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I brush my teeth and get dressed, and when I walk downstairs my heart skips at the sight of him standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, holding a cup of coffee. It’s an echo of the night before, and when he looks up and smiles, my heart ignores my brain and fast forwards to the part where this is normal. Where he’s just here, a part of my every day routine.

I walk into the room and over to where he’s standing, feeling awkward and shy in the light of day. Like now he’ll be able to see what he couldn’t see last night.

“Morning.” He hands me the coffee.

“Morning.”

His eyes narrow. “You good?”

“Are you good?”

The corner of his mouth pulls. “I’m really good.”

Relief floods through me as the worry I’d been feeling disappears. “I just kind of wish we could stay here all day,” I say.

“Your family will be suspicious,” he says.

I take a drink. “Actually . . . how are we handling them?”

“You mean do we keep this—” he flicks his hand back and forth in the space between us— “a secret?”

I nod.

“What do you think?” he asks. “I think it should be your decision.”

“I think . . .” What do I think? “Maybe I don’t want them to know. Yet. They’ll stick their noses in and make it weird.”

“They will do that, yes.” He stands in front of me. “So that means that once we leave here, I have to pretend I’m not thinking about kissing you right—” he leans in and kisses my collarbone— “here.” His breath is warm and minty against my neck.

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur. “Stop thinking about that.”

“Okay, but what about here, though?” He drags soft kisses up my neck to my chin.

“Nope,” I breathe, “can’t think about that either.”

“Probably going to think about it.” He kisses me.

My toes curl.

“I have to wait all day until I get to do that again? Come on.” He smirks at me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and get lost in his kiss for what feels like a full three days. When I pull back, I search his eyes and find no hint of regret.

And a voice at the back of my mind is shouting, Please don’t break my heart again!

I silence it with the distraction of a drink, stepping out of his arms and missing them instantly. “Kayaks?”

He nods. “Let’s do it.”

I’m already leaning into this morning routine, something that should maybe concern me, but I’m too blissfully happy to think about that now.

I just want to be wherever Noble is. I want to have the right to touch him. To tell him all the thoughts running through my head. And I don’t want to interrupt any of those feelings with logic.

We’re on the lake for about an hour, and afterwards, we go inside and get ready because we promised my family we’d join them for the Silverwood High Fall Festival and pancake breakfast. It’s a tradition that started before any of us were in high school, and in a lot of ways, the festival signifies the official start of a new season.

A season where I let go of the past and let myself be happy. A season where Noble and I are more than friends.

A season where he finally comes home.