Chapter Four Parker
Chapter Four
Parker
“Oh, this is bad. This is so bad.”
I step back from the wall I’ve been working on for the last six hours, and there is one thing I am absolutely certain of ...
I hate it.
I was trying to create something different and eye-catching by alternating vertical slats of dark and light wood of different lengths, but it’s not turning out how I wanted it to. It definitely draws the eye, but not in the way I intended. It’s ... flat. I need something that wows. Not this.
“It’s hideous,” I say out loud to nobody but myself. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”
“Because it is.”
I jump, my wet paintbrush flying out of my hand, and gray paint splashes against the floor, splattering out for at least two feet. Thankfully, I was of sound enough mind in the wee hours of the morning to cover the newly laid hardwood, or else that would be a whole other project we’d have to take on today.
“Axel! What the heck?” I glower at the man standing in the doorway of Rossi Café. I carefully step out of the way of the mess I’ve made so I don’t track the paint anywhere else. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“Clearly not, which is saying something because that bell is loud as shit.”
I ignore his statement. “What are you doing here?”
“Um, working?” he answers, sauntering inside like he owns the place, which he most certainly does not. “I think the better question is, What are you doing here? You’re never in this early.”
“No, the true better question is, What’s in that container you got there? It looks an awful lot like leftovers. Did you bring me leftovers?” I clap my hands, bouncing on my heels. I’m unsure if my reaction is purely based on excitement for the world’s best lasagna or because I’m so tired I’m a little delirious at this point.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it’s because of the lasagna.
“Why, yes, Parker, this is lasagna.”
I race toward him, but when he holds up a beefy hand, I screech to a halt—literally, my shoes skid across the shiny new floors, emitting a piercing noise.
“Ew. That was terrible,” I mutter.
“Want to know what else is terrible? You didn’t bring my wine. You’re lucky I found a bottle stashed deep in the fridge, but I still want answers.” His brows pull tightly together. “Where were you last night? You are never a no-show. What gives?”
There’s no mistaking the worry in his gaze, which makes me feel ten times worse than I already do for bailing. But after that horrible encounter with Noel, there was no way I was going to be able to go over to Axel’s and pretend everything was fine in front of him, his wife, and his kids. I wouldn’t have been able to play Auntie Parker and dream up stories about princesses who find their happily ever after when mine was ripped away from me. And it would have taken just one look from my best friend, and he would have been asking—
“Whose ass do I have to kick?”
That. He’d have been asking that.
Just like I didn’t want to deal with it last night, I don’t want to deal with it now. Truthfully, I feel ridiculous even being upset about the whole thing. From bumping into Noel to laughing like I’d lost my mind to getting upset over a silly nickname. It all seems absurd in the light of day.
“It’s nothing.”
“Right. Tell that to the tears welling up in your eyes. Either you tell me who I owe a beatdown to or I promise I’ll not only eat this lasagna in front of you but also tell Mary you hate her cooking, and she’ll never invite you over for dinner again.”
I gasp, my hand going to my chest. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I would so dare.” He tries to cross his big arms, but he’s still holding the leftovers, so he fumbles a few times before finally giving up.
It’s just comical enough to cause a laugh to bubble out of me, the noise so sudden and foreign feeling it surprises me, which makes me sad, and then suddenly the tears that were stinging my eyes begin to drip down my face, and I feel ridiculous all over again.
I hate feeling ridiculous.
But I love that my big lug of a best friend doesn’t hesitate to cross the café and circle his arms around me.
“Dammit, Park,” he mutters, his chin bumping against the top of my head as he pats my back. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you like this in a long, long time.”
I know what he’s referring to, and I find it funny that the reason I’m crying now is the same reason I was crying then—Noel.
“It’s—”
“Don’t you dare. Don’t say it’s nothing. I saw the Gazette this morning.”
I groan into him. “I don’t understand why they think putting a fancy name like Gazette on it makes it anything less than a gossip rag.” I sigh. “I guess everyone knows now.”
