Page 52 of The Love Bus

“She decided to stay in town,” I said. “Something about getting a stitch fixed on Morty’s hat.”

Saying it aloud, I realized just how completely fabricated it sounded.

Noah arched a brow behind me. “She didn’t give you a choice, did she?”

“She really didn’t,” I offered, wincing and laughing at the same time. “She threatened to call my mother.”

Noah waited for me to sit down first, but honestly, I wouldn’t have minded—just this once—if he’d skipped the whole gentleman routine.

That way I wouldn’t have found myself seated smack dab between him and his mother.

The bench was cushioned but not cushioned enough to absorb the awkwardness settling around us.

Awkwardness for me, that was.

On one side, I had Mrs. Grady, trying, but failing, to angle away from me. On the other…

Sweet temptation.

With his thigh pressed firmly against mine, Noah stretched one arm across the back of the bench. Every time his fingers grazed my shoulder, a little zip of electricity jumped straight down my spine. I was trying to act normal—casual, friendly, platonic—but my body wasn’t cooperating.

Heat pulsed low in my belly. My breath had gone shallow. And his scent—clean, woodsy, Noah—wasn’t helping.

Except wafting over from the other side was the scent of gardenia, a soft, powdery perfume I remembered my mom using for a while. It didn’t smell bad on Mrs. Grady, but it was…insistent.

As if she was determined to make her presence known in every possible way.

I shifted slightly. So did Noah, and one of his fingers traced the skin behind my ear.

Deliberately?

I wasn’t imagining it.

I mean, I could be. But I wasn’t.

And all I could do was sit there, sandwiched between a woman who wished I were her former daughter-in-law, and her son, the guy I’d made out with under a freezing waterfall.

No big deal. Just keep breathing. In. Out. Ignore the heat. The tingles.

It was different from all the days before. So much harder to ignore!

But with his mom squashed against my other side, I had to try, right?

So I tried focusing on the scenery. Mountains. Pines.

Noah’s fingers skimming the back of my shoulder…

Oh, look! A river!

The train rumbled onto a narrow trestle bridge, and just like that, we were tracking the Animas River. There were murmurs of appreciation as we curved around a bend. Someone pointed out an old wooden water tower, and then a deer.

Which I thought looked more like a dog but…

“No Bigfoot sightings,” Noah whispered in my ear.

I glanced over, chuckling.

Then the conductor stepped into our car, neat and cheery in his vest and cap.

“Good morning, folks, and welcome aboard the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad,” he announced.

“We’ll be climbing nearly three thousand feet in elevation today, following the same rugged route used to haul silver and gold out of the San Juan Mountains in the 1880s.

The trip to Silverton takes just over three hours.

Take as many pictures and videos as you like—but please, for your own safety, keep your arms and devices inside the car. ”

He tipped his cap again and continued through the train.

Three hours?

I blinked, shifting a little.

Noah’s thigh was still warm against mine. His hand was still idly curled across the back of the bench. And I was still trying very hard not to melt into a puddle.

To distract myself, I took out my phone and angled it toward the front of the train. The black engine shone like polished coal as it curved through the cottonwoods up ahead. The clatter of the wheels echoed off the valley walls, rhythmic and comforting.

I snapped a photo. Then switched to video. The train’s whistle blew as we started across another bridge, and I caught the call of it just in time—high, echoey, a little bit magical.

A hawk glided above us, wings outstretched like it had nothing but time.

“This is so much better than the bus,” Mrs. Grady said, unexpectedly, leaning slightly forward to speak to Noah.

I turned to glance at her, surprised.

“Right?” I agreed.

“I’ll bet you aren’t even nervous.” Noah was looking at me. “We can’t go off the road when we’re on a track.”

“That’s because we’re not being driven by a sixteen-year-old.” I relaxed a little.

“Joey is not sixteen,” his mom corrected automatically but still didn’t quite look at me.

Noah gave his mother a look.

She gave one right back.

There was something in the air between them then, a silent exchange I couldn’t decode.

And then, miraculously, she turned to me. With a smile.

“Tay says it isn’t his fault that the bus broke down.”

It wasn’t exactly a truce. But it was a start.

I nodded, grasping at what I hoped was an olive branch. “Of course not.”

And just like that, the silence that had been pressing down on us softened just enough to breathe through.

When I shifted, on the pretense of looking toward the back of the train, I met Noah’s gaze and noticed the corner of his mouth twitching.

It was almost funny that once again, as I was resisting every urge in my body to lean into him, his mom was right here.

Watching the passing scenery, but make no mistake about it, she was also watching me.

She had liked his ex-wife. What had he said? That his mom was having a harder time adjusting to the divorce than he was.

Not that I could relate.

