Page 16 of The Love Bus

“Are you sure? It was closed when I fell asleep. Whatever woke me up must have opened the door.”

He gave me a look. “Check for yourself.”

I didn’t want to, but I’d definitely feel better if I confirmed it was safe with my own eyes. And it was better to do that while he was still here.

He stepped aside, and I padded across to look behind him.

And aside from a few dust bunnies, there was nothing there.

While I tried to force my eyes to accept what they were seeing, Noah crossed back to the bed and crouched down, checking under there as well.

At that point, I forgot about the mystery of the open closet door and found myself staring at the curve of his shoulders, the bunching and flexing of his muscles.

He bent down a little lower, baring a hint of smooth pale skin just above the waistband of his sweats.

I cleared my throat and looked away.

“No ghosts,” he announced, standing up and brushing his hands together like he’d just completed a thorough investigation.

I tucked my hands inside my jacket pockets, feeling pretty foolish but ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. Was it possible I’d opened the closet earlier and just forgotten?

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“No problem.” He headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Sure you don’t want that drink?”

“I probably shouldn’t.” This time I felt compelled to add an excuse. “Big day ahead, you know?” I laughed a little.

I wasn’t even lying. Because, on this tour, every day was a big day.

He rolled his lips together, staring at the floor. Anyone else and I would have thought he looked disappointed. But then he looked up at me again, his eyes more blue than gray in the low light of my room.

And suddenly, I was acutely aware that the two of us were standing alone, by my bed. In my hotel room.

He tilted his head. He was going to say something…

I was practically holding my breath.

“It’s just that…” He pulled on the back of his neck.

“What?”

“It’s smart, you know. To be cautious.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t a lot of women who are brave enough to travel alone. But here you are, ghosts and all.”

I laughed a little at that. “You aren’t afraid of them.”

“Yeah, no.” He let out a slow breath, dropping his hand to his side and wincing. “It’s the real stuff that gets to me, things that don’t go away when you turn on the lights.”

His words shook me a little. I’d bet my favorite knife this had something to do with his job. But when he looked at me, I realized that he wasn’t ready to go there.

“I’m not brave,” I said, pretending to straighten the blankets even though I was going to mess them up again in about five minutes. “Not even close.” He’d think differently if he knew how terrified I’d been to come on this trip. I must’ve hidden it better than I thought.

“So, what are you afraid of then?” he asked. “Besides the ghosts.”

What was I afraid of?

I was afraid of…being afraid . And that made no sense, even though it made perfect sense…

“Joe’s driving,” I finally answered.

He gave a quiet huff, but didn’t push.

I didn’t want to talk about my real fears. The kind that climb into your soul when you’re least expecting it.

Inside stuff.

Me stuff.

“Right.” He turned toward the door, and I instinctively reached out.

“Noah. I…” He glanced back, and I dropped my hand. “Thanks,” I finished lamely.

He just stared at me for a second, then dipped his chin.

“No problem,” he said, backing toward the door. “But Luna?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mind.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant.

Was he saying he didn’t mind chasing ghosts away? Or was it more than that? Was he saying he didn’t mind catching the worst of my prickles?

Or was he simply saying he didn’t mind that I wasn’t going to get a drink with him?

I just nodded and didn’t move until the door clicked shut behind him.

After a weird second just standing there, I kind of floated across the room to twist the lock into place. The room felt quieter now, as if it was settling back into itself.

Shaking off the last of my ghostly unease—not to mention a whole bunch of other…stuff—I climbed back into bed, plugging my phone in and pulling up Netflix. This hotel might have been built at the turn of the century, the one way before I was born, but thank God, it also had internet.

A sitcom felt like the safest option. No ghosts, no drama, and no aisle seat guys with frustratingly distracting cologne asking questions I didn’t know how to answer.

But lying there with the familiar voices and jokes playing over my phone’s tiny speakers, I found myself staring at the dark ceiling, my mind all over the place.

Noah wasn’t afraid of paranormal stuff at all. He was afraid of something else.

Something that didn’t disappear when you turned on the lights.

I replayed our conversation, the way he’d stood there in his rumpled T-shirt, his sweatpants low on his hips, looking unshakable but also…lost. Maybe I should have taken him up on that drink. Even if he had just been being polite.

Which was probably all it was. Despite that super-charged moment when I’d bumped into him, the way he’d looked down at me…

Nope. He was just being nice. When he’d said he didn’t mind, he’d meant he didn’t mind helping people in general. Like how he’d carried his mom’s packages, assisted some of the older people onto the bus, and shown Josie at least three different times how to send a picture to her niece.

He liked helping everyone. He was a helper.

And I needed to figure things out on my own.

This was not the time to get romantic ideas about someone.

Not that I had romantic ideas about Noah.

I shifted restlessly, pulling the covers tighter around me.

I’d said no to that drink without even thinking. After six years with Leo, declining something as casual as a late-night cocktail with a guy had become instinct—just another quiet reflex from the habit of being someone’s other half.

But Leo wasn’t here.

I might as well have gone down to the bar—I wasn’t falling asleep.

And Noah’s offer had been innocent. A gesture of friendship.

And still, instead of simply saying “no thanks,” I snapped at him. Like he was trying to manage me.

Good gravy .

I groaned and pressed my palms to my eyes.

It wasn’t that my reaction didn’t make sense in my head. It just came out all wrong. Sharper. Louder. Like something I’d been holding in had broken loose.

My mother loved to say I was overly dramatic.

Luna’s my little firecracker, she’d tell people. I never know what to do with her. She feels everything at full volume.

Leo, at least, had phrased it more gently. You’ve got flair, babe. That’s what I love about you.

But how many times had he suggested I was overreacting about something?

Noah probably thought I was completely unhinged.

And maybe I was. I could have said yes. I should have said yes. At the very least, I shouldn’t have jumped down his throat.

Only half-watching the sitcom on my phone, I quietly spiraled into a loop of regret and overthinking.

Then, finally, the sound of a door closing next door.

Noah was back from having his drink.

With that, I finally drifted off, the laugh track playing faintly in the background.