“Noah,” I finally manage, my voice sounding strange even to me. “What did you just say?”
He stares back at me, his eyes wide and terrified, still shiny with tears.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” he repeats.
“No,” I say. “Before that. Before I stopped the car.”
He blinks, looking at me. In the faint predawn light filtering through the windshield, I can see the exact moment he wants to backpedal.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that.” The words come fast, panicky. “Just forget it. I’m sorry.”
“Noah,” I say again, more firmly this time, reaching across to take his hand. It’s shaking in mine, cold and clammy with anxiety. “Just repeat what you said.”
He nods, then looks away.
“I’m in love with you?” he says, like he’s afraid of the words. Tears start streaming down his face again. “I’m sorry.”
Oh my God.
He’s in love with me.
Not Rick.
For a second, adrenaline rushes through me so sharply I think I might actually pass out. Then happiness hits, and the laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it.
Noah just sits there, staring at me, crying even harder.
“Noah,” I say, once the laughter dies down. “Noah, I’m in love with you too.”
The words hang in the air between us for a heartbeat. Two. Three.
Noah’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
He frowns, completely confused.
“What?” he whispers, so softly I can barely hear him over the faint hum of the engine.
His eyes are wide with disbelief, as if he’s waiting for me to take it back, to reveal this is just another part of our elaborate pretense.
But there’s no pretending anymore.
Not for me.
Not when my heart feels like it’s about to burst right out of my chest.
“I’m in love with you too,” I repeat, the words coming easier this time, like they’ve been waiting inside me all along. “God, Noah, I’m so in love with you it’s driving me crazy.”
Noah just stares at me, frozen.
“What?” he says again, shocked, like his brain can’t process what I’m telling him.
I can’t help it. I laugh again, the sound catching in my throat, and then I’m moving across the center console, my hands finding his face, his neck, his hair. I press my lips to his forehead, his temples, the curve of his cheekbone where tears are still wet. I kiss his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth where it trembles.
“I love you,” I whisper against his skin between kisses. “I love you. I love you.”
Noah makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, his hands coming up to grip my wrists like he needs something to hold on to. I pull back just enough to look at him.
Finally, there’s a smile breaking through his tears.
