Chapter Three Noah #2
She chews on that a minute, knowing I mean every damn word of it.
Odette’s seen firsthand the work my mother put into raising me and Izzy, my parents’ “oops” baby, born twelve years after they thought they were done having kids.
It wasn’t easy having two children at different places in their lives, especially with one who played, lived, and breathed hockey and spent all his time at the rink.
She knows the work my mother put in to make sure she was there for Izzy just as much as she was there for my hockey career while my dad worked long hours between his clinic in town and the hospital one town over.
There’s no way I’d ever think I could be better than her just because I’m a man.
“Then what is it?” she asks.
“You want to know why I think you can’t handle hard labor?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
I rake my gaze over her, taking in her high heels that make her already long legs look even longer, her skintight skirt, and her pink blouse that matches the color of her lips whenever she’s not wearing lipstick.
“I think you can’t handle it because, for one, you don’t do hard labor. Ever. And two, you don’t do things that’ll make you wet or dirty, both things you’ll certainly get if you help with this project. Hell, I remember when you had a swim birthday party and didn’t even get in the pool.”
“Because it was freezing.”
“It was the middle of August. It’s because you were too damn scared to let those moronic teenage boys—who were way too old for you, by the way—see you with your hair wet, and you know it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then clamps it shut because she knows I’m right.
Just like I’m right about her inability to handle this kind of work. I appreciate the offer of help—especially since I’m going to need it if I want to complete this on time—but I’m going to have to do a bit better than Odette.
“I just want to help. I . . . I need this to go right, Noah,” she says softly, her eyes falling to the floor, shoulders slinking inward. “For my business. I can’t . . .” She sucks in a deep breath and looks up at me. “I just can’t.”
Fuck if her blue eyes and her wobbling lip she’s trying so hard to conceal don’t do me right in.
It’s clear she’s struggling. That she needs something to go right. This could be that something. I could help her make it that something. I understand that need to prove you’re not a complete failure more than she realizes.
“Then we’ll make this the best damn wedding Port Harbor has ever seen.”
Her lips pull up at the corners, but only barely. “And I can help?”
Knowing I will spend more time fixing her mistakes than it’ll take me to do this alone, I find myself nodding anyway. “You can help, Odie.”
She huffs at my nickname for her. “I am not a dog.”
“No, but you should still be a good little girl and run along.” I pat her head because, although she’s five foot eight, she’s still short compared to my six-foot-four frame.
“There are too many things in here you can get hurt on. At least let me finish looking it over. Need to make sure it’s safe before we go any further. ”
She swats at my hand, smoothing her already perfect hair as she scowls at me. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to get my Manolo Blahniks dirty.”
And she thinks she can help rebuild a barn.
I return to my inspection, noting the exposed nails that need to be tamped down or taken out as she retreats to the bar, her heels clacking along the floor the whole way.
I squat to pick up a discarded saw blade. Where the hell did that even come from?
“Hey, Noah?”
I turn, my eyes trailing up to her, and I have to make sure I don’t react to just how damn good her legs look from this angle.
“Thank you,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I tip my head to the side. “For what?”
“This.” She gestures toward the barn. “The farm. Everything. Thanks for letting Izzy have her wedding here. You don’t know what this means for her. For . . . me.”
But I do know. I know what it’s like to want to create something you’re proud of, to have your name associated with something you’ve worked so hard for.
And I know what it’s like to fail. Hell, I did it plenty of times back in my playing days.
I did it plenty of times in my marriage, according to Chelsea.
I nod. “Sure. It’s no big deal.”
The smile on her lips tells me it is a big deal.
I’m just unsure if it’s a big deal for her, me, or both.
Patching the roof isn’t going to work. We’re going to need a whole new one.
“How much?” Ezra asks from below. He’s been standing beside the ladder, crunching numbers for the last two hours as I dig around and find problem after problem.
“Add another two grand to the roofing budget.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, but I hear him punch it into his calculator—the one that’s never too far out of reach—anyway. “We’re over.”
He means the budget. He immediately set one aside for repairs for the wedding. A lot of it is stuff we’ve been meaning to do anyway, but now, at least, we have motivation and a timeline. A ridiculously short one, but still.
“I know,” I tell him. We were over about thirty minutes into this big inspection of ours.
“We shouldn’t have let them talk us into this.”
No, shit. That’s what I was saying from the beginning. But I bite my tongue, instead saying, “I know.”
“We might be upside down on this.”
“I know.”
I sigh. There is no “might.” We will be upside down on this. There’s no doubt about it. And not just because we’re giving Izzy a killer deal on the venue either.
“But,” Ezra says, “it just means we’re investing in ourselves. In our next venture. This is good. This is really good.”
I’m unsure if he’s trying to convince me or himself of this.
I climb down the ladder, the metal clanging until my feet hit the concrete that still needs to be swept.
That’s the least of my problems, though.
Right now, my biggest issue is the roof, which will cost us about eight grand to replace, and that’s just material costs.
It doesn’t include my time that’ll be spent doing it.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask for probably the hundredth time since we came out here.
He grunts. “Do we have a choice?”
