Chapter 200
Chapter 200
Stella:
The notification came three days before Christmas break.
Noah: Pack warm clothes. We're leaving Friday. Don't ask questions.
I stared at the message, my coffee going cold in my hand.
We'd been back from the camping trip for two weeks, and the strain of maintaining our secret had only intensified.
Every carefully orchestrated moment of distance on campus, every time I had to watch Chloe Park touch his arm in the hallway, every night Noah couldn't stay because his roommates might notice—it was wearing us both down in ways I didn't have professional vocabulary for anymore.
Me: Leaving for where?
Noah: Somewhere we don't have to pretend. Somewhere no one knows us.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The rational part of my brain screamed that this was reckless. The smart thing would be to pull back, reestablish boundaries, remember why I'd agreed to keep this secret in the first place.
Me: How long?
Noah: Two weeks. Just us.
Noah: I already booked it. Non-refundable. So you have to say yes.
Despite everything, I smiled.
Me: That's manipulative.
Noah: That's strategic. There's a difference.
Me: Where?
Noah: Costa Rica. Pacific coast. Private. Quiet. No one within a thousand miles who could recognize us.
Me: Yes.
---
Friday afternoon I locked my office, took one last look at the diplomas on my wall, and walked to the faculty parking lot.
Noah was waiting by a rental car in the back corner, away from the security cameras. When he saw me, something in his expression shifted—relief, anticipation, the particular warmth he only let himself show when we were completely alone.
He took my bag without asking. When he opened the passenger door, his hand brushed my lower back—brief, electric, deliberate.
Once we were on the highway toward LAX, some of the tension began to ease from my shoulders.
"Costa Rica," I said. "You really booked two weeks in Costa Rica."
"Beach house right on the water. Completely isolated. The owners live in San José and only use it a few times a year." He glanced at me. "Luna Nightshade had a very good December."
Heat crept up my neck, remembering some of the comments I'd left recently. Encouraging the male lead to be bolder. To stop holding back.
"I should probably feel guilty about that," I said.
"About what? Being my number one subscriber?" His hand found mine on the console. "Stella, you're the reason half those chapters exist. Every time you leave a comment—"
"You know it's me."
"I've known for weeks." He squeezed my hand. "StarGazer28. Really? You couldn't have been more creative?"
"I made that username in grad school," I said defensively. "Before I met you."
"Before you knew you'd fall for the artist you were obsessing over."
I wanted to argue, but he was right. "This is insane."
"Probably." He brought my hand to his lips. "But I'm done pretending I don't want this. Two weeks, Stella. Two weeks where we don't have to hide."
---
The flight was long but uneventful. We'd booked separately, sat in different rows, deplaned with careful distance between us. But once we cleared customs in San José and caught our connection—a small puddle jumper to the coast—some of the weight began to lift.
The tiny plane seated maybe fifteen people, and we were among only five passengers on the evening flight. Noah sat beside me, our shoulders touching, his hand resting on my thigh where no one could see.
"Tell me about this place," I said quietly.
He pulled out his phone, showing me photos. A small wooden structure with a wraparound porch and floor-to-ceiling windows facing the ocean. "One bedroom, outdoor shower, barely any wifi. Very rustic."
"One bedroom." My pulse quickened.
His eyes met mine. "Is that a problem?"
"No. Not a problem."
Through the window I could see lights scattered along the coastline, the dark expanse of the Pacific stretching endlessly beyond. Noah's thumb traced small circles on my thigh.
"Two weeks," he murmured. "No Dr. Morrison. No student. Just us."
I turned my face toward his. "Just us."
---
The taxi ride from the small airstrip took nearly an hour, down increasingly narrow roads, past sleeping towns and dark beaches. When we finally pulled up to a gravel drive, I could hear waves crashing somewhere close.
Noah paid the driver while I stood looking at the house. Small, simple, perfect. Through the windows I could see moonlight reflecting off the water.
"What do you think?" He appeared beside me with our bags.
I didn't answer with words. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss—the kind I'd been holding back for weeks, deep and desperate and finally free.
He dropped the bags and lifted me slightly off the ground. When we broke apart, both breathing hard, his eyes were blazing.
"Inside," I managed. "Now."
---
Noah:
The door barely closed before Stella was pushing me against it, her mouth on mine with an urgency that made my head spin. This wasn't the careful, controlled woman from campus. This was someone who'd been holding back for too long.
"Don't be careful," she breathed against my lips. "Not here."
So I didn't.
I walked her backward toward the bedroom, the moonlight coming through the windows the only light we needed. The room was dark and warm, the sound of waves filling the space where silence might have been awkward.
Every time we'd been together before, there had been some element of restraint—the awareness of where we were, who might hear, what we were risking. Here, with nothing but ocean and night around us, all of that fell away.
She arched into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, and I felt something shift between us. This wasn't just physical release. This was reclaiming something we'd been forced to suppress every single day on campus.
Later—much later—we lay tangled together, the ceiling fan turning lazy circles overhead. Stella's head was on my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin.
"We have two weeks," she said softly.
"Fourteen days."
"What happens after?"
I tightened my arms around her. "We figure it out. Together."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Noah, I've been thinking about what you said. About taking a leave of absence."
"You don't have to decide now—"
"I don't want you to do that." She propped herself up to look at me. "Your education matters. Your future matters."
"You matter more."
"That's exactly why I can't let you sacrifice your degree." Her expression was serious, that particular Stella-seriousness I'd learned to read as her being most honest. "We'll find another way."
I pulled her back against me. "Then we'll find it. But not tonight. Tonight we don't think about any of that."
"What do we think about?"
"How we have thirteen more days of this."
I felt her smile against my skin. Against every rational argument she could have made, she smiled, and that told me everything I needed to know.