Chapter 197
Chapter 197
Stella:
I tried to focus on what he was saying, on the mechanics of fishing, but all I could think about was how close he was. How his chest was almost touching my back. How his hands were gentle but sure as they guided mine through the motion.
"Now let it settle," he said softly. "Wait for the bite."
We stood there in the shallows, the river flowing around our legs, and for a few stolen moments, we didn't have to pretend.
"I miss this," I whispered. "I miss being able to just... be around you."
Noah's hands tightened on my arms, just slightly. "I know. Me too."
"This weekend has been—"
"Hell," he finished. "I know."
The line jerked suddenly, and I gasped. Noah's hands covered mine, helping me reel in whatever had taken the bait. It fought hard, bending the rod, and I laughed despite myself.
"Easy," Noah said, his voice still close to my ear. "Don't let it snap the line. Just keep steady pressure."
Together, we brought it in—a rainbow trout, maybe twelve inches long, its scales flashing silver and pink in the fading light.
"Nice catch, Dr. Morrison," Noah said, and there was genuine pride in his voice.
I turned my head to look at him, and found his face closer than I'd expected. His eyes dropped to my mouth, just for a second, before he stepped back and put proper distance between us.
"We should get back," he said, his voice rougher than before. "Before they wonder where we went."
But he didn't move immediately, and neither did I.
"Noah," I said quietly. "That thing you need to tell me. When we get back to St. Claire."
"Yeah?"
"Is it going to change things? Between us?"
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine.
"I hope so," he said finally. "But not in the way you're worried about."
Before I could ask what he meant, we heard Emily's voice calling from downstream.
The moment shattered. Noah took the fish from me, added it to the small cooler he'd brought, and we made our way back separately, arriving from different directions as if we'd never been together at all.
---
By the time we gathered around the campfire for dinner, Noah had caught two more fish and I'd managed one more on my own. Zoe had come up empty, which seemed to annoy her more than she wanted to admit.
Noah cleaned the fish with practiced efficiency while I helped Emily prep vegetables for the grill. Zoe supervised, still nursing what remained of her hangover with copious amounts of water.
"I didn't know you could fish," Zoe said to her brother, watching him work.
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Noah said lightly.
Something in his tone made Zoe's eyes narrow, but she didn't press.
The fish grilled up beautifully, flaky and tender with just a squeeze of lemon. Noah had also thrown together foil packets of vegetables—zucchini, bell peppers, onions—and when he served them, I noticed he'd set aside a portion without the spicy seasoning he'd used on the others.
He set that plate in front of me without a word.
I took it without acknowledgment, but our eyes met across the fire, and something warm unfurled in my chest.
"This is actually amazing," Emily said around a mouthful of fish. "Noah, you're hired as camp chef for all future trips."
"Future trips?" Zoe raised an eyebrow. "We barely survived this one."
"Speak for yourself," Emily said. "I'm having a great time. Minus the hangover."
The conversation flowed easily after that, the tension from earlier dissipating in the warmth of the fire and the satisfaction of a good meal. For a little while, we were just four people enjoying an evening in the woods.
But I caught Zoe watching us when she thought no one was looking. Caught the way her gaze would linger on Noah when he laughed at something Emily said, then shift to me to gauge my reaction.
She was still building her case. Still collecting evidence.
And I was terrified of what she'd do when she finally had enough to confront us.
---
We drove back separately that night, Emily riding with me while Noah went with Zoe.
The two-hour drive was quiet, Emily dozing in the passenger seat while I replayed every moment of the weekend in my head, cataloging every near-miss, every suspicious glance from Zoe, every second Noah and I had spent pretending we were nothing to each other.
The fishing had been a brief respite, a few stolen moments of normalcy. But it had also been dangerous. Standing that close to him, feeling his hands on mine, letting myself want something I couldn't have.
By the time I pulled into my apartment complex, I was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical tiredness.
I'd thought returning home meant safety. Distance. Time to breathe.
I was wrong.
---
Back home, the next morning.
I woke to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and the sound of my phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand.
Zoe: Emergency board meeting. Flying back to SF this afternoon. Can you make sure Noah gets home okay?
I stared at the message, my stomach sinking.
Me: Of course. Is everything okay?
Zoe: One of our portfolio companies is imploding. I'll fill you in later. Just... keep an eye on him? He seemed off yesterday.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Off how?
But I didn't send it. Couldn't risk drawing more attention to something Zoe was already suspicious about.
Me: I've got him. Safe travels.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.
Noah had seemed off because we'd spent the entire weekend pretending we didn't know each other. Because we'd been forced to maintain this excruciating distance while Zoe watched our every move. Because keeping up this charade was slowly killing both of us.
But I couldn't say any of that to Zoe.
My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Noah.
Noah: Zoe just told me about SF. Are you okay?
Me: Fine. Just tired.
Noah: Liar.
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the weekend settle over me like a heavy blanket.
We'd survived it. Barely. But at what cost?
Another text came through.
Noah: I'm taking her to the airport in an hour. After that... can I see you?
I should have said no. Should have insisted on space, on time to think, on maintaining the boundaries that were supposed to keep us safe.
Me: My place. After you drop her off.
Noah: Thank you.
I didn't respond.
Just set the phone aside and tried to quiet the voice in my head that kept asking how much longer we could keep doing this. How much longer before something gave. Before someone noticed. Before the carefully constructed walls we'd built came crashing down around us.
The answer, I suspected, was not much longer at all.