Page 80 of The Love Bus

“I won’t hold it against her, you know,” I added. “If she hadn’t made you go on that trip, I never would have met you.”

He raised the mug to his lips again, still eyeing me over the rim, like he couldn’t deprive himself of looking at me for another second. I was probably looking at him the same way.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I told him earnestly. “I thought…”

“I know.” He gave a wry, twisted little smile. “And I can’t help but think I could have done something, caught you at the airport?—”

But I was already shaking my head. “I’m not sure it would have changed anything.

I’d just found out that everyone on that trip had been lying to me the whole time; it felt like everything was so unstable, and I couldn’t trust anyone.

Maybe it would’ve changed how I reacted, but maybe not.

And now…” I shrugged. “I guess we’ll never really know for sure. ”

“No, I guess not.” Those stormy eyes of his seemed to be deep in thought.

To be honest, though, it didn’t matter much to me anymore, the could’ve, would’ve, should’ves . I’d missed him, of course I had…but maybe I’d needed this time to put my life back together before I let somebody else into it.

“You said you wanted more than a fling .” I licked my lips and watched his pupils dilate, the gray shrinking to just a thin ring, his gaze unwavering. “What does…that look like exactly?”

We were close now. Our knees almost touching, his hand flexed against his thigh, like he was holding himself back.

And me? My skin was practically buzzing, and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the coffee. More to do with the way his eyes kept dropping to my lips.

He was trying to be polite. Respectful.

It was absolutely infuriating, but also…so freaking sexy!

"More than a fling looks like…taking you out on a real date. Appetizers, main course, dessert, and then drinks…the whole shebang. Then…bringing you home. Kissing you at the door, hoping you invite me in.”

I just stared back at him. But, yeah, I’d totally invite him in.

“What else?” I asked, heat curling low in my belly.

“Making plans. Supporting each other.” He set his mug aside, then took mine and did the same. “Building something that lasts.”

“I could meet your fish,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“You could absolutely meet my fish.” He moved closer.

And then—finally!—he kissed me.

Tender at first, like he didn’t want to rush it. Like he was giving me room to change my mind.

But I didn’t. God, I didn’t.

Everything in me leaned toward him. Every heartbeat. Every breath.

His hand tugged on the back of my neck, and I climbed into his lap.

Right here. I belonged right here.

My thighs locked around his hips, and I felt it—all of it. His heat, his strength, his hands gripping my waist like he’d never let go.

His tongue played with mine, and I swear, besides vaguely thinking that he kissed even better than I remembered, my brain short-circuited.

Everything in me went warm and tight and needy.

I clutched the back of his neck, holding on, angling closer, loving the way the scruff on his jaw scraped my skin.

We were sharing the same air, and when I shifted against him, he made this sound in the back of his throat.

“Noah,” I said. How was this even better than before?

“Wait.” He pulled back, breath shallow. “No more misunderstandings…”

And then, leaving one hand on my hip, he used the other to lift my chin.

"Luna Faraday, will you be my girlfriend?" he asked, eyes crinkling at the corners, voice gone almost shy. "God, does that sound ridiculous?"

I laughed—an unexpected breathless sound. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes.

"Not ridiculous at all," I said.

Except…this would mean a pseudo long-distance relationship, wouldn’t it? And I hadn’t forgotten that he’d admitted that his long hours, the demands of his work, had been a problem in his marriage.

“Do you have time to be someone’s boyfriend?” I had to ask even though most of me was ready to go all in with him. Even, I realized, if it meant we only saw each other a few times a month.

“I think,” he said. “That when you love someone. You make time.”

"When you…love someone?"

I felt the love in his gaze…all over.

"Yeah.” His voice was low and rough, and the word shot straight to my heart.

"I do. I love you. And I’ve been trying to figure out when exactly that happened…

but the truth is, it wasn’t just one moment.

It was a bunch of them, piling up. Until all the reasons why we shouldn’t be an us didn’t matter anymore. ”

I didn’t move. Was I even breathing?

"It might’ve started when you asked me to check for ghosts in your closet," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Or when you stepped into the snow in your little sandals… Can you blame me for using that as an excuse to carry you into that visitor center?”

“Not at all.” My chest was so tight that the words barely made it out.

"Or when you fell off those rocks into the water. Or chased that train. But when you left…" he said, shaking his head. "That call. After you hung up, it felt like someone pulled the plug on my whole damn system. Sitting on a plane that night, that might be when I really knew.”

“You left early too?”

“How could I stay without you?”

“Oh.” Just a breath.

His eyes held mine, steady and unguarded.

"So, yeah. I love you. Hope that’s not a problem.”

The timer on the oven started chiming in the kitchen, but I totally ignored it.

"I love you, too," I whispered.

And just like that, we weren’t tiptoeing anymore.

This wasn’t a fling anymore.

This thing between us now wasn’t just because we were the only two people below the age of sixty, or because I was rebounding, or because we both wanted something simple and fun with no strings attached. It was a choice.

We were choosing each other.

On purpose.

His mouth found mine again, hungrier this time—like now that the words were out, he didn’t have to hold back. Like he’d been starving, and I was the only thing that could satisfy him.

His hands slid beneath my hoodie, warm and sure, skimming along my waist, and when he pulled it up over my head, I lifted my arms without a second thought.

“Missed you so much,” he breathed against my lips.

I laughed into the kiss, fumbling with the hem of his T-shirt. “You’re too forking sexy, do you know that?”

He grinned. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

And then he helped me tug the shirt over his head, but before it even hit the floor, his mouth was on my neck, trailing down to the spot just below my ear.

“You taste even better than I remembered,” he murmured.

My hands tangled in his hair as he kissed lower, lower.

His palms cupped my breasts through my sports bra, thumbs teasing the way he knew I liked it.

“Sweeter,” he whispered, voice low and reverent, like I was something sacred.

I kissed his jaw, his collarbone, anywhere I could reach, drunk on this heat, the way we fit. My hips rocked against his, a slow grind that had him groaning into my mouth.

I was ready to combust—literally and figuratively.

And then...

“Is that…smoke?” he asked, pulling back just enough to sniff the air.

My eyes went wide. “The cinnamon rolls!” We both shot up.

Noah was already scrambling to his feet, bare-chested and gorgeous, while I grabbed my hoodie and flew into the kitchen.

And unfortunately, more smoke billowed everywhere when I opened the oven. Noah had opened the door, then grabbed a towel and fanned the air.

When the pan clattered onto the stove and the worst of the smoke cleared, we just stood there, side by side, catching our breath.

“I thought you said you could cook.”

I opened my mouth in shock. And then we started laughing.

Big, helpless, ridiculous laughter.

I turned to him, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, while Noah tossed the towel onto the counter.

"You know," he said, his tone shifting to try to sound casual. "We probably shouldn’t hang out in this smoke.”

I tilted my head, playing innocent. "Where should we go then?”

HIs gaze flicked around, settling on the hallway leading off the main room.

I gave him a wicked smile, reached for his hand, and tugged him toward my bedroom. "Would you like a tour?"

"Lead the way, Faraday."

I did.

Because I wanted this man. I trusted him, and yup. I really loved him.

And this wasn’t just a fling anymore. Not even close.