Chapter Seven Noel
Chapter Seven
Noel
“Rise and shine, bub! Your ceremony starts in an hour!”
I groan, rolling over toward the door. “Five more minutes!”
Gran laughs, probably feeling the same as I am—like I’m back in my teen years, and she’s waking me up for school or something I really don’t want to do during summer break. “Not a chance. Get up, or I’ll come in there and drag you out of bed myself. I’m making pancakes.”
That has me feeling more awake instantly. I sit up, letting my Spider-Man printed sheets fall away. I thought Gran would have changed them to something else by now, but she hasn’t. My entire room looks the same as it did when I left. It’s completely ridiculous, though I can’t help but appreciate it a little. My room was always my sanctuary, and she never came in without my permission, always preaching boundaries. To know she kept that up all these years ... Well, it’s just fuckin’ sweet.
I pull myself out of bed with less reluctance than I’d have if no pancakes were on the way and shuffle to my adjoining bathroom, something I was very grateful for during my teen years here.
I take a quick shower, then dress in simple gray dress slacks and a button-down shirt, folding my suit jacket over my arm for later.
My stomach growls the second I pull my door open.
“Bacon!” I call out. “You made me bacon too? I knew you loved me!”
“And if you don’t get in here, I’ll eat every last piece.”
I grin, scratching at the hair still dotting my face as I round the corner into the kitchen. “You wouldn’t dare, Gran. I know you well enough to guess you made a pound, and your scrawny ass couldn’t eat that if you tried.”
She narrows her eyes in my direction from her spot at the table. “Can too.”
I hang my jacket over my chair with a chuckle and head for the coffeepot. Caffeine is a must if I’m going to make it through this ceremony.
But the second I take a sip, I regret it. My grandmother can make almost anything I request, but coffee is not her forte. How she manages to mess it up every time is beyond me.
“Stop making that face, you little shit. I worked hard on that coffee.”
“You shouldn’t have to work hard on coffee,” I counter. “It just happens or doesn’t.”
“Well, we can’t all be coffee wizards like Astrid.”
“She’s not a wizard. She just understands there shouldn’t be grounds in your coffee.”
Gran shrugs. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. My weakness is coffee. My strength is cooking. So sit your ass down and eat these pancakes I made specially for you.” She points at the chair across from her.
I laugh, abandoning my coffee in the sink and parking my ass in the chair as instructed.
I load my perfectly fluffy pancakes with butter, douse them in syrup, and then shove a bigger-than-appropriate bite into my mouth.
A moan leaves me involuntarily, causing my grandmother to snicker, a proud smile curving at her lips as she sips her grainy coffee like it’s not the most horrid thing in the world.
I’m too impressed by these pancakes to razz her about it. I cram another bite into my mouth.
Man, if my personal trainer could see me now, shoveling this sugar pile into my body, he’d kill me. Maybe not literally, but I’d definitely be doing burpees for hours.
I finish my stack of five flapjacks and a good portion of the bacon before I finally tap out.
“I’m done,” I say, tossing my napkin to the table. “I can’t. No more.”
“Aw, you sure, bub? I made another loaf of banana bread ...” Her smile may seem innocent, but she looks like the devil in a poorly made disguise right now.
I glare at her. “You’re evil, you know that?”
She lifts her dainty shoulder. “You love me, and you know it.”
“More than you know, Gran. More than you know.” I pat my stomach. “Fine. Just one slice of bread, but then that’s it. I have to get going for the ceremony.”
“Ah, right. Don’t want to be late for your big day. Here,” she says, rising from the table. She cuts a quick slice from the freshly baked bread she must have made while I was sleeping and slides it onto a plate. She sets it down in front of me. “You eat this, and I’ll finish getting ready.”
“You’re going?”
“You kidding me? Of course I’m going. Your grandson only gets a theater named after him once.”
“Unless you’re a Rafferty. I’m pretty sure Jude and Jasper have, like, four between them.”
