Chapter 195
Chapter 195
Stella:
Zoe, who'd been leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed, cracked one eye open. "You guys go ahead. I'm going to lay in the hammock and contemplate my life choices."
Emily laughed. "Meaning you're going to nap."
"Aggressively nap," Zoe corrected.
Then she sat up straighter, and something shifted in her expression. "Actually, Em, why don't you go with them? Make sure this idiot doesn't slip on the rocks and crack his skull open."
The request sounded casual. Helpful, even.
But I heard the subtext underneath.
I want you to watch them.
Emily, oblivious to the undercurrent, agreed easily. "Sure, I could use the walk. Clear my head."
I kept my expression neutral as I stood, gathering my things. My stomach churned with anxiety, but I forced myself to move normally, to act like this was just a pleasant afternoon activity and not another minefield I'd have to navigate.
---
The three of us set off down the coastal trail, Noah leading the way with the easy confidence of someone who'd grown up near the ocean.
He pointed out slippery patches of rock, warned us about the tide schedule, kept up a steady stream of commentary that was just informative enough to sound natural.
But I noticed the way he positioned himself.
Always in front, creating a buffer. Making sure Emily walked between us.
Making sure we never got too close.
The tide pools were exactly as beautiful as he'd promised.
Clusters of starfish clung to the rocks in brilliant shades of orange and purple. Sea anemones swayed in the shallow water, their tentacles creating hypnotic patterns. Hermit crabs scuttled between the pools, and small fish darted through the clear water like liquid silver.
Noah crouched beside one of the larger pools, gesturing for us to come closer.
"Check this out," he said, pointing to a particularly vibrant anemone. "If you touch it gently, it'll close up around your finger. Feels weird, but it's harmless."
He demonstrated, dipping his index finger into the water. The anemone's tentacles immediately contracted, wrapping around his fingertip like tiny suction cups. When he pulled his hand back, they released with a soft pop.
"That's actually kind of creepy," Emily said, but she was already reaching for her phone to take a picture.
Noah looked up at me, his eyes warm in the afternoon sunlight. "Try it, Dr. Morrison. It feels weird but cool."
The formal address was perfectly pitched. Respectful. Slightly teasing. Exactly what a student might say to a professor he was friendly with but not too friendly with.
But the way he looked at me made my chest ache.
I hesitated, eyeing the anemone with skepticism.
I'd never been comfortable touching things I didn't fully understand, and there was something unsettling about the way those tentacles moved. But Emily was watching, and Noah was waiting, and refusing would seem strange.
So I knelt beside the pool, careful of my balance on the slippery rocks, and slowly extended my hand toward the water.
Noah's hand was still resting on the edge of the pool, his fingers only inches from mine.
Close enough that I could see the water droplets clinging to his skin. Close enough that if I shifted my weight just slightly, we'd be touching.
I didn't shift.
The anemone's tentacles brushed my fingertip, and I jerked back instinctively, my balance wavering.
Noah's hand lifted, an automatic response to catch me, but he stopped himself at the last second. His fingers hovered in the air between us for a heartbeat before he lowered them again.
Our eyes met.
The world narrowed to that single point of connection. The space where his hand had almost touched mine. The concern in his expression that he couldn't quite hide. The way my pulse jumped in response to his nearness, even here, even with Emily just a few feet away taking pictures of a starfish.
Then Emily's phone clicked, and the moment shattered.
"Got it!" she said cheerfully, reviewing the photo. "This is definitely going on Instagram."
I pulled my hand back from the water and stood, my knees protesting the movement.
My heart was racing, and I couldn't tell if it was from the near-fall or from the way Noah had almost touched me. Almost reached for me. Almost broken the careful distance we'd been maintaining all day.
---
We spent another half hour exploring the tide pools, Emily leading the way now as she hunted for photo opportunities.
Noah and I drifted apart, maintaining the safe distance that had become our default. But I was hyperaware of him. The sound of his voice as he identified different species of marine life. The way he moved across the rocks with sure-footed grace. The occasional glance he threw in my direction when he thought no one was looking.
My phone buzzed.
Zoe: How's it going down there? Emily keeping you entertained?
I stared at the message, reading between the lines.
She wasn't asking if we were having fun. She was asking if Emily had noticed anything. If her surveillance was proving fruitful.
Me: Beautiful tide pools. Very educational.
Zoe: I bet. Don't let Noah fall in. I don't feel like explaining to Mom and Dad how their son drowned on my watch.
The message should have been funny. It wasn't.
"Hey, Stella!" Emily called from further down the rocks. "Come look at this one. It's huge."
I pocketed my phone and made my way over, leaving Noah to examine a cluster of mussels on his own.
The distance between us felt like a physical thing, a weight I carried with every step.
When Emily's phone rang twenty minutes later, I felt a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment.
"Zoe needs me back," she said, glancing at the screen. "Something about packing up the campsite?"
She looked between Noah and me. "You guys good here?"
My mouth opened to say I'd come too. The smart thing. The safe thing.
But Noah spoke first.
"Yeah, we're good," he said, his tone casual and easy. "I want to check out one more pool further out."
He glanced at me, his expression carefully neutral. "Dr. Morrison, you don't have to stay if you want to head back."
He was giving me an out. Putting the choice in my hands. Making it clear that if I left, it was my decision, not his.