“Oh, if it’s in the Emerald Grove Gazette , then everyone definitely knows that Noel Carter is back in town several days earlier than planned. I assume that’s why you didn’t come over last night?”
I nod, stepping out of his embrace. “Yeah. I, uh, ran into him at Jill’s in the liquor aisle.”
He winces. “But there’s only one way in and out of that aisle.”
“Yup. Trapped.”
He shakes his head. “What happened? Did he say something to upset you? Because if he did, I swear, I’ll—”
“Beat him up? Jeez, you’re violent today, you know that?”
“It’s the lack of sleep. Makes me aggressive.” Then almost as if on cue, he lets out a long yawn. “But also, yeah, I’d kick the ass of anyone who messed with you, Park.”
“Even if it’s Noel?”
He curls his lip up in disgust. “ Especially if it’s Noel.”
“He’s a famous actor. He could sue you for ruining his face.”
Gone is the sneer, replaced quickly by a grin. “So you’re saying I’d win the fight, huh?”
I roll my eyes, shoving at him. “Shut up.”
“Shoving me? Wow, and you called me violent today.”
“Keep it up, and I’ll lob something at your head again,” I promise.
“And I’ll withhold this.” He holds up the lasagna I almost forgot about. I lunge at it, but it’s pointless. For someone so gigantic, he sure does move fast with little effort.
He holds the Tupperware container just out of my reach—even on my tiptoes—and shakes it lightly.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he says. “Tell me what made you so upset that you couldn’t bring me my wine, and then you can have your pasta.”
“You already know.”
“You did not get so upset you couldn’t come for dinner just because you ran into Noel. Something else had to have happened. Remember, I know you, Parker, so spill.”
“I don’t want to. It’s ... embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? What’d you do, flash him?”
“Axel!” My cheeks heat just thinking about doing something so outlandish. “Why would I do that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It was the first embarrassing thing I thought of.”
“Oh, so you think I should be embarrassed by my boobs?”
Now Axel’s cheeks are turning red. No, his whole face is.
“Please, can we not discuss your boobs?”
“You started it,” I point out.
“And now I’m ending it, so let’s move on to where you tell me what awful, embarrassing thing happened.”
I huff. “Fine. It was ...” I blow out a breath, drawing this out far more than I should because saying it out loud will make me feel like a fool for getting so upset that I spent a few hours wandering the streets before I finally came here and worked through the night. “He ... HecalledmePeter. ”
“What?” he asks, and I can’t blame him. I rushed those four words out like they were one.
“He called me Peter,” I say more clearly this time. “I know it seems ridiculous, but—”
“Peter was his nickname for you.”
I tip my head to the side. “How did you know that?”
“Um, on a good day, there are about two thousand one hundred people who live in this town, Parker. Everyone knows he used to call you that. Why do you think we all started calling Mr. Donaldson’s dog Boy?”
“What does Mr. Donaldson’s dog have to do with this?”
He gives a look that says, Come on, now. Think about it.
I think back to when Mr. Donaldson brought home a new puppy and how excited he was and how the town went a little wild with buying dog toys and how he named it— oh my gosh!
Peter. He named the dog Peter.
“The whole town changed a dog’s name for me? Because Noel used to call me Peter Parker?”
My obsession with Spider-Man started when I was young, back when I was convinced I looked just like Mary Jane, thanks to my hair. This carried over well into moving to Emerald Grove. Naturally, Noel picked up on it, and soon after I moved here, he started calling me Peter because of my love for the web-slinging hero and my name. It stuck from the time I was eight until ... well, until he left.
I haven’t been called it since.
Axel shrugs like it’s no big deal when it really is. “We kind of like you around here.”
Like me? Like me?
That sounds an awful lot like love to me.
It’s touching and completely unexpected. And it makes me love Emerald Grove even more.
“We’re totally Team Parker around these parts.”