“Well, yeah. Have you seen that family? Hollywood royalty, I tell ya.” She huffs like I’m the one out of line here. “Eat, relax, and work on your speech. I’ll be ready in ten minutes, and we can mosey our way to the theater.”
I halt, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Speech? What speech?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Gran!” I call to her back. “Nobody mentioned a speech! What speech?!”
I swear I see her shoulders shake with laughter.
I love my grandmother, but sometimes ... sometimes, I want to shake the old bird.
I pluck my phone from my pocket and scroll to a name I haven’t touched in years. She has to have the same number, right? There’s no reason for her to change it.
Me: Am I supposed to give a speech?
Dots dance along the screen almost instantly.
Parker: Who is this?
Fuck. Either she’s deleted my number, or she did change hers, and I’m bothering a total stranger.
I don’t know which option I hate more, but on the off chance it is her, I type back.
Me: Noel.
Parker: Noel who?
Me: Carter.
Parker: Hm. That doesn’t ring a bell.
Parker: No. Wait.
Parker: Are you that guy who was in that movie where he showed his naked butt to the whole world? Not that I’ve ever seen it—I just heard about it.
Parker: Because if so, I’m shocked. I never expected The Noel Carter to text little old me, a boring small-town gal from the middle of nowhere Washington, even though she did keep his secret that he did have a highly inappropriate crush on Tinker Bell and used to look her up on adult websites.
Oh, it’s definitely Parker.
Is it strange to say I’ve missed her?
It’s been two days since I last saw her. I left shortly after my fourth wine cooler for the night. Not because I was drunk—far from it, with those Kool-Aid knockoffs—but because if I had to hear about how amazing Axel was one more time, I would lose it.
I believe Parker is being 100 percent honest when she says she and Axel are just friends. I’ve heard enough about him and his wife around town to believe it.
No. It’s the whole “best friend” label that grates on me. I am fully aware of how ridiculous, unfair, and even childish it is for me to be upset by it, but dammit, I still fucking hate it.
She may be friends with Axel, and he may have taken up the space in her life I left behind, but the one thing that will never change is that she belonged to me first.
I want to remind her of that, but I can’t. That’s too heavy a topic for one measly sip of bad coffee. Instead, I shove those thoughts and feelings back into the box I’ve kept them in over the last decade and let my fingers fly over my phone screen.
Me: First, I have it on good authority that you’ve watched my movies. Your mother claims you fast-forwarded through those parts, but just like you know things about me, I know things about you, and you’re a butt girl. You might have acted innocent when she was around, but you watched those parts. I know it. You know it. We both know it.
Parker: How dare you!
Me: Second, there is no reason Tinker Bell should have had those proportions for a kid’s movie! What did they expect to happen?
Parker: Pig.
Me: Butt lover.
Parker: What do you want, Noel?
Me: Was I supposed to write a speech for this thing?
Parker: No? Who said that?
Me: Gran.
Me: I knew she was just being mean.
Parker: But you panicked and bothered me while I’m trying to get this ceremony ready anyway?
I cringe. I didn’t even think about that.
Me: Oops?
Parker: Just be here at 9 and have a few words prepared.
Me: So it is a speech?!
Parker: No, you big baby. It’s just a few words. You’ll be fine.
Me: You know I hate public speaking.
Parker: You’re an actor. Fake it.
Me: That’s different.
Parker: Noel . . .
Me: Peter . . .
Me: Fine. I’ll see you at 9.
Parker: Don’t be late.
I grin. I like it when she’s all stern and bossy. It’s not a side of her that she used to show often, and getting her riled up so it would come out used to be one of my favorite things. I guess that hasn’t changed much.
Me: Or what?
Parker: Guess you’ll just have to see.
“Are you sure I’m not overdressed?” I ask Gran for the third time.
After her speech comment and Parker practically confirming I did have to give a speech, I started spiraling.
Just exactly how big is this event? How many people are attending? The whole town? Will there be cameras outside from the Emerald Grove Gazette ? Am I overdressed? Underdressed? How long does my nonspeech speech need to be? How long is the thing going to run? Do I need to shake hands and kiss babies afterward? What, exactly, am I doing there?
