Chapter Nineteen Noah
Chapter Nineteen
Noah
October
“Stop eating the meringues,” Chase barks, but I laugh.
“I can’t. That icing tastes like those soft mints you get at fancy hotels.”
Every time he pipes a dollop of that tastiness onto the parchment, I swipe at least one and eat it. He exhales roughly and drops the piping bag down on the steel countertop, staring at me as his kitchen staff works around him.
“Noah.” He inhales harshly, so done with me. “This is not icing.” He waves aggressively in front of the bag that’s tempting my taste buds. “It’s whipped egg whites and sugar. It’s what gives structure to buttercream and macarons.”
I look down and chuckle over the way he said “macarons,” leaning in on the French accent.
“Have you learned nothing during this friendship?” he barks.
“No.” I shrug, completely unapologetic. “It’s tasty. That’s all I need to know. Why are you wound so tight right now?”
His eyes bug out. “Noah, this is my art . . .”
“Oh my god—” I breathe out, but thankfully, I’m saved from the “this is my art” lecture as one of his sous chefs brings a small plate for him to taste.
“Chef.”
Chase snatches it, picks up the spoon laid atop, and closes his eyes as he slurps the broth.
“No,” he grinds out. “Do it again. I don’t taste that spark.” He opens and closes his mouth as he tastes whatever’s left over. “Try more basil. And lean in on the feta.”
He hands the plate back, not looking at the guy as he shakes out his right hand while griping at me.
“As I was saying. This is my art”—seems I celebrated too soon—“and it’s not every day that I get to make a birthday cake for my favorite future sister-in-law to throw her off the fact that my best friend is going to propose to her. ”
I laugh, holding up my hands in surrender. “Fair. I won’t eat any more buttercream structure.”
He points at me, smiling at my phrasing.
We’re the only two people in the world who know this secret. That tonight, after I surprise Goldie with her nearest and dearest for her surprise party, I plan to drop to a knee and ask the woman of my dreams to be my wife.
Some pots clang as a fire lights on the burners behind him.
Chase picks the bag up again, making more dollops. “So, is everything set? You got the lanterns? And the shoes?”
I start to answer, nodding, but I grimace as he pauses to open and flex his hand before abandoning the work.
He must follow my gaze because he groans. “Come on, stop looking like that. I’m fine. It just gets stiff, but that’ll go away.”
I give him a tight smile. “I just feel bad. It was my bike. And you could have died.”
He smirks, picking the icing bag up again. “Technically, I was standing on the street, not even on your bike. And your helmet saved my life. Plus, it got me laid. Irinka’s really into playing nursemaid.”
I laugh. “Ah yes, your new supermodel girlfriend.”
“Technically, not my girlfriend. She says what I do is murder . . . ’cause of the meat. We are a tragic story of amazing bed chemistry and shitty food taste—it’s a tale as old as time.”
“Are you Beauty or the Beast?”
He grins. “Like you have to ask. I look amazing in yellow.”
We both laugh as I’m hit with another wave of nerves, probably stoked by what he previously asked. I rub a hand over my face, letting out an audible exhale.
He laughs. “Oh shit. Here comes the fear.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “I’m fucking petrified. I literally dreamed last night that she said no in front of everyone. Just left me standing there.”
He scowls, rolling his eyes. “That would never happen. And I know we’re men and we don’t do feelings, but you two consistently prove to everyone around you that love is real. There’s nobody else for either of you. I’m really happy you found her, Noah. You deserve this kind of happiness, man . . .”
We stare at each other, me nodding, both of us silently in the feels of it all until it starts to feel too awkward so he adds, “And fucking ‘Go Patriots, Brady,’ amirite?”
I smirk. “He’s retired, Chase.”
He grins. “I was born to make soufflé, not plays on a field, brother.”
“Anyway, I gotta go. I have to pick up the shoes from my office, then run by the store to get my ghost and then get home before her. They better have a flower sheet.”
He laughs to himself, not looking up, as he puts the finishing touches on her three-tier cake. “I can’t believe you’re re-creating the first night you met. T. rex and all. She won’t know what hit her.”