That part I don’t like. Team Parker? As if they have to pick one of us? It shouldn’t be that way. They shouldn’t “pick me” because I stayed and Noel left. Is that why Dick was so rude to him last night? Because he left? Because of me?
“So, he called you Peter, and it freaked you out, so you went home and panicked there?” Axel guesses, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Sort of. First, he asked me how I was doing.”
“He ...” Axel blinks slowly. “He asked you how you were doing? Like you’re an old acquaintance and you weren’t obsessed with each other at one point? Like ten years hasn’t gone by since you last saw him?” he asks through clenched teeth. “As if he didn’t just walk out on you like your ...”
He doesn’t finish that sentence, but we both know what he was going to say.
Like your father.
It’s no secret to anyone in this town what happened to my mother and me. One day, my dad was here, then the next, he wasn’t. Everyone knows he walked out on us before breakfast, never to return. We just all like to pretend it didn’t happen, bury it down deep, and never talk about it.
Or at least that’s what I like to do.
“I wouldn’t say we were obsessed with each other, but yes,” I say, pretending Axel didn’t just almost bring up the catalyst of my abandonment issues.
“That’s ...” He inhales sharply. “Well, it’s fucking bullshit, is what it is. I’m kicking his ass.”
Before I realize what’s happening, Axel spins on his heel and is halfway out the door before I move.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I reach for him, snatching the tail end of his work shirt and tugging at him to stop. “Don’t. Please.”
“Why not?” he asks, whirling around, his face red, and not with embarrassment this time. Now he’s mad. Big-time. “Why shouldn’t I? He leaves you high and dry after telling you he loves you, then breezes back into town like nothing happened, making you cry, and I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
I want so desperately to squeeze my eyes shut against the truth of what he just said, as if doing that could magically make it not true, but I don’t. Axel means it when he says he’ll beat Noel up, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
“No. You’re not. I’m not either. But this is a little much, don’t you think?”
He sighs, then lets me pull him back into the café, effectively giving up on his mission. While I’m touched this is his reaction, I don’t want something stirred up just because I couldn’t handle seeing Noel again, the one person who I never thought would break me like my father did.
Boy, was I wrong about that.
When I’m satisfied Axel won’t try to take off after my former best friend again, I return to my paint-splattered corner, pick up my brush, and set it inside the tray. There’s paint dotted along the wall, but it doesn’t matter. It will have to be repainted anyway because this is not turning out how I wanted.
“Did I know he’d be coming back to town? Obviously. I lead the restoration committee, and this is my project. We had to invite him. But did I expect to have a few more days to prepare for it? Definitely. Do I wish our long-awaited reunion had gone differently, maybe involving some apologizing, a bouquet of roses, or a pony? I know it’s a tall request and perhaps a little ludicrous, but yes. But last night was my fault, not Noel’s. I shouldn’t have let him get to me or let his simple question mess with my head. I should have handled it better, like a mature adult would, just as he was trying to do.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s still bullshit, Parker. Not just the pony part—because what the fuck?—but also, you deserve an apology for what happened. You don’t deserve to have him blow you off like you’re some random person from his past. You’re more than that to him, and you deserve more than that. Like an explanation for never coming back, for fucking starters.”
I exhale heavily. He’s right in some ways, but I also understand why Noel reacted the way he did. It’s not like I handled last night perfectly either. Heck, I haven’t handled any nights perfectly, especially not when he left all those years ago.
“We were both in shock, that’s all.”
“Stop making excuses for him. That’s the same thing you did when he left.”
“I’m not making excuses. I’m just saying—”
The bell over the top of the café door—the one Gianna and Greta insisted on keeping because it belonged to a great-great-Rossi-someone-or-other many years ago—dings, and we turn toward the entry.
Of course, Axel and his ginormous self are right in front of the door, blocking my view of whoever just walked in.
“We’re closed!” I call out to the person I can’t see. “We’re remodeling and will be open—”
“You.”
It’s one word uttered by Axel, but it’s all I need to know who just walked through that door.
“Uh, Axel, hey,” Noel says. “Been a long time.”
