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My mind snags on his use of the word “we,” almost like we’re in this together, and I remember how it felt to have his help this past week.

I force myself not to overanalyze it.

“We could line them up down by the lake,” I say. “That’d be cheaper than building more cabins.”

“We could start with this trailer,” he says. “See how it goes over.”

I frown. “I’m not going to rent out your home.”

He chuckles to himself and sticks a metal poker through two hot dogs, then hands it over to me. “It’s not going to be my home for long. I’ve lived in this thing long enough.”

“You’re serious,” I say. “About the house thing?” I watch as he pokes two more hot dogs, then sits down on the other side of the fire.

He doesn’t look at me, just focuses on the fire, when he says, “I am.”

I drop into the chair across from him. “Wow. The whole settling down idea—that’s real.”

“You sound surprised.”

Maybe if I took him at his word, this would be easier to believe, but so far, I’ve been skeptical of pretty much everything he’s done.

I’m only now starting to see that my skepticism might’ve been unwarranted.

“It’s very adult of you,” I say with a smirk, then add, under my breath, “Took ya long enough.”

He chuckles to himself.

“And this house,” I say. “You think it might be here?” I hold my breath that his answer will be “yes.”

And equally nervous that it won’t be.

The light from the fire catches his eyes, and they find me watching him, a little more intently than I should. “Jury’s still out on that one.” He turns his stick over in his hand. “Guess it depends on how the next week goes.”

My heart flip flops inside my chest. “Why? Other than a wedding, what happens in the next week?”

He pokes the fire. “If people make it clear they don’t want me here, then I’m not going to stay.”

Pieces of the puzzle begin to slide into place. I turn my hot dogs over, dipping the stick down into the flames. “That’s dumb.”

He laughs. “Is it? You want to live in a place where everyone hates you?”

“You’re being dramatic,” I say, the words clipped. “It’s not like you.” I watch him. “You been beating yourself up about this for a while or what?”

He leans away from the fire. “The way I see it, this was never my town. I’m an outsider.”

“Okay, Ponyboy,” I quip.

He laughs softly, then takes his hot dog out of the fire and inspects it, turning it over and putting it back in. “Still. Not exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Noble, nobody can claim Silverwood and nobody can say someone can’t be here,” I say. “You’re not a guest. You moved here. You lived here. For years. This place belongs to you as much as any of the rest of us.” I go still. “You don’t have to ask permission to exist. You don’t have to make sure it’s okay with anyone else that you call this place home.”

He holds my gaze for at least five seconds, then his eyes fall away. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Well, that’s how it is.”

“You don’t think people are going to have opinions about me moving back here? After all the crap I did?”

“Since when do you care what people think?” I say the words, but I know they’re not true. Noble has always cared. Always wanted the acceptance he never got from his family.