Chapter Eight Odette #2
I’m sure we look absurd, like we’re in some sort of funeral line, but it’s what we’ve always done.
When I get to her and she wraps her arms around me, smelling like fresh-baked sourdough—which she’s sort of famous for around these parts—I lean into her embrace, needing it far more than I realized I did.
“Don’t give up, little one,” she says so only I can hear. “I know you think we’re cursed, but we’re not. Maybe a little unlucky, but not cursed. Besides, if we are, we all know a curse can be broken with true love’s kiss. Maybe that’s all we’re waiting for.”
It’s not the first time she’s said something like that. She believes that all we need to do is find true love. That it’s the real reason we’re all still cursed. We haven’t found real love yet.
I love that even after all the heartache she’s endured, she’s still so positive. Still so certain that love is out there for us and each and every one of us will find it one day, even if we have to kiss a few frogs in the meantime.
I might still be young, but after watching my grandmother, my mom, and each of my aunts and cousins get their hearts broken over and over, I have no faith for me.
I could be wrong, but it’s going to take a hell of a lot to prove it so.
Seven came far too early this morning, and when my alarm clock went off, the last thing I wanted to do was peel myself out of bed.
But I did it anyway . . . eventually. I crawled out of my blankets at seven thirty, threw on a pair of shorts, a ratty old Anaheim T-shirt I used to wear to Noah’s games, and boots I haven’t worn in years.
My first stop was coffee and breakfast, where I then ran into Peaches, who tried very hard to convince me that Beans needs a brother.
I checked my purse three times before I left, just to make sure she hadn’t snuck a cat in there. She hadn’t, thank god, but the whole interaction made me late.
I speed into the parking lot of Stick Taps and throw my car into park, slinging open my door just as Noah comes barreling out of the taproom.
“Figures you’re late,” he calls over his shoulder, on his way to the barn as I struggle to keep up with him.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I said be here at eight.” He stops, turning on his heel as he checks the watch on his wrist. “It’s eight thirty.”
“Right, and I was here at eight, then I realized I had forgotten my pretty pink hammer, so I had to run home and grab it. I honked. Didn’t you hear me?”
Noah looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.
I’m lying. He knows I’m lying.
But still, he doesn’t call me on it. He just huffs, then takes off for the barn again. I trail after him, holding my pink hammer and gloves in one hand and fresh coffee in the other, a bag full of fritters tucked under my arm.
Maybe if he stops being a grump, I’ll let him know I brought him one too. Maybe.
“We’re going to finish the roof, then start tearing down the stalls in the back,” Noah says as he leads us inside.
“While I’m working on the stalls, you can tap down the nails.
A lot are sticking out just waiting to be run into.
” He looks down at the hammer in my hand.
“Guess it’s a good thing you brought your pink tools after all. ”
I grin up at him. “See? It was a good reason to be late.”
“Never mind that I have extra hammers here,” he mutters.
“What was that?” I take a loud sip of my coffee. “Can’t hear you over this refreshing caffeine.”
He rolls his eyes. “You got all that? Understand what we’re doing today?”
“I heard you loud and clear, Captain.”
I salute him, and he doesn’t look the least bit amused by me as he turns, setting the toolbox he’s been carrying on the floor. He just digs through it without another word.
Jeez. He’s grumpier than usual today.
Maybe now would be a good time to mention the fritter.
“I brought you breakfast.”
He pauses, then slowly turns toward me. “You did?”
I nod. “Yep. A fritter.”
“Chocolate banana?”
I arch a brow at him, just like he did last week when we did this same song and dance. “Would it be anything else?”
I hold the bag of goodies out to him, and he accepts it, pushing to his full height.
I tip my head back, following him up, up, up.
Sometimes I forget just how tall Noah really is. And I forget just how attractive I find that.
I watch him as he practically tears the bag open and pulls a pastry free. He holds it out to me, but I shake my head.
“I already ate one.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t eat another, I will. Take it.”
I don’t argue. I accept it, then sit cross-legged on the dirty floor.
Eventually, Noah follows along, and I have to stifle a laugh.
“What?” he asks through a mouth full of food. If his mother could see him, I know she’d have something to say about his manners, or more accurately, his lack of them.
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you’re tall even sitting down.”
“That’s usually what happens when you’re my size, pip-squeak.”
“Hey! I am well above the average height for women. I’m just not a giant like you.”
He shrugs, taking another bite of his fritter.
He really does look ridiculous, sitting crisscross applesauce, eating a fritter he could easily down in one bite.
His usual flannel is replaced by a simple gray long-sleeve shirt that’s already rolled up, showing off his forearms, which are far too good looking, especially as they flex every time he takes a bite.
I look away, taking my own small nibble of the breakfast treat I brought, even though I’m not hungry. Anything to distract myself. Anything to not have Noah occupying my thoughts like he has been every waking moment.
“Nice panties, Odie.”
I internally scold myself for the reminder, then take another bite.
Noah scarfs down his first fritter, then the second in no time flat.
I’ve managed only four bites of mine by the time he’s finished his.
“Are you about done, or are you going to nibble that like a rabbit the rest of the morning?” he asks as he stands. He grabs a tool belt, securing it around his waist. I swallow, telling myself I don’t suddenly find men with tool belts hot. “We have shit to do.”
“You’re cranky today,” I accuse, following him up. I don’t bother wiping the dust off my bottom. I’m sure I’ll get even dirtier by the day’s end. “Good thing I brought you a fritter to cheer you up.”
“Yes, the fritter that made you late and put us behind schedule.”
