Now it just reminds me how temporary all this is.
Around us, the Caldwells and the Scotts trade family stories, their faces lit by the fire. The Caldwells are good people. They’ve welcomed me into their family without question, made me feel like I belong here.
Like I’m really Noah’s boyfriend.
The thought hurts more than it should, so I force myself to tune back into the conversation just as Caroline says, “…that ski trip when Noah broke his arm?” She has both hands wrapped around a mug of spiked hot chocolate. “He was, what, thirteen? We were on that huge mountain, so they had to bring him down in a rescue sled…”
“Oh, poor boy!” Maria says with a tiny gasp.
“He was trying to race Maya down that black diamond run when he’d only just mastered the blues,” Daniel says, smiling at the memory.
Everyone laughs, and I watch Noah laugh with them, firelight catching in his eyes, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone, the shadow beneath his lower lip.
He’s beautiful.
So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“Connor, do you ski?” Daniel asks, pouring more whiskey into his mug. It’s the Midleton I brought him.
“A bit,” I say, clearing my throat. “We used to go to the Alps sometimes when I was a kid. My father loved it.”
Sometimesis a bit of a stretch. We went there once, because we couldn’t afford trips like that, and even then, my aunt Blathnaid paid for the whole thing.
“The Alps!” Brad says with a trace of respect. “Oh, that reminds me of that Christmas we all spent in Austria, remember? The chalet with those ridiculous antler chandeliers?”
Caroline laughs. “God, yes. And that chef who kept making those sophisticated dinners none of the kids would eat.”
“Maya did,” Daniel adds. “She ate everything.”
“I was a growing girl,” Maya says, lifting her mug toward the fire. “Still am.”
Everybody laughs again.
They fall into memories about that trip, about the snow and the food and some disaster involving a missing ski boot and an angry Austrian hotel manager. I listen, smiling and laughing at the right moments, but I’m painfully aware that these are memories I’m not part of. Stories from a shared history I’ll never be included in.
Noah and Rick’s families have a lifetime of this. Birthdays. Holidays. Vacations. Inside jokes and old arguments and references that only make sense to them. It’s lovely to witness, but it also reminds me that I’m an outsider here. Temporary in their world.
Just like I’m temporary in Noah’s life.
“Are you okay?” Noah asks quietly, finding my hand with his own. His palm is warm, slightly sticky from marshmallow residue.
I nod. I can’t tell him what’s really bothering me. That I’m terrified of what will happen when we go back to the city tomorrow. That I can’t stand the thought of him talking to Rick tonight, alone. That somehow, in the span of two days, I’ve fallen for him so hard it’s making it difficult to breathe.
Noah squeezes my hand, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. The gesture is so casual, so affectionate, like we’ve been doing this for years.
Heat crawls up my neck. I turn to look at him, caught off guard by the open warmth in his eyes. Does he have any idea what he does to me? How quickly he’s gotten past every defense I thought I had?
Before this weekend, I thought I’d made peace with the shape of my life. After Quinn, relationships felt like something I’d survived once and had no interest in trying again. I had my family. My friends. Work. Occasional hookups from apps when I got bored or horny. One day, I was planning to get a dog, let it love me in the uncomplicated way people never do, and spend the rest of my life working at the hospital and playing Dead by Daylight between shifts.
It sounded like a great plan.
But then Noah happened, and now I can’t stop feeling like the life I’d pictured was missing pieces I’d trained myself not to notice.
Because it wasn’t just about good sex. I’ve had good sex. Plenty of it. But this was different. This whole weekend has been different, and that’s the part that’s been killing me all day.Iforgot how much better it feels when desire comes with feelings. I forgot how good it feels to want someone not just in bed, but beside you. To want to spend time with him. Share your life with him. Have someone whose values fit yours, who’s looking in the same direction, who makes the future feel exciting just because he’d be there with you.
And Jesus, I want him to be there with me. I want him to be mine.
Noah rests his head on my shoulder with a soft sigh, and my heart stumbles in my chest. His hair tickles my chin, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and the cherry shampoo from our cottage.