“You’re fine.” Gran pats my arm with the hand she has looped over it. “You look great, bub.”
I smile down at her. “You always say that.”
“Always mean it too.” She turns her nose up, daring me to contradict her.
She sure does pack a lot of attitude for someone so tiny, and I love every minute of it. She’s always been this way—a little firecracker, ready to pop off when needed. I’m glad she hasn’t slowed down a bit, even in her old age. Well, at least not spiritually. Physically, it is a different story. She’s moving slower than she used to and has complained about her hips a few times. It’s making me wonder if she’s getting along out here by herself or struggling more than she lets on.
We wander down Borgen Avenue, passing by the shops that are usually full of customers at this time of day, but every window has some variation of a closed sign.
Damn. I guess that answers my question about whether the whole town’s coming to this thing.
“Are you nervous?” Gran asks, probably feeling the unease that’s settled into my shoulders.
“About standing in front of the town I left ten years ago when I’m sure everyone here hates me? Nah. Not at all.”
“I already told you—”
“They don’t hate me, I know.” I sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they don’t hate me, but they’re mad at me for leaving.”
“Well, you did stay away an awfully long time.”
She doesn’t say it to be mean. She’s simply stating the truth.
At first, I stayed gone because of my career, which took off just a few months after I left. I’ll be the first to admit I got lucky when I moved to LA. My roommate’s uncle was the producer on Deadman’s Drop , a whodunit teen drama that was supposed to be the next big thing. He got me a small role that, after only half a season, turned into something bigger thanks to social media and everyone falling in love with my character, a villain turned hero. I blew up practically overnight, and studios took notice. Offers started pouring in, and I booked movie after movie. Suddenly, I had money and could afford to fly Gran to me, so there was no point in coming back to Washington, especially not with how busy my schedule was. It was an excuse, my reason to stay away.
But over the years, my reason shifted to something else—I’d been away too long, and coming home would be far too weird.
Would the town accept me after being gone so long? Would Parker? Would they treat me differently now that I had fame and money?
There were so many what-ifs that I did the easiest thing possible: I stayed gone.
Running from my past and the heartache here was easier than facing it.
Now, though, after being back for just a few short days, I wish I’d had time to come back more often. Not just for my gran, but to stay connected to the people who used to mean so much to me. Like the Rossis, whose café I used to go to daily. I had no clue they retired and sold the café to their daughter.
Or Astrid, who was like a parent to me growing up.
Like Parker, who was ... well, she was Parker.
I should have stayed in touch. I should have tried harder. I know that now.
The old theater comes into focus at the end of the street, and I gulp back my nerves at the size of the crowd gathered around.
“Holy shit.”
“Dammit, kid, how many times do I have to tell you to watch your language?”
I smile down at my companion. “Sorry, Gran.”
She winks. “It’s all right. It’s just a few people. Nothing to be worried about.”
“Says the person who doesn’t have to give a speech.”
“You have to give a speech?”
I knew she was teasing about that earlier.
“Parker says it isn’t a speech, but I am expected to say a few words.”
Her ghostly white eyebrows lift. “You talked to Parker this morning?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why do you seem pleased by that?”
She says nothing, just grins in a way I don’t like one bit. I want to ask her more, but the crowd’s noise begins to swell, and soon we’re being swarmed by townspeople.
I shake hands, smile, take selfies, and say thank you about a hundred times as I approach the stage they’ve erected outside the theater.
They got a stage for this? Damn.
I stop before walking up the steps, and there, standing on the other side of the stage, is Parker. Her auburn hair is twisted up in a bun that somehow looks classy and simple all at once. She’s wearing a flowy skirt, a white top, and her trusty canvas shoes, which, if you look close enough, have paint splatters dotting their sides.
She’s talking, her posture commanding the attention of the three people standing before her. She’s not only heading this renovation on the construction side but also truly in charge of this whole project. People answer to her. They listen to her.
And I’m so fucking proud of her for it. She was quiet and shy in school unless you really got to know her, then she blossomed. Even at the theater, her safe place, she stuck to things that demanded the least attention, like set design or lights.
