Page 66 of The Only Thing That's Real

Two hours and one minute later, the front of my hoodie is a mess. What kind of bullshit was that ending?

With about thirty minutes left, Ryan fell asleep with her head in my lap. I rubbed her head while I continued watching, unable to look away even though she was out cold and would never know if I turned it off. I watched every torturous second and used my sweatshirt to stop my tears from landing on who I’m starting to think of as my Allie. Not sure if I’m her Noah or not, but to be that to her, I’ll build as many houses as it takes.

During the nearly six hours I’ve been in her suite, she put her hair up and took it down a half dozen times. She fell asleep with it down, allowing me the luxury of running my hand through her thick curls while she slept. I could never count all the freckles on her face, but she has a small cluster of three darker, slightly larger freckles on her right cheekbone that captivates me. The urge to run my finger over them is hard to resist, but I don’t want to wake her.

I give myself ten minutes to sit and take her in. Her light breathing and the new cadence my heart is beating are theonly sounds in the room. The frantic feeling of anxiety usually flowing through my veins is gone. Replacing it is a content, steady rhythm. One that skips a beat every time Ryan laughs or aims her smile in my direction.

My ten minutes up, I maneuver myself off the couch with her in my arms, her blanket covering her. I smile when I see the horse I sent her on her bed. Laying her down gently, I go to cover her with her blanket but pause. Pulling back the blanket, I don’t put my hand in her pocket, but I do feel for its contents and find a familiar heart shape in one pocket. When I feel the other, my hearts new steady rhythm falters.

She’s carrying a new heart-shaped stone in her other pocket.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Ryan

When I wake to the beeping of my alarm, I roll over in my luxurious penthouse bed and fumble for my phone, my eyes opening just enough to see that it’s six am. Groaning, I turn off the alarm, wishing there was time to hit the snooze button.

The last thing I remember was watchingTheNotebookwith Knox on the couch. I throw back the covers and discover I’m still fully dressed.

Holy shit.

Knox carried me to bed, covered me up and plugged my phone in for me.

Memories of us laughing and learning about one another play like a rom com in my mind and giddiness erupts inside me. I roll to the middle of the enormous bed, kicking my feet while I scream into the plush pillow.

Everything about last night felt different.

When I opened the door to his smile, all I wanted was for him to kiss me again. But what we shared wasn’t about romance. Last night was about getting to know each other, and much to my happy surprise, becoming friends.

The evening had been fun.

Easy.

Perfect.

As much as I’d love to lie in bed and relive the memories, I drag myself to the shower and get ready. Rushing out of my suite, my heart races and my stomach flutters to find Knox leaning against the wall with a paper cup in each hand. He hands me the one with Horse Girl written on the side, and the sweet-smelling spices of a chai latte warm my heart.

“Hi,” I say, beaming.

“Morning.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

I take a sip of my tea. “Thanks for this.”

“My pleasure.”

“How long have you been standing out here?”

“Just got here. I sent you a text.”

Pulling my phone out of my bag there it is. His text from eight minutes ago saying he was in the hall with my chai.

He’s been standing in the hall for eight minutes.

Waiting for me.

We enter the elevator, and smile at each other like idiots the entire ride down to the lobby. The urge to hold his hand is so intense I force myself to scoot to the opposite side of the elevator to stop myself from reaching for him. A car is waiting curbside to take us to Rockefeller Center, where the band is appearing on one of America’s biggest morning shows. We climb into the back, and he sits so close that our thighs touch.When we walk into Studio 1A, he guides me through the hallways with his hand on my lower back, his attention fixed on me. Never leaving my side until he’s pulled away for the band’s interview segment.

He’s happy. Relaxed. Playful with everyone he encounters. He even winks at me during the commercial break, when he’s whisked outside where the band prepares to perform.

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