Page 24

As another rumble of thunder joins in, we stop to catch our breath, and I take off my glasses and wipe the lenses dry with the corner of his blanket. He reaches for something under the bed. There’s a click, and dozens of tiny bulbs light up above us.

As I take my first real look around, I can’t help but inhale a surprised gasp.

I didn’t expect it to be so cozy, especially when the van’s faded blue exterior looked so worn.

It looks like a tree house—or, better yet, a hobbit hole.

Handmade shelves full of books and tools and supplies dot the walls, with mismatched multicolored fabric drapes weaving in between each, covering the two windows and separating the cabin from the interior.

A cleared desk with cabinets above is tucked close to the wall on my left, while the bed takes up the remaining middle and right side of the space.

“Lay back,” Noah says gently. “Look.”

I lie down, but even with my hands folded over my stomach, the bed is small enough that it’s impossible not to immediately be shoulder to shoulder with him.

Wooden slats lie across the ceiling, some sporting tiny hooks to hang the string lights on.

In the center, the slats are cut to make room for the van’s vent, now shut tight against the rain.

Handwritten postcards and pictures are stuck all over the ceiling, pictures of Noah in a dozen different places with a dozen different people.

Noah in ski gear, his cheeks flushed and alarmingly clean-shaven.

Noah with a group in hiking boots posing with Delicate Arch in the background.

Noah with a beer in hand, his face smooshed up against a corgi’s.

I recognize Dan in more than a few of the photos, and I’m crestfallen to realize that he’s sported the caterpillar mustache for as long as he’s been able to grow it.

In more ways than one, the space feels…intimate. Like I’m seeing some part of Noah I haven’t before. “It’s beautiful,” I say honestly. And then, more quietly, “This is home for you, isn’t it?”

His answering smile is so sweetly fond. “This is home.”

I reach up and trace my finger along the arc of a waterfall in one of the bent photos.

“Where to next?” I ask. Dan’s joke about his inability to keep Noah rooted in one place echoes in the back of my mind again, despite my efforts to shove it down.

“No idea,” he says with a laugh. “Any suggestions?”

I pat the wall of the van with teasing affection. “Think she could make it in the streets of New York?”

His eyes shine with amusement, and he turns onto his side until he’s fully facing me. “To visit you, Sadie—I’d brave it.”

I let my gaze skate past Noah’s face to the window behind him.

Rain no longer drums against the glass but instead dribbles down in slow streams. The storm’s passed.

It takes me a moment to realize that Noah has stopped speaking.

He lies with his head propped on his fist, considering me thoughtfully.

His words are soft, daydreamy. “What are you thinking about?”

I turn to mirror Noah’s position, and our knees knock together in the small space.

I don’t know if it’s the rush of adrenaline from running through a downpour with him or just the fact that we’re trapped together in our own bubble, waiting for the world outside to slow down—but the words rise to the base of my throat, begging me to let them out.

The uncertainty comes in a wave again, twisting my stomach and making me feel foolish for even considering asking.

But then I think about what I’d said to myself when I was feeling braver and drunker. Roll for initiative.

I’m lucky we’re lying so close, because I can’t get my voice to come out louder than a whisper. “Tell me I didn’t imagine it. What almost happened Saturday night.”

When Noah brought me back to Liam’s, I’d thought there was something in that moment on the front porch.

A spell half-cast, a magic ritual left incomplete.

But when viewed through the lens of four drinks and the beauty of a twilit evening, anything could feel magical.

I remember his hesitation, when I had leaned forward and he’d stayed still—

But then, very slowly, Noah’s hand edges forward to cover mine. “You didn’t imagine it.”

I open and close my mouth several times, and when I’m able to speak again, all I manage is a quiet “Oh.”

Noah presses on. “You were drunk. I didn’t want to…” He pauses, tilts his chin down until his eyes are absolutely level with mine, so that he’s sure I’m meeting his gaze. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

“I’m sure.” I say it too quickly. I don’t even think.

“But how sure, Sadie?” His tone is so tender.

He reaches up to smooth down the wet curls stuck to my forehead, tucking them neatly back behind my right ear.

His fingertips linger on the side of my neck and trace slow, soothing circles.

The interior of the van suddenly feels very, very warm.

“After this summer, you’re leaving. I might be, too.

We could ride it out, see how things go.

But if we try this…are you really okay with that kind of uncertainty? ”

His words cool me down. Am I? I want to insist yes, of course!

, to jump in with the same abandon as when I raced out into the rain with him.

I want to slip back into that moment from Saturday night and pull him toward me without pause.

There’s something about Noah that makes my brain turn off, that has me wanting to act on instinct and trust my gut feelings before I have a chance to talk myself out of them.

But he’s asking me to slow down and think it through. He’s hesitating, too.

Maybe he thinks this is a bad idea.

And maybe he’s got a point.

Every aspect of my life feels uncertain right now: my job prospects, my bank account, and now this wild, wanderlust-filled boy. I’ve been managing to take things day by day, but I’m not sure I can handle any more unpredictability. So I tell him the only truth I can: “I don’t know.”

It’s impossible to tell whether he’s disappointed or relieved. “Think about it. We can talk when you’re ready.” His small smile is gently apologetic. “My shift starts soon anyway.”

“…Okay.”

I glance at my phone to check the time—which turns out to be the worst thing I could do.

I can’t look away, once I’ve seen it. The email notification is a bright bubble on my lock screen.

To: Josephine Brooks

From: Addison Marshall

Subject: Interview Invitation with Paragon Media

Noah must feel me go rigid under his hand, because he sits up suddenly, brow creased in concern. “What is it?”

My lips part, but it’s like someone else is speaking for me. “I got an interview.”

His eyes trace my features, searching. His mouth bends in a worried frown. “Is that a good thing?”

But my mind’s gone blank. Once again, I tell him the only truth I can.

“I don’t know.”