I narrow my eyes. “And yet you’re not cranky, right?”
“No. I just want to get started. I have other things to do around the farm, you know.”
“Is this because of the report on Chelsea that she’s marrying that quarterback?”
He comes to a halt, slowly turning toward me. “What?”
Oh. He hasn’t heard. That much is clear from the look on his face. The shock in his brown gaze. The hard set of his lips.
I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “I, uh, I figured you were extra crabby because they announced their engagement today. I saw it on Instagram this morning while waiting for my coffee . . .” I trail off as one of his brows goes up. “I take it you didn’t know?”
He shakes his head once, then turns, going back to work like I said nothing.
I sigh. I have a feeling this is going to be a long, long day.
And I’m right. It is a long day.
Noah’s in a bad mood, not uttering a single word my way, just cussing out the wood as he breaks down the old stalls. At some point he silently handed me a pair of safety glasses—I guess so nothing flies out and accidentally hits me—then went right back to work like nothing happened.
He didn’t even stop for lunch—which I can’t really fault him for, given our history—so I decided to work through it, too, not wanting to piss him off any more than I already had by being late and delivering the blow his ex-wife has officially moved on.
I’m surprised he’s so upset by it. I didn’t think he was still hung up on her, but maybe I had it all wrong about their relationship. Maybe he cares more than he’s let on.
When it finally hits five, Noah throws a crowbar down, then the other one he’s been using to bash in the walls of the old stalls. It doesn’t take much work to break them down since they were already falling apart, but I can tell it’s cathartic for him, anyway.
“I’m done.”
I look up to find him with his hands on his hips, breaths coming in harsh as sweat rolls down his face.
“Oh?”
He nods. “I’m fucking starving.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t made us work through lunch, you wouldn’t be,” I mutter, tucking my hammer into my back pocket and peeling off my matching gloves.
“I didn’t make you work through lunch.”
“I wasn’t going to stop working if you weren’t. We’re a team, remember?”
He mumbles something I can’t quite catch.
I shove my goggles atop my head. “What was that, Mr. Grumbles a Lot?”
“I said, a forced team because, for some unknown reason, you’re determined to help with this.”
Frustration courses through me, and I do my best to tamp it down as I calmly say, “Because it’s my project, too, Noah. I’m the wedding planner, remember?”
“Ah, right. And you need to save your business.”
The way he says that last part, like the brand I’ve spent years building doesn’t mean shit, hits me hard and, frankly, pisses me right off.
I’ve played nice all day. I’ve let him be grumpy. Allowed him to stomp around and be a sourpuss. But I will not have him talk shit on my business.
“You know, Noah,” I say, taking a few steps toward him until we’re standing only a foot apart, “just because you’re a bitter old man doesn’t mean everyone is like that. Some people want to make their wedding the best day of their life. Some people want happiness.”
His eyes darken. “And some people just want to be a pain in my ass and get in my way.”
Is that what he thinks I’m doing? That I’m just out here sweating my ass off and ruining my nails I pay damn good money for to annoy him?
Have I not been going behind him and removing the debris he’s been slinging everywhere?
Have I not been on my hands and knees tamping down nails?
Have I not been helping tear down old boards?
“You want to know why I’m helping you out here?”
“I already know why. It’s because you don’t trust me to do it right. You want it your way or the highway. Because it’s never enough, just like it was never enough for her.”
“Her? Who are you—” I shake my head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter, because you’re wrong.
I’m not here for you at all. I’m here because everyone has their eyes on this wedding.
If I fail, I’ll just be another name in the long line of Chambers women who couldn’t make it work, be it love or business or whatever.
If I fail, I’ll have spent years building this all for nothing.
If I fail, then there truly is no hope for me. If I fail, the curse wins.”
He scoffs. “Enough with the fucking curse already. It’s not real—it’s total bullshit, and you know it.”
“Yes, it is!” I toss my hands into the air because of course he doesn’t get it.
Nobody else ever does. “Don’t you see that?
It’s real. I went to college. I invested thousands of dollars into branding, an office, and all the right outfits to impress clients.
I offered my services for free. I built my business on trust. I did all the right things—all of them—and I am still failing.
I am one bad wedding away from everything I’ve worked for being ripped out from underneath me.
So, no, I am not out here to get in your way.
I’m out here for me and me alone. To prove to myself that I can do this despite the curse.
That it won’t win. That I will not be another name people whisper about.
It has nothing to do with you, Noah, and everything to do with me. ”
I suck in a long breath when I’m done, not realizing how badly I need it or the way my hands are shaking at my sides. When did that even start?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Noah understands that I want to help because I have to.
This wedding has to succeed, or that tiny shred of hope I’ve held on to all these years about the curse being nothing more than just a string of bad luck will snap, and I’ll be left with the reality—it’s real, and I am destined to be alone.
Noah towers over me, staring down at me with that damn brown gaze of his. But it’s not hard like before. It’s softened. He’s not grumpy anymore.
No, it’s worse than that.
Now, he feels bad for me, and I don’t want that either.
“Odette, I—”
“Uh, hey, guys. Everything all right in here?”
I whirl around to find Izzy standing in the doorway to the barn. Her eyes dart between me and her brother, brows furrowed.
Shit. I forgot I had planned to meet her at the cidery tonight. We were planning to go over some more wedding details, but now all I want is to kick my feet up and unwind after this.
“Yep,” I tell her, glancing back at Noah, who still has his hands on his hips and hasn’t moved an inch. “We’re done here.”