Page 24 of The Love Bus

BETWEEN FRIENDS

I was still hearing his voice in my head as we reached the bus.

“You were right to dump him. He’s a fucking bastard.”

I’d replayed it at least a dozen times—his tone, the certainty behind the words. How different it sounded from the thousand other opinions I’d been given since I’d walked off that set.

It sounded like…truth.

And maybe that’s why it hit me so hard.

Thankfully, Noah had been watching the time. I definitely hadn’t been. And when Bodie finally came back, it was too late to ask for separate checks.

Noah paid.

“You can get the next one,” he said, sliding his card back into his wallet like it meant nothing.

But it left me wondering if there would be a next one. If this…whatever this was, didn’t end the second we climbed back on that silver bus.

“You two are cutting it close!” Tay called as we approached.

Noah checked his watch. “We’ve got thirty seconds to spare.”

Tay gave him a look that was half-glare, half-smile. “Get on the bus, Dr. Noah.”

He smirked.

I grinned.

Then I stepped onto the bus…and was immediately hit with a wall of silence. Every single person, mostly women my mother’s age, gray-haired and grinning, with varying degrees of laugh lines and cat-eye readers, was watching us like we were a titillating episode of their favorite soap opera.

And it wasn’t just curiosity.

It was…speculation. Delight. Maybe a little bit of expectation.

Cheese on a biscuit.

After a moment, someone coughed, and that seemed to set off the series of poorly hidden snickers and whispers that followed. They didn’t sound malicious, just smug. It was as though by sharing an innocent lunch, Noah and I had become an item, just as they’d all suspected we would.

I tugged my jacket tighter around me and lifted my chin as I started to make my way toward my seat. Nothing to see here, folks .

Babs and I were seated about ten rows from the front today, but when I finished counting and glanced up, something didn’t track. She wasn’t in her usual spot by the window. Instead, she was across the aisle—sitting next to Mrs. Grady.

Babs spotted me and beamed. “Christine and I found a treasure of yarn today.” She patted Mrs. Grady’s arm in the same comfortable manner she’d used with me.

Noah’s mom, however, was focused over my shoulder. “You don’t mind, do you, Noah? Babs is going to teach me how to crochet.”

Sure enough, Babs’s large bag had been moved as well, a ball of thick yarn and a sleeve full of different-sized hooks sticking out of one of the side pockets.

I blinked, feeling what was becoming a far too familiar heat trickling up and down my back. Noah was right behind me, close enough that I could enjoy a hint of his woodsy scent. For a split second, I wanted to lean into him and inhale a deep breath of it.

Except, we were friends now, and friends, as a general rule, did not tend to feel swoony whenever they caught a whiff of his sexy cologne. Nope.

Simmer down, Luna.

I shot him a questioning glance, but he only shrugged. “Fine with me.” And then, “Aisle or window?”

So far, I’d been happy not to watch the scenery go by, especially after learning that we were essentially Joey’s maiden tour.

I didn’t know what exactly Noah saw on my face, but before I could make my decision, he took the matter out of my hands. “Take the window,” he said, but when I didn’t move, he raised both hands in a mock surrender. “Or not.”

“Sometime today, please,” Tay ordered over the speakers. “So we can get moving.”

Because I’d already held everyone up once, I had no choice but to skootch into the window seat so Noah could slide in beside me. He was casual as ever, of course, stretching his long legs into the aisle.

The bus rumbled beneath us as we pulled away from Granby, and I stayed quiet for a while, staring at the muddy spots on the window so that the landscape beyond it streaked into an incomprehensible blur.

I hadn’t just told Noah about The Incident —I’d shown him the video. I’d even narrated the dumb messages, like some kind of emotional tour guide.

Was it too much? Should I be embarrassed?

I’d shown him the part where I fell, too. At least he hadn’t asked to see it again. In those first few seconds, as I lay sprawled in a pile of lobster filling, my skirt had ridden up… far enough to reveal more than my wounded pride.

I peeked sideways without turning my head. His eyes were closed, arms folded loosely across his chest, so I let myself look.

That expression I’d mistaken for annoyance—lips pressed together, that faint crease between his brows—was still there, even now, while he was clearly relaxed.

Maybe it wasn’t annoyance at all. Maybe it was just…him. A resting mask. One he’d learned to wear in the ER, where life and death decisions didn’t exactly allow a person to show his feelings.

The thought sent a strange ripple through me.

What would it be like, I wondered, to always have to hold yourself in check like that? To keep a lid on every reaction, to swallow anything too loud or too raw?

