Page 47 of The Love Bus

A FAIRYTALE

O f course, there were questions when we rejoined the group. Noah answered most of them—calm, even, utterly unbothered.

“Luna slipped and fell into the water.”

He made it sound so simple.

He’d jumped in after me. To make sure I hadn’t cracked my head on a rock and drowned, obviously. And afterward… Well, neither of us got into that.

Aside from a few doubting glances, nobody seemed too suspicious, just concerned that I was okay.

Babs was a different story. Of course, she suspected that there was more to it. The woman was a freaking mind-reader sometimes.

Her eyes flicked to the shirt hanging past the hem of my shorts— Noah’s shirt —and then skimmed over Noah’s damp hair and his bare chest beneath the jacket before nodding in approval.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

And the details about my and Noah’s little hike mattered even less when a yellow school bus pulled up in a cloud of dust.

“Our chariot awaits!” Tay called, all business now that we were moving again.

But not on the Love Bus.

That silver beast with its cushy seats, funky upholstery, and dependable AC had somehow become home. And now we were abandoning it on the side of a mountain. I felt a ridiculous ache in my chest as we boarded the school bus, a jolt of nostalgia I never would have expected.

It only got worse when I found myself wedged beside Babs on a sticky vinyl bench, the kind that made your thighs feel sweaty on contact, bouncing and swaying as we wound our way down the Million Dollar Highway. It was louder, rougher, and had a faint scent that took me right back to junior high.

Noah sat two rows up and across the aisle, next to his mom.

That’s why he was here, after all. For her. Not me.

We barely spoke at check-in. Just a few throwaway lines—easy, friendly, meaningless. Like we hadn’t been wrapped around each other in a freezing pool of water just hours earlier. Like he’d never called me beautiful .

Which, honestly? Was impossible.

As soon as I got my room key, I made a beeline for the elevator, not bothering to make any excuses. Just needing…

I wasn’t even sure what I needed at this point.

When the door clicked shut behind me, I stripped out of my damp clothes and, barely taking time to grab my shampoo, stepped under the hot spray of the shower.

Steam wrapped around me like a blanket. I tipped my head back and let the heat work into my scalp, down my spine. But instead of relaxing me, my pulse ticked upward.

Every droplet reminded me of earlier. Of him.

Of the cold that had shocked my system, waking me up from some weird kind of sexual slumber, and then reintroducing it to the heat of Dr. Noah Grady.

I lathered soap over my arms, over my chest. My skin felt more sensitive than usual, like it was remembering things I’d tried to forget. Had it really been that long since I’d had feelings like this?

Had I ever? And if I had, when did they stop?

As my hands drifted lower, I closed my eyes and let the images rise—Noah’s hands on me, his breath at my neck. His voice in my ear, low and concerned. His mouth?—

Holy macaroni!

I pressed my forehead to the tile, trying to catch my breath, but the ache only deepened.

And then, instead of the kiss, I pictured him in another shower entirely. His head tilted back. Water pouring over his shoulders. His hand between his legs. My name on his lips.

“ Ohhhmyoggh…”

It hit me harder than I’d expected. My knees nearly buckled beneath me, and I hadn’t even realized the water was only lukewarm now.

Fluttery breaths shook my frame, and when I leaned forward to turn off the water, my hands were shaking.

It had been so long.

When I finally had the strength to step out of the tub and wrap myself in a towel, most of the steam had dissipated.

I pulled on a fresh T-shirt and my old faithful patchwork skirt, towel-dried my hair, and dropped onto the bed with my phone. No new messages. No texts from Noah. Just another missed call from Leo. Delete. And a thumbs-up from Ashley on the selfie I’d sent earlier.

I scrolled back to the texts Noah and I had exchanged the night before.

Before the kiss.

Before we’d both agreed it was a mistake.

I stood up. The room felt too quiet. Which made me more restless, and then my stomach grumbled for the first time all day.

I grabbed my key, slid into my sandals, and headed for the elevator.

The hotel lounge was easy to find—dim but not dark, lit by amber sconces and a few well-placed lamps. Somewhere above, a soft instrumental version of a song I half-recognized floated from hidden speakers.

I wasn’t looking for him.

Truly.

I was hungry. For food. Maybe a cocktail.

I slid onto a barstool at the far end, tucked my bag under the counter, and picked up the leather-bound menu. I was halfway through debating sliders versus flatbread when I heard it.

"I'm so sorry, Tay. I didn’t mean to screw things up.”

I stilled. The voice came from somewhere just out of view, on the far side of the bar. I tilted my head.

Joe.

