CHAPTER 12. Connor
The fire crackles and pops, sending embers up into the night sky.
I should be enjoying this—the warmth against my face, the smell of toasted marshmallows, Noah’s body pressed against mine on the blanket we’re sharing. But all I can think about is that text message.
Please, baby.
Those two words have been lodged in my head for the past six hours, ruining everything about what should have been a perfect day.
Noah’s knee bumps mine as he reaches for another marshmallow, and I force myself to smile when he glances my way. I’m pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.
“Here,” he says, sliding a perfectly toasted marshmallow onto a graham cracker and handing it to me. “You haven’t eaten a single s’more yet.”
I take it from him, our fingers brushing. “Thanks.”
Noah watches me carefully, his warm brown eyes searching my face like he’s trying to figure out what he missed. He’s been doing that all evening—glancing over, touching my arm, pressing a little closer, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here.
And I am. Physically, at least.
Mentally, I’m stuck on those two words and what they might mean.
Across the fire, Rick sits with his arm draped around Cassidy’s shoulders. He’s laughing at something Brad said, but his eyes keep drifting to Noah. To us. I’ve been counting. This is the seventh time in twenty minutes I’ve caught him staring.
My jaw clenches so hard I can feel a headache starting at my temples.
I should have kept my eyes off that fucking phone. But when I saw Noah’s face change as he read the messages—that little flinch, that flash of confusion—I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over, just enough to see the screen.
I need to talk to you.
Please, baby.
Those words. Those fucking words managed to derail everything I’d been working up the courage to say.
We’d been having the perfect afternoon. Talking. Eating. Making out. I’d been seconds away from telling Noah how I really felt. Telling him this wasn’t just physical for me. That somewhere between that first fake kiss and now, I’d fallen for him.
Hard.
In a way that scares the shit out of me.
And then Rick’s text arrived and ruined everything.
“Are you going to answer him?” I’d asked, trying to keep my voice neutral and failing spectacularly.
Noah had stared at the phone for a long moment, his face unreadable. “I don’t know,” he’d said finally. “Maybe later tonight. Just to see what he wants.”
Just to see what he wants.
As if it isn’t obvious.
Rick has spent the entire weekend watching Noah, looking at him with those regretful eyes, finding excuses to talk to him alone.
And now, after hearing us together last night—God, the walls in this place are so thin, just like the ones in our fucking apartment building—after seeing us together all weekend, he’s making his move.
Trying to get Noah back.
And Noah is going to let him.
Because that was sort of our plan, wasn’t it? The whole boyfriend charade was supposed to make Rick jealous. And we’ve done a good job.
So why do I feel like shit?
“Connor?” Noah’s voice pulls me back. “You’re miles away.”
I blink at him, realizing I’ve been staring into the fire without saying a word for God knows how long. The s’more he made me is still in my hand, untouched and starting to melt on my fingers.
“Sorry,” I mumble, forcing myself to take a bite. It’s cloyingly sweet and sticks to the roof of my mouth. “Just tired, I guess.”
Noah frowns slightly but doesn’t push. Instead, he shifts closer on the blanket, his side pressing warm against mine. His hand finds my knee, a casual, possessive touch that would thrill me under any other circumstances.
Now it just reminds me how temporary all this is.
Around us, the Caldwells and the Scotts trade family stories, their faces lit by the fire. The Caldwells are good people. They’ve welcomed me into their family without question, made me feel like I belong here.
Like I’m really Noah’s boyfriend.
The thought hurts more than it should, so I force myself to tune back into the conversation just as Caroline says, “…that ski trip when Noah broke his arm?” She has both hands wrapped around a mug of spiked hot chocolate.
“He was, what, thirteen? We were on that huge mountain, so they had to bring him down in a rescue sled…”
“Oh, poor boy!” Maria says with a tiny gasp.
“He was trying to race Maya down that black diamond run when he’d only just mastered the blues,” Daniel says, smiling at the memory.
Everyone laughs, and I watch Noah laugh with them, firelight catching in his eyes, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone, the shadow beneath his lower lip.
He’s beautiful.
So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“Connor, do you ski?” Daniel asks, pouring more whiskey into his mug. It’s the Midleton I brought him.
