Chapter Ten #3
She nodded. Her fingers trembled slightly as she raised her cup and downed the contents. He raised an eyebrow, clocking the motion.
“Liquid courage?” He winked.
Rachel grimaced as the brew burned a path to her belly. “Most likely chemical restraint.”
A wicked grin spread over Noah’s features. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
Trust and believe, she did them both a favor.
Two weeks would come fast. There’d been enough hurt between them.
Rachel might not want more than they once had, but she wouldn’t intentionally hurt Noah.
Even as kids, Noah held on tight. Why entertain the possibility of more?
They walked away slowly, the noise of the party dimming behind them.
Rachel could feel the weight of Noah’s presence beside her, steady and unspoken. She didn’t dare glance at him.
The neon light beams bounced along the grass, illuminating the familiar path between the trees and the barn.
And just like that, she was sixteen again. Barefoot. Breathless. Pressed against weathered wood with his hands in her hair, and the world held still by moonlight.
“You still think about it?” she asked softly, surprising herself.
He didn’t answer right away. “Every time I drive past this barn.”
The wooden door creaked open beneath Rachel’s hand, revealing the warmly familiar scent of hay, dust, and horses. A single lantern glowed near the tack wall, throwing shadows across the interior.
A breeze slipped through the cracks in the wood, brushing over her bare arms like a whisper. Somewhere toward the back, the horses shuffled and snorted, tails swishing.
Noah followed her inside, his boot-falls quiet against the straw-scattered floor. The air felt thick, not heavy, but charged, like a thunderstorm about to break just beyond the hills.
“Over here,” she said, motioning toward the worktable in the corner.
Her sketch lay open on top—lined in pencil, detailed with soft smudges of charcoal. She reached for it, and Noah stepped closer, their shoulders bumping.
Neither moved away.
“You drew this today?” he asked, voice low.
“Mmhm. After reading your grant binder, I needed a pick-me-up.” She glanced at him through her lashes. “It’s just a draft.”
“It’s beautiful. You always had a way of seeing the shape of things before they became real. We’ll make Service gorgeous, too.”
Noah’s words settled warm and slow between her ribs.
Were they still talking about bricks and mortar?
Heat spread beneath her skin, raising her core temperature to what could only be described as a low boil.
He leaned in, one hand braced beside hers on the table.
Their fingers touched—her pinky grazing his knuckle.
Just a brush. Barely there. Still, her pulse kicked.
Behind them, one of the horses, Harry, exhaled a long sigh.
Another shifted its weight, hooves thudding softly against the floor.
ClamClam emerged from the shadows, tail curling high.
She padded past their feet with a throaty meow and a rolling purr that curled through the air like velvet. “Mrrrwowww.”
From her cat, that was practically a love serenade. Rachel’s breath hitched.
Noah looked at her, noticing. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just—remembering.”
“Yeah.” His gaze flicked to her mouth, lingering.
He leaned in, so close she could feel the heat of his chest, the faint scent of cedar and water clinging to him.
Rachel didn’t move. Her lips parted. Her heart practically stopped.
His hand rose, fingers ghosting over her wrist. Then, slowly, he took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers.
A breath caught between them. Not a kiss—but something. Something just as intimate.
“You look beautiful tonight, Six. I miss the freckles.”
Noah had been one of the few boys who hadn’t called them spots. When he looked at the imperfections marring her face, her arms, her legs, he saw beauty. “They’re still there.”
Desire flared behind hazel eyes. Rachel saw her body through Noah’s gaze, felt the tightening of his fingers on hers, and gasped at the slow glide of his tongue over his lower lip.
“Six… I’d better go,” he murmured. His voice was rougher now, like it had scraped against the want he wasn’t saying out loud.
He should, but something old and familiar twisted with a taste of something new and exciting, and she wanted him to stay.
Then he let her hand go, turned, and walked out into the moonlight.
Rachel stood alone in the barn’s hush, her skin still tingling.
The barn felt empty without him, hollow and aching like her chest. She pressed her hand to the spot on the table where his had been, trying to hold on to the warmth, the connection, the promise of what might be possible if she was brave enough to reach for it.
The horses shifted again. ClamClam leapt onto her stool, purring from her perch.
“See you tomorrow, Noah,” she whispered to the dark. It struck her that once upon a time, she had uttered the same words every night with the same giddy anticipation that roamed her dreams.