I swallow, suddenly feeling ridiculous for needing Noah’s sister to talk me into being honest. “Thank you.”
For a second, she just looks at me. Then her expression softens.
“You’re welcome,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this is as one-sided as you think.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I only nod.
She opens the door, then pauses.
“And Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t decide how this ends before Noah gets a say.”
Then she slips out, and I just stand there with my pulse still racing, left with one unavoidable fact.
I have to talk to Noah.
***
It’s half past two by the time Noah and I finally leave the party. Brad and Maria have already headed back to the West Cottage, Rick and Cassidy left a few minutes ago, and Maya has disappeared upstairs, leaving Caroline and Daniel to see us off.
My head is swimming from too much whiskey with Daniel and Brad, who kept insisting I try another pour, comparing notes like it was some kind of science experiment. I lost count somewhere after the seventh pour. After that, it was easier to let the alcohol blur everything I didn’t want to feel.
Noah hasn’t said a single word to me all night.
Not when I came back downstairs after Maya cornered me in the bathroom.
Not when I sat across from him at the card table, trying to catch his eye.
Not when Daniel suggested charades, and Noah made a point of partnering with Maya instead of me, his supposed boyfriend.
So I drank. And drank. And drank some more, until the sting of his silence dulled into an ache I could almost manage.
Now we’re saying goodnight, and Caroline and Daniel both hug me with a warmth that makes guilt twist in my stomach. They like me, these people who barely know me, and all of it is based on a lie that’s falling apart right in front of them.
“We’ll see you for breakfast,” Caroline says, smoothing my collar with maternal affection. “Not too early, though. Sleep in a bit.”
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I manage, the words only slightly slurred. “And happy birthday again, sir.”
Daniel grins, his own cheeks flushed from whiskey. “Good night, boys.”
The path to our cottage stretches ahead in the moonlight, gravel crunching under my shoes with every step. The night air cools my overheated skin, but it does nothing to clear my head.
I don’t wait for Noah.
I know he doesn’t want me to.
He follows somewhere behind me, close enough for me to hear his footsteps, far enough that the distance feels intentional.
The cottage comes into view, dark against the star-filled sky. I let myself in and climb the stairs to our room, each step taking more focus than it should. The alcohol has made my body clumsy, but I’m still painfully aware of Noah following me up the stairs.
I push into the bedroom and flip on the overhead light. A few seconds later, Noah follows me in and closes the door behind us.
The quiet click of the latch sounds far too final, shutting us into a room that suddenly feels too small. For a moment, I consider going straight to the bathroom and locking myself in there until I trust myself not to say anything stupid.
Then I turn around.