“A bit,” I say, clearing my throat. “We used to go to the Alps sometimes when I was a kid. My father loved it.”
Sometimes is a bit of a stretch. We went there once, because we couldn’t afford trips like that, and even then, my aunt Blathnaid paid for the whole thing.
“The Alps!” Brad says with a trace of respect. “Oh, that reminds me of that Christmas we all spent in Austria, remember? The chalet with those ridiculous antler chandeliers?”
Caroline laughs. “God, yes. And that chef who kept making those sophisticated dinners none of the kids would eat.”
“Maya did,” Daniel adds. “She ate everything.”
“I was a growing girl,” Maya says, lifting her mug toward the fire. “Still am.”
Everybody laughs again.
They fall into memories about that trip, about the snow and the food and some disaster involving a missing ski boot and an angry Austrian hotel manager.
I listen, smiling and laughing at the right moments, but I’m painfully aware that these are memories I’m not part of.
Stories from a shared history I’ll never be included in.
Noah and Rick’s families have a lifetime of this. Birthdays. Holidays. Vacations. Inside jokes and old arguments and references that only make sense to them. It’s lovely to witness, but it also reminds me that I’m an outsider here. Temporary in their world.
Just like I’m temporary in Noah’s life.
“Are you okay?” Noah asks quietly, finding my hand with his own. His palm is warm, slightly sticky from marshmallow residue.
I nod. I can’t tell him what’s really bothering me.
That I’m terrified of what will happen when we go back to the city tomorrow.
That I can’t stand the thought of him talking to Rick tonight, alone.
That somehow, in the span of two days, I’ve fallen for him so hard it’s making it difficult to breathe.
Noah squeezes my hand, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. The gesture is so casual, so affectionate, like we’ve been doing this for years.
Heat crawls up my neck. I turn to look at him, caught off guard by the open warmth in his eyes. Does he have any idea what he does to me? How quickly he’s gotten past every defense I thought I had?
Before this weekend, I thought I’d made peace with the shape of my life.
After Quinn, relationships felt like something I’d survived once and had no interest in trying again.
I had my family. My friends. Work. Occasional hookups from apps when I got bored or horny.
One day, I was planning to get a dog, let it love me in the uncomplicated way people never do, and spend the rest of my life working at the hospital and playing Dead by Daylight between shifts.
It sounded like a great plan.
But then Noah happened, and now I can’t stop feeling like the life I’d pictured was missing pieces I’d trained myself not to notice.
Because it wasn’t just about good sex. I’ve had good sex.
Plenty of it. But this was different. This whole weekend has been different, and that’s the part that’s been killing me all day.
I forgot how much better it feels when desire comes with feelings.
I forgot how good it feels to want someone not just in bed, but beside you.
To want to spend time with him. Share your life with him.
Have someone whose values fit yours, who’s looking in the same direction, who makes the future feel exciting just because he’d be there with you.
And Jesus, I want him to be there with me. I want him to be mine.
Noah rests his head on my shoulder with a soft sigh, and my heart stumbles in my chest. His hair tickles my chin, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and the cherry shampoo from our cottage.
“This is nice,” he murmurs, just for me to hear. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight. “Me too.”
I feel Rick’s gaze before I see it.
When I look up, he’s watching Noah, his expression caught somewhere between longing and resentment. It makes something hot and ugly twist in my chest.
He has no right. No fucking right to look at Noah like that after what he did. After choosing to hide who he was, after breaking Noah’s heart and parading his fucking fiancée in front of him all weekend.
Rick catches me staring and quickly looks away, saying something to Cassidy that makes her laugh.
He’s not done with Noah—that much is clear.
Not by a long shot.
I shift just enough to press a kiss to the top of Noah’s head. It’s not for show. It’s because I need to, because I can’t keep myself from doing it when he’s this close.
Noah lets out a small sound and snuggles closer.
After a moment, he pulls my hand into his lap and laces our fingers together.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
His thumb moves over the back of my hand, then across my palm, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
I don’t pull away. I just sit there and let myself enjoy it, this tiny thing that shouldn’t feel so good, but does.
***
We stay like that for the rest of the evening, tucked close together while the conversation moves around us, eating and talking and pretending this isn’t ending soon.
My God, I’d do anything to make this moment last longer.