But now ... she’s changed. She’s bright and cheery and respected, and now the world finally gets to see my Parker.
She turns and looks at me as if she can feel my gaze eating her up. Her eyes sweep down my body, and I know instantly something is wrong—I’m overdressed for this event.
“You lied,” I say to my grandmother as Parker gestures to the people she’s talking to that she’ll just be a moment and begins making her way over to us.
“I did no such thing.”
“You said I wasn’t overdressed for this, and that was a lie.”
“Oh.” She rolls her lips together, then exhales a puff of air. “Well, fine. You just looked too cute and confident in your suit. I didn’t want to ruin anything.”
I groan. “Gran . . .”
“What? I care about you. Sue me.”
“I’d take you for everything you’re worth.”
She shakes a wrinkled fist at me. “Bring it on, buster.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I lead her to her reserved chair in front. “I’m leaving you here. Behave.”
She rolls her eyes. “As if.”
I want to tell her nobody says that anymore, but I know it’s pointless. Gran is going to do what Gran is going to do.
With a heavy exhale, I straighten my jacket, take the two stairs leading to the stage with one step, and come face-to-face with Parker.
“Noel!” she says like she’s surprised to see me or something.
“Peter.”
Her hazel eyes narrow for a split second before she smiles, almost like she remembers we have an audience. And by audience, I mean the whole town is in attendance. Seriously, I don’t think a single person stayed at home for this. Every single white folding chair is full, and it’s standing room only toward the back. I see the owners of the bed-and-breakfast, Dick and his wife, Sue, who runs the car repair shop, and hell, even Peggy closed Jill’s to be here.
Being with Parker is awkward enough. But having the whole town’s eyes on us? It’s almost unbearable.
She takes a tentative step toward me, folding her hands together in front of her.
“You look . . .”
“Completely overdressed? I know. Here.” I shed my jacket, handing it over to her. “Hold this a moment, will you?”
I undo the button on my right sleeve and begin rolling it up. I lift my eyes to find Parker watching my every move. Her lips are slightly parted, her hazel eyes wide and locked in on what I’m doing. I move to the next, and she still doesn’t look away.
It’s not until I clear my throat that she finally looks up. Her cheeks turn pink almost instantly, but she doesn’t offer an excuse or explanation.
No. She just meets my amused stare and barrels on.
“The ceremony will be quick,” she says coolly, as if she wasn’t just checking out my forearms. “A short speech from our mayor, Todd—”
“I know who Todd is, Parker. He used to babysit us, and we duct-taped him to a rocking chair once.”
Her lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “Right. We did do that.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, after that, I’ll say a few words, then you’ll go.”
“You promise nobody is expecting anything epic?”
“I promise. They’ll all be chomping at the bit for the closing Q&A session.”
“You’re doing a Q&A? With the Gazette here?”
She sighs. “Unfortunately. They were very pushy, and Todd wanted it, too, so what can I do?” She shrugs. “You ready?”
“We’re going on now?”
“The ground isn’t going to break itself. Which comes after your speech, by the way.”
“Why are we breaking the ground again? Isn’t it just a renovation?”
Parker shrugs again. “With some extensive work that needs to be done, yes. But Todd wouldn’t let up on the idea. He said it would be ‘more engaging,’ whatever the heck that means. So we’re doing it because I want my theater.”
“Fine. Do I at least get to wear a hard hat?”
She looks up at my head, squinting as if she’s weighing her options when we both know she’s not. “You’ll be fine.”
“Wow. Just going to risk my safety like that, huh?”
“You’re sticking a shovel into the ground. If you really want a hard hat, I’ll have Axel grab you one.”
I gnash my teeth together at the mention of the big oaf. “I’ll live.”
She gives me a deceptively sweet smile. “Good. Now, come on. Let’s make this theater happen.”
I follow her to the chairs behind the podium and wait for her to sit before taking the spot next to her. They’re pushed tightly together, or at least that’s my excuse for letting my leg rest against hers. Her touch is warm and familiar and so distracting that I completely miss the mayor walking to the podium and startle when he begins his speech.