“Not fucking long enough, Hollywood,” my business partner growls, stepping toward Noel, who I’m suddenly very worried for.
“Axel!” I hiss at him, lunging toward him to stop whatever madness is about to ensue. It takes him a second, but he stops.
Probably because he knows that even though I’m only five foot six, and much, much smaller than his frame, I’ll still kick his butt if he messes up my jobsite by fighting.
His big shoulders hitch up and down, his free hand making a fist at his side.
I step up beside him, coming face-to-face with Noel for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. How can you go a decade without seeing someone, and then suddenly, they’re everywhere?
I place a hand on my partner’s shoulder. “You can go now.”
“What? Not a chance. There’s no fucking way I’m—”
I glare up at him, daring him to keep going.
To my surprise, he doesn’t.
Instead, his chocolate gaze darts around my face like he’s looking for any sign I’m in trouble or not serious, but I am serious. So, so serious. I don’t want this to turn into something it doesn’t need to, like them fighting or Axel coming to my defense.
“Okay,” he relents. “Okay. But if you need me for anything ...”
“I know.” I nod. “I know.”
“Okay,” he repeats. Then he looks—no, he sneers —over at the guy who used to be my whole world. “I’d say it was good to see you, but that’d be a damn lie.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it, which earns me a smile from Axel and a scowl from Noel, but I don’t mind.
“I’ll see you later, right?” the giant asks, and I know he’s really saying, I’ll be back for the details and to make sure I don’t need to make good on my promise of fighting him.
“Yes,” I tell him. “But Axel?”
“Hmm?”
I nod toward the Tupperware in his hand. “My dinner from last night, please?”
His eyes narrow, but he’s not about to deny me right now.
He hands me the lasagna and wraps me in a quick hug.
“You have thirty minutes,” he whispers before releasing me.
I smile, loving how protective he is, and then with one last glare at our surprise guest, he leaves. And I’m alone with Noel Carter once again.
We stand there awkwardly for far too long for two people who know entirely too much about each other.
I know he wore superhero underwear until he was seventeen, that he slept with a night-light even longer, and that he always had to hug his grandmother before bed, or else he’d be up in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep. Heck, I’ve seen him projectile vomit SpaghettiOs before. We’re far from strangers.
But right now? Right now, it feels like we’ve never met before.
“So, is—”
“I was—”
We start and stop at the same time.
But instead of that self-conscious chuckle that usually follows situations like that, we go back to silence.
And I absolutely hate it.
Why is this so hard? Why can’t we just talk? Why did he have to be gone for ten years?
Oh, right. Because Hollywood .
And right now, he looks every bit like he’s from Hollywood, with the light scruff lining his face, his styled midnight hair, perfectly fitted dark-wash jeans, black button-down shirt, snazzy deep-brown leather jacket, and matching boots. It’s like he just stepped off a movie set or out to lunch with whatever starlet he’s linked to this week.
He looks so similar to—yet different from—the boy I grew up with.
“Is this your place?” he asks, looking around the messy restaurant.
Out of everything I thought he’d say, that was not what I was expecting.
“This is Rossi Café. Surely you haven’t been gone long enough to forget that.”
It’s a dig. He knows it, and I do too.
Regret eats at me for stooping so low, but it only lasts a moment, mainly because it feels good to finally acknowledge out loud to him that he’s been gone for far too long.
“I remember. It’s why I came here. Was craving one of those—”
“Italian Rossi breakfast sandwiches, double the ham and extra cheese,” I finish for him. I’ve heard him order the exact meal a hundred times before, and I’ve likely ordered it for him a hundred times more.
This place is an old haunt of ours, which might be part of why I want so badly to make this café perfect for Gianna and Greta now that they’ve taken it over from Gianna’s parents. That and because it’s a staple in this town, passed down from one Rossi to the next. It’s vital to our community, just like I believe the theater is.
“You’re early.”
