Chapter Six Odette
Chapter Six
Odette
I can’t remember the last time I was so thoroughly embarrassed, and that includes the previous two disastrous weddings I planned.
First Noah got an up-close-and-personal look at my favorite pair of underwear.
Then he busted his nose because I needed toilet paper and threw me out of his house.
And that doesn’t even include the wipe of shame I had to do in front of the spider that I’m pretty sure is still sitting in Noah’s bathroom, waiting for its next victim.
I have half a mind to sacrifice myself.
Anything to escape the complete awkwardness of the Stevens family dinner.
This get-together happens every other Saturday or so, and it includes the Stevenses, me, and my mother, who has been best friends with Izzy’s since they were kids. Any other night, I wouldn’t be bothered to be here. I love our dinners. This place is like a second home to me.
But then again, normally, the events of two days ago don’t ever happen either.
I slide my eyes over to Noah as subtly as I can. He’s been wearing aviator sunglasses all evening, making it obvious he’s trying to hide something. Even when he’s gone inside, he’s not taken them off, and I know that because I’ve been watching him far more than I care to admit.
It’s probably a good thing he’s wearing them. If his mother saw the state of his face, she’d have a conniption. I know only because of the texts he sent the morning after it happened.
I pull my phone from my purse, looking over the exchange again.
Noah: image
Noah: You did this to me.
Me: Me? I’m not the one who made you run into a door.
Noah: Yes, you are. You should have just drip-dried, and I wouldn’t look like I went ten rounds with Tom Wilson.
Me: Who?
Me: You know what? I don’t care. It’s not my fault. And for the last time, I can’t just “drip dry”! Why Are You Like This?!
Noah: Because you made me like this.
Me:
Noah: I don’t know how you did that, but right back at you.
That’s the last we spoke to each other, but I know he’s still sporting that bruised look under his sunglasses. He has to be.
“So, Odette,” Lydia Stevens says, pulling my attention.
I tuck my phone away and take a sip of Mr. Stevens’s signature drink of the evening—a peach mango Bellini. He switches it up every week, and it’s adorable how much effort he puts into making each one fun, little umbrellas included. “Yes?”
“Iz was telling me about your ideas for the venue. She said you and Noah were working on revamping the barn. How’s that going so far?”
“Uh, good. We made good progress the last time I was out there. We haven’t worked for the last few days since . . .” I drag my eyes to Noah, who, while he looks very invested in cooking the meat, is definitely eavesdropping. I don’t know how I can tell, but I can.
“Oh, right. He said he got something in his eye. It’s why he’s walking around with those silly sunglasses on even though it’s far too dark out for them.” Lydia says that last part a little louder and pointedly to her son.
He lifts his head and looks right at me. Sure, I can’t see it, but I can certainly feel his stare. It’s hot, and not in the fun kind of way.
“Hazard of the job,” he says, then takes a swig of his cider. It’s Glove Save, a dry and slightly bitter cider he makes at Stick Taps.
I will myself not to react since I know exactly what “job” he was doing when it happened.
I haven’t told anyone about the incident, and I guess Noah hasn’t either.
“Poor kid,” Lydia says, like Noah is still a young boy and not a thirty-eight-year-old man. “I wish he’d take those sunglasses off and let his father look at it as if the man hasn’t been a doctor for over twenty-five years. He’s not retired yet.”
Brian Stevens has been the town doctor forever.
He was my doctor as a teen and is still my doctor today, but at the end of the year, he’s hanging up his stethoscope and enjoying retired life.
Not having him working in Port Harbor will be weird, but I’m excited about what’s coming for Izzy’s parents.
They’ve been talking about buying an RV and traveling the countryside for years. Now they can finally make it happen.
Not that she’d ever tell her parents, but it’s a huge reason Izzy is hurrying to get married. She wants to be settled down before they go off on their adventures and not have to drag them back here for the wedding. She’s doing it all for them.
I wish she’d do it for her, though. She always had plans after college to go to Europe and backpack and find herself, but then things got serious with Craig, so she never did. I wonder if she would have followed through with that plan if they had never gotten together.
“He’s just being Tough Noah like always, Mom. You know how he is,” Izzy chimes in.
She’s right. He’s downplayed his injuries for as long as I can remember, like when he battled through the playoffs with a broken ankle and a groin tear.
But that’s hockey players for you. They’re built differently from the rest of us.
