Page 86 of You Fall First

“Go.”

With one last yelp, I scurry the rest of the way to the guest room. My heart is hammering, my cheeks are blazing, and I’m pretty sure Noah will never make direct eye contact with me again. Which is too bad, because I’d almost convinced myself things might not be weird or awkward with us going forward.

Wrong.

I text Maren immediately.

Me

Help! I’m trapped in one of Noah’s bedrooms wearing nothing but a towel!!!!

Maren

You keep getting trapped over there, friend. Are you sure you know how to use a door?

Me

Not funny, Mare. He just caught me coming out of the shower, and he definitely did not want to see me naked, and now I’m dying of embarrassment!!!!

Maren

You seem super calm.

Me

I AM NOT CALM!!!

Maren

Try fewer exclamation points.

Me

You’re no help.

Maren

Fine. Let’s back up. Why were you in his shower in the first place? Last I heard, I was supposed to be reminding you that Hot Uncle Noah is off-limits.

Ah, that’s right. Maren has no idea that Dutton begged for me to stay here temporarily, and the fact that I haven’t told her yet puts a fine point on how out of sorts I am. How irregular all this is. My life is in upheaval, and what I need is for her to talk me off the cliff. I’m texting a response when she puts me out of my misery and calls.

Bless her.

I throw in my AirPods and update Maren as quietly as I can while getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Since I’m not going anywhere near the bathroom again, I’m stuck using the mirror above the dresser. At least this room is the farthest from Noah’s. And he’s probably not outside the door eavesdropping, given the amount of distance he clearly wanted to put between us.

By the time I finish my expedited hair and makeup sessions, Maren’s all caught up on the good, the bad, and the ugly of my moving in until Paige arrives. She’s also got me convinced that Towel Gate can work in my favor.

“Just lean into the awkward,” she insists. “Make this one of those funny stories you’ll tell in the future when someone asks about your most embarrassing moments. Don’t make this any bigger than a babysitting gig gone awry.”

“Okay.” I slick on lip gloss, and something tickles behind my ribs. Why does a part of me want to make this a bigger deal than me simply babysitting for Dutton?

“Now go practice being the best bridesmaid ever,” Maren says, “so you’ll be ready for me someday.”

I puff out a laugh. “From your lips to Bucky’s ears.”

“Oh, heavens no. Never Bucky.”

By the time we end our call with simultaneous “I love yous,” I’m beginning to think I might survive another week here without expiring from mortification. Better yet, I’m ready for dinner.