“Pardon?” he asks. His eyes, the perfect mix of blue and green, catch the morning sun just right, making them brighter and clearer than they already are.
“For the ceremony. You’re early.”
“You . . . know about that?”
I huff out a laugh. “This is Emerald Grove. Everyone knows about it.”
“This town likes to talk too much.”
“You can say that again.”
“This town likes to talk too much,” he repeats.
I glare at him, and he smiles back, and I hate that I like it so much. It’s different from the smiles I’ve seen him give in interviews. While I might have been upset with Noel, I never wanted to see him fail, and I’ve supported everything he’s done in his career so far, even suffering through that terrible werewolf show he did.
His eyes wander around the café before settling on me, and I wonder what he sees. Does he still see the same awkward girl from high school? The one who worshipped him and followed him everywhere? Or does he see the independent woman I’ve become? The one who has been hardened by life? Who has most definitely fully recovered from the heartbreak she’s suffered at his hands?
“So if it’s not your place, then what are you doing here?”
I wave my hand around. “Working.”
He doesn’t look as surprised as I expected him to. Instead, he grins. “You’re renovating it?” I nod. “Why does that fit you so perfectly?”
It’s probably because I spent much of my youth designing and building the sets for every play at the Goodman Theater. It was the place I escaped to whenever life got too overwhelming or I remembered that the person who was supposed to love me unconditionally bailed. I loved losing myself in the set design so much that when it came time to buy a house, I got a fixer-upper and tackled the project myself, using it as a form of therapy to cope with the hole Noel left in my life.
Well, it wasn’t all me. Axel helped too. It’s what led us to realize we made a great team and gave us the confidence to form our business together.
“It looks really great in here,” he says. “Can’t believe it’s the same place where we once ate six meatball subs in one sitting.”
“We? You ate five and a half of those six.”
“I was a growing boy! Besides, that’s still teamwork.”
Teamwork.
It implies that we used to be a team, and we were.
It’s a hard reality to swallow now that we feel like strangers.
I turn away from him, uncomfortable with that realization, and march back to my all-night project—the accent wall for the back of the café that’s not coming out how I wanted. I can’t decide if it’s me who sucks at designing or if I don’t like it because I got zero sleep last night and desperately need some.
“Did you make this?” he asks, stepping up beside me as I stare at the wall full of mismatched wood, only one corner of which is painted gray.
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
I frown. “It’s not turning out how I wanted.”
“Well,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, “let’s tackle it one thing at a time. What’s jumping out at you first?”
A few simple words, and just like that, I’m taken back in time to when we used to stand on the stage of the old theater and stare up at my set pieces. He’d say the same thing he just did, and we’d work through whatever was bothering me. This typically ended with me realizing I was being silly and that the scenery I’d just spent so long on looked great.
This feels like a mirror image of that.
“It’s the slats,” I say, allowing myself to dip back in time. “I think I should have gone with a different angle or a more uniform look, which is why I started painting it.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Peter. One thing at a time.”
There’s that nickname again— Peter .
I’ve gone years without hearing it, and now I’m being called it twice in less than twenty-four hours. Hearing it now is less jarring than last night, but it still doesn’t feel as good as it once did, that heavy feeling settling into my stomach just like it did in Jill’s.
I ignore it. “The angle, then.”
“It’s very . . .”
“Plain?” I finish for him.
“A little. What’s going over here against the wall?”
“A couch. Gianna and her wife wanted a space where people here for a quick treat could relax.”
“Hmm,” he purrs, widening his stance.
I try my best not to notice how it makes his jeans fit tighter against his legs or how it reminds me of simpler days when he used to stand and think with me for hours at the Goodman Theater, trying to get a set design right.
I don’t notice any of those things.
“Then what about not going all the way to the bottom?” he suggests. “Sort of gives it a waterfall effect, which is appropriate for Emerald Grove.” He gives me a crooked smile, probably because I know what he’s referring to far too well.