“I-I thought we were past the steep part. I should’ve downshifted sooner, I just…messed up.”

There was a pause, long enough for me to imagine Tay’s expression.

“You can’t ride the brakes on a grade like that and expect everything to stay cool.” Her voice came out tight and tired.

Oh…Joe.

I remembered the engine groaning on the descent, the sharp tang of something burning. The way we’d all gone quiet for a second when the bus lurched.

Apparently, there was a learning curve.

I stared at the menu, not really seeing it. I wasn’t mad. He was new. Whereas a few days ago, I might have resented being his first, for some reason, it just rolled off of me now.

“Well,” Tay muttered. “Right now I’ve got the guides at Mesa Verde, the tour company, and thirty-eight passengers totally pissed at me. And the only thing I know for sure is I’m not getting paid enough for this.”

Joey mumbled something unintelligible, and then there was the quiet shuffle of footsteps as he left. I didn't turn around. The moment felt too private, like something I wasn't supposed to hear. But I couldn’t unhear it now.

A moment later, the bartender came over. “What can I get you?”

Immediately after I placed my order, Tay appeared, peaking around a thick wooden post.

Seeing me, she frowned. “Don’t you dare tell a soul. As far as the rest of the bus knows, the transmission overheated all by itself.” She pointed at me with a fresh edge of exasperated humor. “So help me, Faraday, I will chase you down.”

I lifted my hands. “Not a word,” I promised. “Scout’s honor.”

I was a little surprised when she rounded the bar and dropped onto the stool next to mine. I mean, this was “Tay Time” after all.

“Can the bus be fixed?” I asked, carefully.

She was already shaking her head. “Needs an entirely new transmission. But the company’s sending a new one over from Albuquerque. It should be here by tomorrow night.”

I raised my eyebrows, impressed.

“Thankfully,” she added, “tomorrow’s itinerary is low-key. The scenic train ride to Silverton and back, plus downtown Durango. Most of it’s walkable.”

“Good thing,” I said, and then, noticing the tension in her mouth… “You okay?”

“Peachy,” she deadpanned. “Only spent the past two hours doing paperwork, submitting refund requests for the Mesa Verde tours, dealing with three different managers, and calming down Mr. Whitaker—Ed—who thought this meant he wasn’t going to get two full days’ gambling in Vegas.”

“But isn’t this their honeymoon?”

Tay rolled her eyes. “Apparently, the tour is a compromise. Eddie gets to see the Grand Canyon, Ed gets to play Blackjack.”

“I guess we all have our priorities,” I laughed.

“And mine right now is a stiff drink.”

Tay didn’t even have to summon the bartender. “You want the usual, Tay?” The woman behind the bar asked while setting a glass of Pinot Grigio in front of me.

“I need something stiffer than wine tonight, Kathy,” Tay said. “A martini? Dry, with two olives.”

“Put it on my tab.”

Tay blinked at me, visibly surprised. Then, with a tired smile, she nodded. “I won’t argue with that.” She let out a breath.

“So, I know this is your sacred alone time usually…” I took a sip from my glass, feeling more relaxed than I’d expected.

“As long as you don’t need me to track down the prescription you forgot to fill or take your clothes to a dry cleaner. Or expect me to refund you personally for the inconvenience of missing one of the scheduled stops…”

“No.” I laughed. “Someone really asked you to find a dry cleaner?”

“You’d be surprised.”

The bartender arrived with her martini, and Tay downed nearly a third of it in one gulp. A martini! Straight vodka.

“I’m getting too old for this,” she said.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three. Yeah, I know, I look older,” she tacked on without even looking at me.

But it was me shaking my head this time. “I didn’t say that.” When she eyed me doubtfully, I conceded, “You might look a little stressed.”

She took another drink, more of a sip this time. “I used to love it. When I first took this job. But…I don’t know.”

Without too much encouragement, Tay kind of just…

vented. She was a native of Colorado but had traveled around the world.

and I learned she’d initially taken this job thinking she’d only do it for two years.

She’d thought she could save up, eventually open a wine bar that would double as a bookstore in the mountains somewhere.

Tay took a long swallow of her wine. “It seemed glamorous at first. And it was. The idea of it anyway…but now?” She gestured around the room. “Feels like I’m just skimming the surface.”

“On the trips?”

“Sure. But also… All of it. The world. Life.” Before she could explain, my food arrived, and she huffed out a little a laugh.

“God, I’m sorry. I don’t usually go on like this. Ignore me. I think when that transmission overheated, I blew a gasket too.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said. “I don’t know how you do it.”