Neither of my parents had liked Leo. Mom definitely hadn’t, and although Dad had been…tolerant, I couldn’t help but think he’d have been almost as happy as Mom must be that Leo was out of my life.

Well. Almost out of my life. There were still those unanswered voicemails sitting in my phone.

Not to mention a few ominous emails from the station.

The whistle on the engine blew again, and the sound took me back to my dad, with more than a twinge of melancholy.

“My dad would have loved this,” I said softly, not meaning to say it out loud.

She turned to me, brows raised with unexpected gentleness. “I understand he passed?”

I didn’t bother asking how she knew.

Because Babs.

“Two years ago. But he loved trains. He set up this elaborate miniature train village in our basement when I was a kid. Hills, trees, glowing little houses with streetlamps and everything.”

Her lips quirked into a real smile. “You must have loved that as a child.”

“We did—me and my sister. He’d narrate the routes, and we’d use our Polly Pockets as the townspeople… I haven’t thought about that in forever.”

A tightness formed in my chest, the kind that wasn’t entirely sad. Just…unexpected.

“Noah loved trains too,” Mrs. Grady said, her voice warming. “Thomas the Tank. We had every single one. He’d line them up and if I moved one…oh, the drama.”

I laughed softly, glancing sideways. “You didn’t let your mom move your toys?”

Noah just rolled his eyes, leaning back against the bench. Maybe a little embarrassed, which, if possible, made him even more adorable.

She went on fondly, “He even used to perform little ‘operations’ on them. If one of them got a scratch, or lost a wheel, he insisted it needed surgery. Same with our goldfish.”

I turned to him, wide-eyed. “You operated on your goldfish?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” He looked totally innocent. “I’d come home from school and find one of them just…floating. I couldn’t just give up on it. So, did I perform a few questionable procedures? Maybe. But my intentions were good, and in my defense, I was only eight.”

“Don’t stop there, Noah,” Mrs. Grady said, obviously holding back laughter.

Noah winced. “Mom bought back-up fish. I thought I was saving them, but in reality…”

“I’d just swap them out when he wasn’t looking,” Mrs. Grady said, grinning now. She was giving me a glimpse of the closeness between them. “You’d be amazed how many emergency pet replacements I’ve pulled off.”

Noah shook his head. “I thought I was a miracle worker.”

“Don’t tell me you operate on Plink and Jumbo,” I said.

He gave me a look, one brow lifting. “No. They’re very low maintenance, aside from Jumbo’s diet issues.

But…” He hesitated, then glanced away. “There was this one fish. A beta named Cosmo. He started floating on his side. I thought it was over. But I did some research, learned there was a thing called swim bladder disease.”

“Swim bladder?” I asked, not sure if he was making this up.

He nodded. “It’s a thing. I put him in a shallow bowl, fasted him for three days, then gave him a single cooked, skinned pea.”

I blinked. “A pea?”

“Fiber,” he said with a shrug. “He pooped. Then swam upright again. Full recovery.”

For a second, I just stared at him.

And then I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. “You treated a constipated fish?”

His grin was sheepish. “I saved his life.”

“Of course, you did.”

I was laughing, yes—but inside, I was melting. Smitten. Ridiculously charmed. This man. This man had once nursed a dying fish back to health with a vegetable and a hospital tank.

I wanted to kiss him for it.

“I always knew he’d end up in medicine,” Mrs. Grady said, clearly proud. But then she added, more pointedly, “By the way, did you ever talk to that doctor Courtney mentioned? About the private practice?”

Her words slid right past me, like I was invisible again.

Noah’s jaw ticked. “No, Mom. I told you?—”

“I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand. “I just want you in a better place. That way…”

She didn’t finish. But the silence that followed said plenty.

We didn’t talk about his job—or his ex-wife—for the rest of the ride. Instead, I made a conscious effort to lean in, to bridge the gap between us stitch by stitch.

I helped her frog out a hopeless tangle in what was supposed to be a granny square. Showed her one of my gran’s favorite cheat stitches—double half-something-or-other she used to call it—and watched as her hands relaxed and her rows evened out.

She asked me about my favorite yarns; I asked her about commercial real estate.

She lit up when talking about buildings she’d sold, deals she’d salvaged, the time she closed on a downtown Boston property with a broken heel and a migraine.

She was sharp. Witty. Still wary—but less so with every mile.

And by the time we pulled into Silverton, I let out a quiet breath of relief.

She wasn’t just Noah’s mom anymore.

She was someone with stories. With her own pain. With a surprisingly sly sense of humor.

And maybe—possibly—we could be friends?

Even though I couldn’t miss the way she stiffened when Noah gently suggested she spend the afternoon shopping with Marla and Josie.

He’d said it kindly, but firmly.

Because he wanted to spend the afternoon with me.

And she let him.

But she didn’t look happy about it.