“Thank you for coming today,” Todd says. “We’re excited to begin constructing the new Noel Carter Theater.”
The crowd gives a polite round of applause, and Todd himself looks back to give me that enthusiastic thumbs-up only politicians can give.
I nod toward the crowd, but what I really want is to slink down in my chair and hide.
“You look like you’re about to run away,” Parker whispers as the mayor continues droning on. She leaned in, so close I can smell the peppermint coming from her ChapStick. “Don’t run away.”
“I’m not going to run away,” I say as quietly.
“Good. Because you promised you’d do this.”
“I know that. Unlike some people, I keep my promises.”
It’s a low blow—the lowest of lows. And I want to take the words back instantly, especially when Parker jerks back, her eyes full of hurt.
She turns her attention back to the mayor just in time for her to be announced.
“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to the restoration committee lead, the Noel Carter Theater project manager, and one half of Cooke & Pruitt Renovations, our very own Parker Pruitt!”
The crowd erupts into applause, much louder and longer than the one for my name, as she takes center stage and steps up to the microphone.
Unless someone is looking closely, they’ll miss the shake of her hands, but I don’t. I see it. She’s upset, and it’s all my fault.
She clears her throat. “Thank you, thank you. As I’m sure you all know by now since I’ve talked about it nonstop since I was eighteen”—the crowd laughs lightly—“I love this theater. It was my home away from home as a kid and throughout my teen years. It welcomed me when I felt lost, when I was sad, when I was happy, and when I didn’t want to go home and listen to my mother sing Stevie Nicks off key.”
Everyone laughs again.
“Ten years ago, I was devastated when they shuttered the doors. This building meant more to me than anyone else I knew.” She glances back at me, catching my eyes and offering a small smile, one I don’t deserve. “Well, just about anyone.” She turns back to the crowd. “I’ve been lost without it, and I strongly believe this town has been lost without it, too, which is why I’ve annoyed you all for so long about resurrecting this old building. And now, thanks to an incredible donor who wishes to remain anonymous, we’re finally breaking ground and are on our way to making theater a staple in this town once more. To commemorate such an incredible day, I’m pleased to welcome the namesake of our new theater, Noel Carter.”
The applause this time is a little more enthusiastic, but still nothing compared with how they greeted Parker, and I’m not entirely surprised.
Parker turns toward me, and I try to catch her eyes as I make my way to the microphone, but they’re completely blank as she claps with no real excitement behind it.
She’s upset because I fucked up. Big-time.
Why? Why would I say that to her, today of all days? I’m such an asshole.
But I don’t have the time to make up for it now.
I step up to the podium as the applause dies down.
“Thanks, everyone.” I clear my throat, adjusting the microphone to my height. “Much like Parker, I spent my youth in this theater, and I can easily say that I wouldn’t be where I am today without it. It changed everything for me, and I want nothing more than for another kid in Emerald Grove to have the same opportunity I did. That we did. I want them to have the chance to cry on that stage, to hear the roar of a crowd, and to find their passion, even if it isn’t acting.” I turn to Parker. “Maybe it’s painting or set design, which leads to bigger and better things, giving them the skills to create stunning, totally showstopping projects.” The barest hint of a smile tugs at her lips. “Or maybe it’s directing,” I say to the crowd now. “Whatever it is, I want them to find that same happiness I found here. I’m touched and completely honored to have the theater named after me. Thank you for giving me a place to find myself and a home to return to whenever I need to remind myself of who I am.”
The gathered audience erupts into applause, my grandmother leading the pack as she shoots out of her chair and whistles loudly, just like she used to when I was a kid. It’s equally embarrassing and endearing, even now.
I look to my left at Parker, who I assume has been standing by just in case I screw up, but even she seems impressed.
Not bad, she mouths.
I shrug, sending her a wink as the crowd’s enthusiasm dies.
“All right,” she says stepping back up to the microphone. “Let’s get this theater started!”