Tucked away on a trail leading out of town is a waterfall that all the locals and very few tourists know about. While the town has been picking up a lot of steam lately and gaining popularity thanks to new vacation rentals, we’re usually just a pit stop on people’s way to the Olympic National Forest. Most don’t stick around long enough to see this place’s true beauty, like Rockaway Falls—a double waterfall that’s worth the hour hike one way.
I can’t count the number of times Noel and I hiked out there for the day. If we weren’t at the theater, we were at the Falls. It was our little slice of fun away from the busybodies in town who were always ready to spy on us and report back to Gran or my mother.
The urge to make the trek to our old stomping grounds washes over me something fierce, a pull I haven’t felt in many, many years.
“ And it would mean you get to save a lot of the work you’ve already done,” he continues. “Keep the natural wood look to really make that waterfall effect pop. And I’m sure you could find somewhere to repurpose the boards we pull up so you don’t waste materials. I know how much you hate doing that.”
He’s right on both counts. I hate wasting materials, and with just a few minor adjustments—take a few boards out here, readjust a few there—I can salvage it to make a stunning accent wall that I know everyone will love, me especially.
The Falls and this café have always held a special spot in my heart. This wall will only make me love them both even more.
“All right. You’ve convinced me.”
“Knew I could.”
He sheds his leather jacket, tossing it onto the dirty counter nearby, like it probably didn’t cost as much as two months’ worth of mortgage payments, and then rolls his long-sleeved shirt up to his elbows.
I hate that I’m not focusing on why he’s doing this and instead just watching how his veins jump with every move he makes.
I don’t pull my eyes away until he claps his hands, jerking my attention back to him and not his very, very toned forearms.
“Let’s get to work.”
Then before I can say anything, he drops to his haunches and begins removing boards.
When did he even pick up a crowbar? Better yet, why am I letting him stay?
I must be more tired than I thought, because instead of asking him to leave, I join in, grabbing my own crowbar and setting to work.
We work wordlessly for the next I-don’t-even-know-how-long. Noel peels off pieces of wood, his fancy jeans pressed against the wet paint splatters on the floor like he doesn’t have a care in the world, even though we both know those pants cost entirely too much for labor like this.
We’re nearly done prying off the first section of slats when Noel breaks the silence.
“So, you and Axel, huh?”
“Me and Axel,” I respond. “Who would have thought?”
“Definitely not me,” he mutters, using a little too much force, sending the plank he was working on flying across the room.
I stare at the board as it finally settles near the front door.
Is he mad I’m friends with Axel? It’s not like he was that terrible in high school. Sure, he could be a jerk, but that was so long ago.
“Because of high school and your rivalry?” I ask, turning back to Noel. “Because he’s changed a lot since then, you know. We all have.”
He sighs, ripping off another piece of wood, again with a bit too much force. “Oh, trust me, I’m aware.”
He pushes to his feet, carefully putting his crowbar under the painted wood strips so I can replace them with the natural ones.
I follow him up, and though I’m used to working next to a man who towers over me, I’m not used to working next to Noel. It instantly feels different standing here with him than it does with Axel. He moves differently, not just because he has less finesse than someone who does this for a living. It’s more than that. Or maybe I’m just paying more attention.
Instead of staring at how his arms flex with every careful pull of the wood, I work my bar behind a slat and pull. It doesn’t budge.
“I guess I just didn’t expect you and Axel, of all people,” he continues, wrenching off another piece and breaking the one next to it. “Here, I got it.”
He reaches over, our hands barely brushing as he takes over pulling.
“Me and Axel? What do you mean?”
“You know ...” He trails off with a shrug. “It’s just that you two never got along, so I’m shocked you’re a couple now. But you’re right, people change, so what do I know? Maybe he’s a great guy.”
“Oh, he is great, but we aren’t together.”
He gives me an incredulous look, and I laugh.
“He’s married .”
He stops what he’s doing, staring down at me in shock. “Married?”
I nod. “Yup. With triplets and another baby on the way.”
“He reproduced?”
