Chapter Thirty-Six
Nora was still riding the high from the concert, her cheeks warm from laughter, her skin buzzing from the electricity of the crowd, the kiss, the music. Who needed drugs when the whole day had been a natural high?
She couldn’t stop smiling. The whole thing—dancing in the mud, the handcuff joke, Joe’s ridiculous historical references—had been the type of keepsake memory that rooted itself deep.
A moment she already knew she’d carry for the rest of her life, tucked beside her heart like a pressed flower in a book.
How many memories like that did Eleanor have?
Enough she’d wanted to relive them. Nora smiled, grateful that instead of staying home, she’d gone with her mom on this epic journey.
Now, she and Joe sat on a picnic bench behind the motel, stars freckling the black sky above them, a velvety darkness experienced only this far from city lights. Crickets chirped in the grass, and the faint hum of a vending machine buzzed nearby.
Nora leaned against Joe’s side, savoring his warmth, which bled into her skin like sunshine after a long winter. Casually and confidently, he slung his arm behind her, fingers brushing the curve of her shoulder in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
The way life unfolded was funny.
Not that she was some sage of wisdom. She was barely eighteen, fresh out of high school, but these past few weeks on the road had taught her more than any textbook ever could.
She’d learned about her grandmother’s wild, radiant past. About the ache in her mother’s silence. About the generational push-and-pull between autonomy and expectation.
But most of all, she’d learned about herself. About how many versions of Nora she’d been carrying around. The perfect daughter. The good student. The maybe-marketer. But another version of Nora wanted to write stories, kiss boys with kind eyes, and laugh so hard that her stomach hurt.
And maybe that was the biggest lesson her grandmother had given her. The best things in life happened when plans were tossed to the wind. When a person stopped gripping the wheel so hard and just…let the music play.
Nora rested her head fully on Joe’s shoulder, her hand brushing the fabric of his sleeve.
“I can’t believe we’re heading back to New York tomorrow,” she said softly, not wanting to break the spell.
Joe’s voice came low, close to her ear. “Woodstock?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” Nora smiled into the dark.
She didn’t just mean the music. She meant the whole thing. The journey, the wildness, the unexpected softness of sitting under the stars with someone who made her laugh. She meant him too—even if she couldn’t quite say that out loud.
There was still time before school. Still time before her mother started packing up the Lincoln and her life went back to meal plans and check-ins and “How was class today?” But right now, she was sitting on a splintered picnic bench with a boy who smelled like cedarwood and ink, the two of them staring at the stars.
Nora wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at the nighttime sky again without thinking of this moment.
“There’s still a couple weeks before Woodstock.” Joe’s fingers lightly skimmed her wrist. “What are you guys going to do in the meantime?”
Nora exhaled, letting her head lean into his shoulder. “I don’t know. Mom hasn’t really said. We could head back home, regroup, then go to the concert. But I don’t think Grandma’s doing that.”
He tilted his head toward her. “Nope. Word is Shep and the band have a few gigs lined up. They’ve invited her to come with.”
“They what?” She worked to keep her mouth from falling open.
Joe grinned. “She’s kind of a star now. They’re calling her their secret weapon.”
Nora laughed, her cheeks warming with pride. “I still can’t believe any of this is real.”
“I can,” Joe said. “You’ve got the kind of family people write songs about.”
“More like operas,” she muttered, and they both cracked up.
Then he asked, “You ready for college?”
Nora bit her lip. “Yes. And no.” She glanced up at the stars. “I think I’m more ready for the things they don’t grade you on. Like…figuring out who I am when I’m not being told what to do every second.”
Joe’s arm slipped around her shoulders, and she didn’t flinch or pretend to fix her hair. She just let it happen. Let herself melt into the closeness.
“I get that,” he said, his voice softer now. “It’s going to be hard for me to head back to class after I’ve been on the beat this summer. I’ve got your grandma to thank for all the bylines I’ve had. Only two years left though.”
“And a great start to a portfolio. She’ll love that,” Nora smiled. “All thanks to a rockin’ grandma who decided to vanish from the suburbs and hit the stage.”
Joe let out a low laugh. “Now that’s a headline.”
Nora looked at him, really looked at him, feeling time fold around them like the soft hum of a vinyl spinning its last track. “Sometimes I think this whole summer’s been a dream,” she whispered. “Like we got dropped inside someone else’s story.”
He brushed a hair from her cheek. “Well, if it is…I hope we don’t get to the end just yet.”
She didn’t know what the future held—not for her, her writing, and definitely not for whatever this was with Joe. They’d both be in college come fall. But not the same college. Not close enough to hop over and say hello either.
So when he tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing against her cheek with the same gentleness he used on his notebook pages, Nora didn’t flinch. She didn’t panic. She didn’t pull away.
This time, she leaned in.
She met him halfway, lips soft and certain, and let the kiss happen.
Let herself feel it. The slow-burn heat of his mouth on hers, the press of his fingers at her waist. He’d kissed her at the festival, but this seemed different.
Joe kissed like he wrote—intentionally, curiously, with just the right mix of confidence and restraint.
Maybe it was the French blood in him. Or perhaps it was just that he was different.
Either way, when his hand traced the line of her arm and stopped just under her ribs, her breath caught.
Not from nerves, but from the dizzying realization that she actually wanted this.
Wanted him.
And maybe, just maybe, wanted to stop being the perfect girl with the perfect grades and the perfectly laid out life.
So she said it before she could second-guess herself: “Where’s your room?”
Joe froze, blinking at her like she’d just quoted Poe in the middle of a Beatles concert.
“Are you…sure?” Even in the dim light, she could see the slow bob of his neck when he swallowed.
Nora nodded slowly, the damp heat of the day clinging to her skin. “I like that when I’m with you, I can let go. I don’t feel like I have to follow every rule.”
He studied her face like he was sketching her from memory. And then, ever so slightly, he nodded.
“C’mon,” he said, taking her hand.
They practically ran back to the motel, hands clasped, hearts thudding, half-laughing from nerves and anticipation.
Nora was grateful to see his room was on the opposite side of the building from where her mother was staying.
The last thing she needed was for Leanne to hear anything that might make her barge in wielding maternal concern like a weapon.
Joe opened the door and held it for her, the very picture of a gentleman—if gentlemen wore band T-shirts and had smudges of pencil lead on their fingers.
The room smelled faintly of aftershave and newspaper.
His bed was made. His bag was tucked in the corner.
A stack of books and half-scribbled notes was spread across the desk like a chaotic love letter to his future career.
Nora stepped inside, breath catching.
Then, before she could overthink it, she pulled off her top and pressed herself against him.
Joe didn’t hesitate. He caught her in his arms like he’d been waiting all summer.
His mouth found hers with heat and hunger, his hands firm at her back, grounding her.
Nora let her fingers explore his shoulders, chest, and the line of muscle beneath his shirt.
Who knew that buttoned-up, word nerd Joe had a body like this?
He stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside, his smile both cocky and surprised. “You’re full of secrets, Nora Miller.”
She laughed low and breathless as he guided her toward the bed. The mattress squeaked with their added weight and her heart hammered against her ribs. This was reckless. Wild. Uncharted territory. And yet—this was also her choice.
“I have a condom,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Good,” she murmured, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. “You’re going to need it.”
Then she pulled him down, letting herself feel, fully and unapologetically, the intimacy she knew she’d remember for the rest of her life.