And then an even quieter thought whispered through: Had I been doing the same thing? Not as a doctor. But with Leo?

Smiling while doubting myself. Laughing when I didn’t think something was funny. Pretending to be fine so that I wouldn’t come across as…too much.

I shifted in my seat, the realization unsettling.

I felt the gears shifting, the ones on the bus, but maybe also mine?

I bit the inside of my cheek, sneaking another glance in Noah’s direction.

It was going to take us about four hours to get to our next destination , about the same amount of time we’d spent on that flight into Denver.

When we first met, he’d seemed so intimidating, and I’d made about the worst first impression possible.

Since then, we’d not only come to an understanding, but we had become… friends.

I squirmed in my seat, feeling twitchy.

Four hours on a bus was bad enough, but four hours alone with my own thoughts? Ruminating over the remnants of the life I’d left back in Rhode Island?

Torture.

Across the aisle, Babs was attempting to teach Mrs. Grady how to crochet. I couldn’t see much, just Babs’ voice floating over Noah’s sleeping form.

“No, Christine, gently . You’re crocheting, not strangling the yarn.”

Mrs. Grady grumbled something in return, but Babs just chuckled.

I stared out the window for another beat, then turned back toward them. “Hey, Babs,” I said, keeping my voice low, “you mind if I borrow a hook?”

Without missing a beat, she held out her bag. “Help yourself, Luna girl.”

I fished out a purple one, found a skein of yarn, and after handing it back, settled in. Noah didn’t stir—his arms crossed, his head tilted toward the aisle—and I exhaled, letting the soft rhythm of chain stitches soothe my frayed edges.

After the emotional whiplash of the last few days, I needed something familiar. Something steady.

And surprisingly, it worked.

The bus hummed along. The yarn moved through my fingers. For a while, I wasn’t spinning about my life; I was just breathing.

At some point, maybe an hour later, Noah shifted beside me and unfolded his arms. Maybe waking up.

I didn’t look at him right away. But I was aware of him again—his arm against mine, the space he took up. Just…him.

And instead of unraveling my own life in my head, I found myself wondering about his.

I had a thousand questions. About his work. His past. About what brought him here. About why he sometimes looked like he carried too much weight for one person.

But every time I opened my mouth, I shut it again.

Because when it came to me, Noah had been a surprisingly good listener.

But when it came to him?

He kept things locked up tight.

“What?”

His voice made me jump.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” I shot back. But when I turned fully to face him, I didn’t account for the proximity of our seats.

Oh.

Oh.

It was bad enough—intoxicating enough?—to feel his shoulder, his arm…his thigh, to be hyper-aware of every little move he made. But now his face was mere inches from mine, and I suddenly forgot why I’d turned in the first place.

Noah tilted his head, squinting at me. “You’ve opened and closed your mouth three times in the last minute.”

I blinked.

“Out with it,” he said, arching one brow. Casual, like he hadn’t just caught me mid-spiral.

I scowled. “I wasn’t—” Ugh. Who was I kidding? “I was just gonna say… you don’t have to worry about everyone matchmaking us.”

His lips twitched. “Who’s matchmaking?”

He did a dramatic scan of the bus, like he was just now realizing we were surrounded by a bunch of fifty- and sixty-somethings with nothing better to do than analyze our love lives.

I huffed. “Babs. Josie. Denise. Basically, everyone when we got back on the bus after lunch. Because we’re roughly the same age. And we happen to be…single.” A pause. “Aren’t we?”

“I’m thirty-two,” he said, deadpan. “You?”

My frown deepened. “Twenty-eight.”

He nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Not what I meant, and he knew it.

I gestured vaguely to his hands. “You don’t wear a ring.”

His gaze didn’t follow mine, but something about his stillness told me he’d caught the flicker of my own glance, down at the faint mark where my ring used to be.

“So, when we came back from lunch together…” I trailed off, waiting for him to interrupt. He didn’t.

I kept digging. “I just meant, for all they know, you could already have a girlfriend. Or…boyfriend.” The words came out faster than I could stop them. “I just wanted you to know you don’t need to worry. About any of it.”

“Any of what?”

I narrowed my eyes. “About me getting ideas?” Oh. My God. “About them thinking you and I are…you know. An ‘us.’”

The air between us stretched, until he let out a slow breath. “No girlfriend,” he said. And then added. “Or boyfriend.”

His voice was steady, but something about the shift at the corner of his mouth—half smirk, half something else—made my pulse trip.