“You’re kidding. We had a choice hours ago when Izzy gave me puppy dog eyes. We could have said no then. Actually, I did say no. You’re the one who convinced me to say otherwise.”
“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “We both know putting your foot down with your sister wouldn’t last. It never has before. Why start now? For her wedding?”
“I was going to stand my ground.”
He gives me a disbelieving look, and okay, fine. He might be right. There was a chance I’d cave for sure. But it was minimal, no matter what he says.
“Whatever. I guess we’re in it now.” I nod toward the calculator he’s clutching like a lifeline. “What’s the damage?”
Now it’s his turn to sigh. “Twelve. But I think I can get it down to ten.”
I run my hand through my hair. “That’s a lot of cash for something we aren’t sure will work.”
“Yeah, but think of it this way: We spend the dough now, we get this place looking good, we let Odette make it all fancy and shit and photograph the hell out of it, and boom—we’re raking in fistfuls. Think what we’re putting in times five, possibly more.”
“Five times? Fuck. That’s a lot of money. You really think so?” I ask.
He nods. “I do. I mean, shit, what are the options all those lovesick losers have now? That church, the community center, the courthouse, and the docks? That’s about it unless people want to travel farther out, which they don’t.
We could even attract business from neighboring towns and cater to those who don’t want to travel far.
Weddings are already expensive, even to attend.
We’d be the better option if they could have them here in Port Harbor.
So, yeah, I think we have a big opportunity here.
Not to mention, the profits I’m projecting could set us up to buy the iceplex. ”
Having both played hockey, we know what it costs to get into the game, and it sure as hell isn’t cheap. Ezra knows that better than I do, being raised by a single mom who worked two jobs to make ends meet. Training centers like the one we’re trying to create are what got him to the NHL.
We’ve spent a lot of late nights dreaming up the iceplex and have even found the perfect location—an old rink not too far from Port Harbor that’s in desperate need of some love.
We want to buy it, renovate it, and offer free ice time and training to low-income families.
Maybe even run a special training camp out of it in the summer. Who knows what we could do with it?
But I do know that the extra money from the weddings would certainly come in handy with the sale. We could buy it now, but it would mean dipping into our personal funds in ways neither of us are prepared to do. The new stream of revenue would fix that issue.
And he’s right about the neighboring towns too. We get a lot of business from them already. I’ve even met people who have driven from other states just to try our cider or get an autograph. We have something here, so I guess investing a bit up front will all be worth it, especially for Izzy.
And Odette too.
Fuck, her face earlier said it all.
She’s desperate for this to work. For this to become what she’s known for, instead of all those disastrous weddings she’s had lately.
She was right about her business tanking.
I’ve heard the rumors. I know what they’re saying about her wedding-planning abilities, and none of them are good.
They claim she’s a disaster. A wreck. Cursed.
That one always makes me laugh, given the Chamberses’ family history with curses. I always thought it was a bunch of baloney that they were plagued with bad love, and I still do. They aren’t cursed. Terrible shit happens to good people sometimes. Odette can get through it, and I’m going to help.
“Are you listening?”
“Hmm?” I drop the crowbar I took up the ladder into my toolbox. “What’d you say?”
“I said, we need to start soon. Like tomorrow soon, if you want to get this finished in time. That schedule . . .” He shakes his head. “Fuck, it’s tight. Why can’t Izzy get married next year? Or six months from now? Literally anything else other than in ten weeks.”
“Because they want to get married on their anniversary or other romantic shit like that.”
“Gross.” Ezra shivers. “Well, whatever. We’ll just have to work with the timeline we’re given. Well, you’ll have to work with it.”
He grits his teeth together, knowing full well that most of these restorations will be done by me because he can’t physically help with them. Not with his hip.
Guess it’s a damn good thing I’m competent with a hammer. I have my dad to thank for that, always making me help him with house repairs when I was younger. This will be my biggest project by far and will test my skills, but do I really have a choice at this point?
“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’ll just need some help in the bar. I know dealing with the public isn’t your favorite, but . . .”
He waves off my words. “I got it. I’m going to bitch the whole time, but I can handle it.”
I chuckle, knowing full well he’s telling the truth. “All right.” I bend and snap my toolbox closed. “I think we’re done for the night.” I push to my full height. “Want to grab some burgers in town?”
Ezra pats his stomach. “Fuck, man. You’re reading my mind. Dickie’s sounds perfect right about now. I could go for a mushroom Swiss.”
“That sounds disgusting,” I complain, unlocking the ladder and letting it slide down noisily back into place until it’s a much more manageable height before kicking the legs together.
“Don’t understand your mushroom hate, man.”
“It’s not that I don’t like mushrooms. They don’t like me. Allergic, remember?”
“Some things are just worth the risk, and Dickie’s mushroom Swiss is one of those things.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I set the ladder against the wall near the door, my toolbox going right next to it for tomorrow. “Come on. I want to enjoy my last night of freedom before spending all my waking hours in this place.”
“It’s going to be worth it,” Ezra promises. “Wait and see.”
I wish I had the same confidence as him . . . and hope that he’s right.