Since he’s heading the construction part, Axel and the mayor lead us off the side of the stage to a roped-off spot.
We stand in front of more cameras than I ever anticipated for an event like this, and right in the middle is Leonard. There is no camera in his hand, just a tape recorder, and he has a pinched expression on his face.
Someone hands me a shovel, and we gather for a few photos before Parker motions for me to proceed.
She wants me to do this? Fuck that. This is her moment. She’s the one who has worked so hard for this. I’m just here for this ceremony, then I’m leaving town.
I shake my head, stepping up to Parker. “No. You.”
Her eyes widen. “Me?”
“Yes. This is your project. It should be you doing this, not me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Noel. This—”
“Don’t make me say it again.” I lean closer. “This is your moment, not mine. Go shine, Peter.”
She looks like she wants to argue, and I just know I’m about two seconds from hearing some excuse as to why she shouldn’t be the one doing this.
“Par—”
“You know what? I will go shine,” she says, surprising the hell out of me by taking the shovel and brushing past me like I’m nothing.
I swear, I’ve never been prouder.
She steps up to the center, and then with the broadest grin I’ve ever seen from her, slams the shovel into the ground. The crowd explodes into cheers. But I’m not watching them. I’m watching her.
Parker’s shoulders relax for what seems like the first time in forever, and she blows out a long breath as she stands there, staring down at what she’s accomplished. Sure, there’s a lot of work ahead of her. But at this moment? At this moment, she just gets to be .
Be excited.
Be happy.
Be proud.
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more deserving than her.
Just for a moment, I want to stick around longer to see how it all plays out, watch her dream become a reality.
“She’s fucking incredible,” a deep voice says from beside me.
I look up to find Axel doing the same thing I’m doing—watching Parker with nothing but pride on his face.
“She is,” I agree.
“Given how long you disappeared for, I don’t find you qualified enough to say that, but this is her day, so I’m going to let it slide.”
“I may have been gone for a while, but I still know Parker, Axel.”
He laughs darkly as Parker begins taking questions from the media.
“No, you don’t. You knew her, but I know her. I know the person she is, the woman she’s become, a pillar of her community.” He turns to me, and it’s not often I have to look up to people, but I have to tip my head back to look into his dark, disapproving eyes. “I know her in ways you could never imagine because I’ve been the one who waded through the shitstorm with her. And I want you to remember that after your little weekend jaunt here, I’m going to be the one who is picking up the pieces after you leave. I’m going to be the one spending late nights with her while she tries to figure out what she’s done to drive you away. I’m going to be the shoulder she leans on. So before you try to pull anything, remember that, Hollywood .”
Axel isn’t talking himself up. He’s not letting me know that he’s Parker’s best friend, and I’m not.
No. This is a warning. A threat.
He’s saying if I hurt Parker, I’m going to get hurt too.
And fuck me if I’m not full of equal parts anger and respect right now.
Angry, because if he knows Parker so well, he should know our whole story, know this isn’t all on my shoulders. And respect because ... well, how could I not? Not when he’s so willing to step up for the woman I care so much about.
“You feel me?” he prompts when I say nothing.
“Yeah, Axel, I feel you. Loud and clear.”
“Good. Because I’d really hate to break my promise to her about not pummeling you.”
“Yes, I can see it’s tearing you up inside just thinking about it.”
“Never been more heartbroken in my life.”
A hint of a smile cracks his lips like he’s enjoying the thought far too much as we turn our attention back to the media frenzy still gathered around Parker.
Who knew this was going to be such a hot story? I expected some cameras and questions, but not for this to last so long.
“Parker, a moment?” the last person who should have been allowed here asks her.
“Leonard!” She smiles brightly at the journalist, but anyone with a keen eye can see it isn’t genuine. “How are you?”
“Parker,” he says, bypassing all pleasantries and moving into professional mode. “I assume you’ve considered how this theater won’t bring enough revenue into the community and will strain our already limited resources instead? How this won’t engage tourists and only the residents who already live here, who will inevitably grow tired of these homegrown theater productions, thus causing us to have to shut the theater down again in another few years?”
