Page 27 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
And when he steps back, the air rushes in like a slap—cool and sharp and suddenly too empty.
Noah closes his eyes briefly, regaining composure, before responding. "Morgan here."
"Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but we've got hikers reported overdue on the north ridge trail. Parks department requesting assistance with the search."
"Copy that." His voice is steady, though his eyes never leave mine. "Coordinate with Rodriguez to assemble the team. I'll be there in twenty." He clips the radio back to his belt, regret written across his features. "Riley, I?—"
"Go." I step back, creating necessary distance. "People need you."
"We're not done here." The intensity in his gaze steals my breath all over again. "This conversation. Us. It's not finished."
"I know." I'm not sure what I'm agreeing to or what this means for either of us, but I can't deny the truth. Whatever this is between us, it's far from over.
Noah hesitates, then presses a swift, hard kiss to my lips before turning toward the trail. "Keep the jacket. It looks better on you anyway."
Then he's gone, descending with sure-footed jog, leaving me alone with the emerging stars and the ghost of his touch.
I sink onto a nearby boulder, fingers rising to my lips where the imprint of his kiss still burns. How is it possible to feel so much after so long? To have every carefully constructed wall crumble with a single touch?
I wrap his jacket tighter around me, breathing in his scent, mind racing with impossible questions. I'm leaving in a few days. My life is in Chicago. His is here. Nothing has changed, not really.
Except everything has.
The distant wail of sirens rises from the valley as emergency vehicles mobilize for the search. Lights twinkle below where thefestival continues, oblivious to my world turning upside down on this mountainside.
Professional boundaries.
They seemed so important this morning. Now, with the taste of Noah on my lips and the weight of unresolved feelings pressing on my chest, how did I ever think I could maintain any boundary at all?
And worse, I'm no longer sure I want to.
Chapter 7
Professional Complications
Morning arrives with painful brightness,sunlight streaming through curtains I forgot to close. I groan, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow as memories from yesterday flood back with merciless clarity.
The festival.
The paddle boat disaster.
Lookout Point.
Noah's lips on mine, his hands cradling my face as if I were something precious.
My phone chirps with an incoming text, mercifully interrupting the dangerous path of my thoughts. The screen illuminates with Noah's name—a contact I never deleted, though I told myself I kept it only for professional networking.
Can we meet at The PickAxe tonight? 8pm? Need to discuss what happened. -N
So formal. So unlike the man who kissed me as if a decade of separation had been nothing but a momentary inconvenience.
I type and delete three different responses before settling on a simple:I'll be there.
Professionalism. That's what I need to reclaim. Last night was... a momentary lapse. A nostalgic indulgence. Nothing more.
I repeat this like a mantra as I shower and dress, choosing a sleek blouse and tailored pants that feel like armor—Riley Bennett, professional journalist, not the love-struck teenager who once carved her initials alongside Noah's into the old pine at Lookout Point.
My schedule today includes an interview at The Haven, Angel's Peak's premier lodge and its restaurant, Timberlake. According to my notes, Chef Hunter Morgan—Noah's cousin, because of course everyone in this town is connected—has pioneered a farm-to-table initiative that's been key to the resort's revitalization.