I smack at his arm. “Hey! Be nice. That’s my business partner you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry, but you two own a business together?”
“Yep. Cooke & Pruitt Renovations. Axel handles the construction and I do the designing. The tourist influx has increased a lot over the years, thanks to all those people who live in camper vans and travel out this way, so more and more people were looking to invest in rental properties for extra income. We saw the need so we jumped at it, and our company was born. Now we do commercial stuff too.”
I don’t know why I’m rambling to him about my business with Axel—maybe because I’m immensely proud of everything we’ve built—but I don’t miss the way Noel’s eyes shine with that same look he used to give me.
Pride.
“That’s ... Wow. That’s incredible. Truly.” He rips off the last of the painted wood and then sets his tools on the worktable. He dusts his hands off on his pants before placing them on his hips. “I can’t believe the Axel you’re talking about is the same one who used to snort chocolate milk in the cafeteria, or the same one who would pretend I was invisible and walk through me with an Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there, Nerdy Noel. ”
I cringe a little thinking about the stunts he used to pull, like terrorizing the town farmers’ markets by letting loose any wild animal he could get his hands on or smashing up people’s gardens, but that hasn’t been the guy I know in a long, long time. Now he tends to half the community rows in our town garden, especially for the older folks who can’t get out there as often. And he’s the first one there setting up the market every third Saturday of the month.
A lot of credit for his transformation goes to his wife and how, the moment he met her, he knew Mary was the one and wanted to be someone she deserved. But I like to think it was me who was a good influence on him first.
Either way, it’s safe to say he’s nothing like the guy Noel remembers.
“I promise he’s changed. He’s matured. He’s not that same guy from ten years ago.”
“I’ll believe you,” Noel says, not looking like he does in the least.
“Good. And just so we’re clear, there is absolutely nothing going on between us. We’re friends. Best friends. He’s like a brother to me.”
“Don’t,” he bites out, and the ire behind his words shocks me.
Where the hell did that come from? “Don’t what?”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes grow darker by the second. “Just don’t.”
I cross my arms over my chest, frustrated now because it all clicks into place what he means—don’t say Axel is my best friend.
And honestly, how dare he? After all this time, he thinks he can just come back to town and pretend like nothing happened, that he can waltz in here and work beside me like we haven’t not spoken for years?
Guilt gnaws at me because I’m responsible for that last bit, too, but still. Too much time has passed for him to act like he has a say in how I live my life or who I’m friends with.
“What ticks you off the most? That I have a new best friend? Or that it’s Axel?” I scoff. “You were gone for ten years, Noel. Ten years. I’m allowed to have a new best friend.”
“I know!” he shouts. His chest rises and falls with hard breaths, his sea-colored eyes now black, like stormy waters. “I know how long I was gone. I’m very fucking aware of it. I ...”
He pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s already tired of this conversation, even though we’ve only just cracked the ice wall built between us all this time.
The ice wall that I’m to blame for. He might have been the one to put physical distance between us, but I’m responsible for the emotional detachment.
I did what I thought was best at the time, and even though it hurt, I’m not sure I’d have made a different choice.
He sighs, dropping his hand. “Don’t equate best friends to sibling-like bonds. That’s all I was meaning.”
What? Why would that bother him? So I said Axel is like a brother to me. Big deal. There’s no reason for Noel to be upset by that.
“Why not?”
He steps into me, so close that the scent of wood, paint, and construction is long gone. It’s firmly replaced by spicy sandalwood. I hate it, yet I love it, because after all these years, after all the money he makes, he’s still wearing the same cologne I bought him as a teen.
“Because I was your best friend once, Peter,” he says quietly. “And I assure you, the feelings I have for you are not even in the same realm as sibling-like.”
Have.
Not had.
He said have .
That throws me nearly as much as having him so close.
Without another word, he turns, waltzing from the shop and leaving his jacket and far too many questions burning the tip of my tongue.
And now there’s no doubt I’ll be seeing Noel Carter before the ceremony again.