“Well, I—I ... Of course, I ...,” she fumbles, her response dying on the tip of her tongue.
I step toward them, ready to come to Parker’s rescue, but Axel puts his arm out to stop me.
“Hang on,” he says, still watching this unfold. “Let her answer.”
Parker takes a steadying breath, then pushes her shoulders back ever so slightly.
“Thank you for your questions, Leonard. I love that you’re so concerned about the theater and its longevity. Studies have shown that the presence of a theater in a town or city, no matter how big or small, enriches the lives of the people living there and creates a safe space for those who need it. I know that Emerald Grove is a tight-knit community, and surely, they want to create a haven for all who need one, right? I have full faith this town can come together and make this happen and keep the doors of this building open for all, for many, many years to come.”
Leonard’s jaw tightens at her answer. “So you want the townspeople to donate and resurrect this place on hopes and dreams because you had a happy youth here? What happens if you can’t raise enough funds? Will the theater sit empty like it is now?”
“I don’t believe we’ll have any issues raising funds.”
“Why?” Leonard counters quickly and sharply. This inquiry is becoming heated.
I try to step in again, but Axel still holds me back. I could easily shove him off me, but I know it’d create a scene, and I don’t want to ruin Parker’s special day.
And I fucking hate it. I hate sitting back and watching her get torn into like this. I want to help. I want to fix it. I want to be there for her.
“We have some creative ideas,” Parker tells him. “We’re hosting our first fundraising event, the Restoration Raffle, next weekend. I’m sure you’ve seen flyers all over town for it.”
“We’ve also all seen the signs suggesting people don’t want this theater to happen.”
“Yes, true. I—”
“So while this all sounds great in theory, what happens if nobody donates?”
“I have faith the town will rally together and—”
“This sounds like you have a lot of hopes for this project but not a lot of cold, hard facts, or cash, for that matter.” Leonard keeps pushing. “Do we really want to waste this generous donation—one that could benefit the town in much better ways—on your faith?”
“That’s it,” I mutter, and this time, when I push forward, Axel lets me go.
I stomp toward the ambush I’m watching unfold, not stopping until I’m next to Parker, who is struggling to answer Leonard’s bullshit questions.
I place my hand on the small of Parker’s back, and she jumps at the contact, peering up at me. Just like that, she’s no longer tense. No. She relaxes into my touch.
“Ah, Noel. Just who I was hoping to speak with next. How do you feel about this restoration that could fail bearing your name?”
“Proud, Figs .” I use the nickname he hates intentionally. He’s riling Parker up, so why can’t I rile him up? “Because I know without a doubt that it won’t fail.”
He shoots daggers my way. “And why are you so certain it won’t fail?”
“Because I plan to help.”
I do? Fuck me. What the hell am I saying?
Parker whips her head up at me. “You will?”
Her hazel eyes are so wide and full of such surprise and ... Is that gratitude I see?
I can’t let her down now. Not like I did before by never coming back.
I nod. “My schedule is clear for the next six weeks.” It’s not, and my agent is going to kill me for this, but the words keep coming anyway. “I’m staying in Emerald Grove to help raise the funds needed to complete the renovation, starting with the raffle next weekend.”
“So you’re auctioning off a date with yourself next weekend?”
Wait, what?
Leonard lifts the little recorder he’s holding, eager for my answer, but that’s not what I meant. Sure, I’ll help, but auction myself off for a date? No way in hell.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes!” Parker interrupts. “Yes. Next weekend, you can win a date with Noel Carter himself. Right, Noel?”
She bats her lashes up at me, and I know at that moment just how screwed I really am because I find that even after all these years, I still can’t tell her no.
I sigh. “Yes.”
I turn to Leonard and the whole media crew still gathered with their microphones and cameras poised, ready to catch this moment on film, so I can’t back out.
“I’m auctioning off myself. A night with Noel Carter.”
Leonard grins, and I hate it instantly.
“Splendid,” he says.
Yeah. Splendid, indeed.