’ll walk out of here.”
My lips twitched. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Liar.”
Okay, maybe I was.
I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t matter. We kept moving, swaying in perfect rhythm despite the awkward start to this whole thing.
The others faded into the background, just murmurs and movement at the edges of my awareness.
His palm was warm against mine, his grip relaxed, like I wasn’t the only one caught up in whatever this was.
Like I wasn’t just another bridesmaid in a lineup.
“So,” he murmured, his voice rich, sending a little jolt down my spine. “You’re Maya.”
The way he said my name rewired something in me—sudden, electric. One wrong move and my mouth would’ve ended up somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.
I feigned indifference. “I am.”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Heat crept up my neck.
I was doing this for my best friend, plain and simple. But he was right. I did trust him.
Why? How?
Maybe it was the way he held me. Maybe it was how easy it felt to be right here, beat for beat with him.
Falling for a cowboy was as common as crushing on a sports star—harmless, predictable, and nothing special.
But now, standing here, close enough to feel his breath brush my temple, I wasn’t so sure if it was that kind of crush.
Or maybe it was just this town, the setting, and the moment. Nothing more.
Right?
The music slowed, the last note stretching into silence. A beat passed before I stepped back and clapped along with the others. I needed air. Distance. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be anything.
“I should go,” I said, forcing a smile.
His expression flickered like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded. “Alright.”
I stayed a moment to chat with Sheryn and the girls, passing around compliments on the dance and laughing through their teasing about Noah.
Then I made an excuse to head home. Sheryn didn’t press. She just pulled me into a hug and said, “See you at the wedding. Oh, can you swing by Butterberry Oven and pick up the cake on your way? It’s just past the post office. The shop will be closed since it’s the weekend, but just head on in.”
“Of course,” I said, then turned on my heel and slipped out of the tent.
The night air bit at my skin, chasing away the lingering warmth of the dance. I took the long way around, past the parked cars, past the glow of the tents, and past anywhere someone might notice me.
I already knew The Lazy Moose was my best bet. But where, exactly?
The stables? Too much foot traffic. Too many hands passing through.
The tool shed? Locked. A broken latch would raise questions.
Then my gaze landed on the old oak near the second barn, not far from the rehearsal tent. I moved toward it, my steps light on the dirt.
As I got closer, the massive roots came into view, twisting into the earth like they’d been there forever. The bark was thick and weathered. A perfect place to tuck something away. Hidden, but not buried. Safe enough to hold…until the last dance, the day after tomorrow.
I crouched, brushing away leaves. My fingers tightened around the small waterproof bag from my purse. The dirt was soft enough. I pressed the bag into the shallow hole and then smoothed everything over.
Done. No trace.
I straightened, scanning the darkness. Listening. There was just the drift of voices from the wedding tent. No movement. No witnesses.
Shoving my hands into my jacket, I turned—not rushed, just moved—back toward the lights.
And nearly slammed into a solid wall of muscle.
I sucked in a sharp breath, stepping back.
Noah.
His brows pulled together. “You okay?”
I forced a grin. Loose. Casual. “Yeah. Took a wrong turn and ended up at the barn.”
He studied me a second too long.
“It’s tough to see in the dark,” he said. “But just a heads-up…if you pass Big Joe, you’re going the wrong way.”
“Big Joe?”
“The oak tree,” he said, like I should’ve known trees had names here. Then, just as casually, he added, “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
A pause. Small, barely there. But he caught it.
I forced my feet forward, falling into step beside him. The whole way, I told myself I was in the clear.
That no one had been there.
That no one had seen what I’d done.
“Hey, you did well back there,” Noah said. “I really enjoyed the dance.”
“Me too.”
“I hope your real dance partner got over his cold.”
My heart shriveled. I couldn’t be picky. Sheryn would assign someone, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to let her catch wind of my teeny tiny crush on Noah. She’d roast me alive, and in true bestie-knows-best fashion, she’d probably derail my entire plan to leave Buffaloberry Hill.
“Let’s hope so,” I muttered.
A beat of silence. Then—
“Want to grab lunch tomorrow?” I blurted, totally not because the dancing and wedding atmosphere had fried my brain.
Besides, I needed to see if he’d noticed anything. Lunch would be the perfect way to find out.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Got a couple of things tomorrow, but I’ll call you.”
Playing it cool, huh?
Maybe he thought I didn’t notice those puppy eyes.
Then, as if reading my mind, he added, “Can I have your number?”
I masked my hesitation. The pink phone wouldn’t survive past the wedding anyway. So what was the harm? I rattled off the digits.
Noah’s mouth edged into something almost…pleased. Then, with a gentlemanly ease, he pulled open my car door and said, “See you tomorrow.”
I barely kept myself from sighing. Holy hush, reel it in.