Sometimes they are a little too different—like being too stubborn to take their sunglasses off even when it’s getting too dark to wear—but they are different.
“We all know how stubborn Noah can be.” He snorts at my comment, and I glare at him. “Something to say, Noah?”
He shakes his head once. “Not a damn word, Odie.”
It’s the most he’s spoken to me since I got here. Usually we’re picking fights all evening just because we can, but he’s been quiet tonight, which means I’ve been right about what’s going on—Noah is avoiding me.
I’ve tried to get him to let me come help with the farm over the last two days, but he’s refused me at every turn.
I wanted to drive out to the cidery yesterday when he told me no again, but I didn’t get the chance thanks to my meeting with a new florist running late.
Still, even after, I had half a mind to show up and .
. . and . . . well, I don’t know exactly what I would have done other than demand he talk to me.
But at least it would have been something.
“Odie.” My mother laughs, pulling my attention away from Noah, who looks far too good each time he takes a drink from his bottle. “You always hated that nickname.”
“And I still do,” I say loudly enough for Noah to hear.
He ignores me. Or maybe he’s focused on what he’s doing as he flips the burgers over the flame. I can’t believe his dad is trusting him to do that.
“Why’d we start calling her that again?”
“That would be my brother’s fault, Elaine,” Izzy says. “He found a dog collar at Disneyland and bought it for her, remember? Then he bet her that if she threw up on the teacups, she had to wear it for her school photo.”
My mother snaps her fingers. “That’s right. And our poor girl puked all over the place.”
Everyone laughs as I sink lower into a gray Adirondack chair, casting a sideways glance at Noah, who is smirking as he rotates the brats, listening in on us.
That was such a different life back then. He was my best friend’s somewhat famous older brother I had a crush on.
He certainly wasn’t the Noah I know now.
“To be fair, chokers were making a comeback then. It was cute,” Izzy says, trying to stick up for me as our mothers continue giggling over it.
She shoots me a wink, and I grin, but deep inside, I still feel mortified over it, especially since Noah was around to witness that whole debacle.
I dare a glance at him again, though I don’t know why. It’s like I can’t stop looking at him, and I know it’s because of what happened the other day.
I need to talk to him. Need to make amends. And I want back in on fixing up the farm. This wedding means far too much for me to leave it in Noah’s hands. I have to make sure it’s being done right.
“I’m grabbing another drink,” he announces. “Anyone want anything?”
“I’ll take another Bellini, please,” my mother requests.
“And grab that bowl of chips, dear,” his mother says.
He nods, then heads inside.
I find myself pushing to my feet and following behind him, mumbling a quick “I’ll go help him” before taking off.
He doesn’t need help. I know that, and Noah knows that too. But still. I want to talk to him alone for a moment. I want to make sure we’re genuinely okay and that he’s going to allow me to set foot on the farm again.
I sneak through the sliding glass door, and it snicks closed behind me.
He’s standing at the fridge, doors wide open as he reaches for the six-pack he brought along.
“Let me see it,” I demand, knowing full well he knows what I’m talking about.
He glances over his shoulder, not the least bit fazed by my sudden appearance. “No.”
“Dammit, Noah.” I walk farther into the kitchen. “Just let me see how bad it is.”
“Not a chance. Get lost, Odie,” he says as he pulls the pitcher of booze from the fridge and sets it on the counter.
I ignore him and shove myself in front of him, reaching for the sunglasses sitting on top of his busted nose.
Being the skilled former hockey player he is, he easily dodges my advances.
“Stop being such a pain in the ass.”
“You’re the only pain in the ass in this room,” he counters. “Or should I say pain in the nose?”
I glare at him, then reach for the glasses again.
Yet again, he dodges me.
“Noah . . .”
His name comes out as a threat, but all he does is grin.
“Odie,” he counters.
I reach for the glasses again, and I don’t know if he’s just too damn cocky for his own good or what, but this time I get them. My fingers curl around the thin piece of metal, and I yank them toward me.
My victory is short-lived because Noah snatches them right back, and we’re suddenly fighting over them like they’re the last breadstick in the basket.
I pull on them. He pulls harder.
He gives another tug, and the unmistakable sound of plastic breaking echoes through the kitchen. He holds one half of the glasses while I hold the other.
I guess there’s no hiding now.
My eyes go straight to his face, and I gasp.