I smile as I stand from my stool. Chase looks up.
“Go down the list one more time. Just to make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed.”
I rub my hands together, feeling the familiar flip happen in my stomach again.
“Okay. Evie’s told her that her work’s annual Halloween party is tonight, so Goldie thinks we’re going to that and celebrating her birthday this weekend. I suggested we go as our old costumes from last year, and she thought it was so cute, so no tipping anyone off there.”
“Dude, how fated is it that the girl’s birthday is a few days before Halloween?”
“Right?” I raise my brows in agreement as I continue. “You’ve got the bar and food setup handled.”
“Check and check. I am bringing my A-plus-plus game. I got a charcuterie board that’ll make the ladies want to offer up some charcoocherie.”
“This is why you can only date someone who doesn’t speak English.”
He shrugs like he doesn’t care.
I smile wider. “Speaking of women who hate you, Evie is on twinkle lights and music. At eight p.m., I will walk my girl down the same street we first kissed on, pretending the Uber can’t find our street, before we make our way to the park where we watched the sunrise.
And after everyone screams ‘Surprise,’ I will lead her over to a champagne toast and then to open her first gift. ”
“Cue the shoes,” he says, then pops his head up as his sous chef reappears, holding more broth.
“Exactly. A custom pair of cream-and-white leather Converse high-tops with stars, flowers, and the quote ‘Dreamers or fools’ wound up the back.”
Wannabe Gordon Ramsay sous looks at me. “I think you should say, ‘Accept this ring, and we’ll walk this path together—’”
Chase scoffs, then takes the offered spoon and slurps the soup again before he says, “Do you think that this man would go to the length of re-creating their first date down to the smallest detail, only to bring it all home with ‘We’ll walk this path together’ as he proposes? How dare you.”
“Because he got her shoes instead of a ring.”
Chase shakes his head like he’s disappointed, then motions to the soup. “That’s not bad. Good job. But you still have to go be ashamed. Hide your face because that was terrible love advice.”
“Sorry,” the sous chef offers before Chase points at me.
“Noah, please tell these Neanderthals why you got shoes. Apparently, they need a lesson in love as much as how not to overuse the fucking salt.”
I grin and look down at my hands as I remember that first night.
“I got the shoes because the night we met, I took one look at her and knew exactly what I’d create.
She inspired me, and I didn’t even know her.
I’ve always seen Goldie for exactly who she is.
And later that night, when she told me that she wanted me to make her a pair for her birthday, I banked my creation in my memory.
Funny part was she wouldn’t tell me when her birthday was.
She actually said, ‘You’ll have to stick around and find out.
’ So, here I am . . . stuck, hoping she will be, too, because I tied the ring to the laces. ”
There’s silence, and it’s then I notice all the guys in the kitchen staring at me.
“Do you hear that?” Chase bellows like he’s some kind of gladiator. “That,” he emphasizes, stabbing his spatula in the air, “that is fucking romance.”
Applause erupts, and I laugh harder.
But as it dies down and everyone goes back to work, he leans over the steel counter and whispers, “You’re not saying that, right?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “No, dick. I’m not.”
Chase smirks and throws out some orders as he walks around the island to give me a bear hug.
“Proud of you, dude, and once you’re in the family, we can really put the hard press on the future recipient of my will. ‘Evie Beckett’ has a ring to it.”
I smack his face playfully as he fights me off before I put him in a headlock. He still doesn’t shut up.
“And if Evie doesn’t work out, then when you move to LA, you’ll have to hook me up with all that fine Hollywood ass.”
He wiggles out, swinging at me, but I dodge it as we both grin. “Well, the upside about women in Hollywood is they’re used to guys with terrible personalities.”
His face deadpans as he holds up his hands, and I walk backward out of the kitchen, grinning while he yells at me.
“Oh, come on. It’s not terrible. It just requires some getting used to.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what the doctor says before he gives a rectal exam.”
I mouth “Sorry” to the waitstaff as they glance up from setting tables for dinner service.
Chase peeks his head out from the kitchen. “I guess that tracks . . . I do love anal.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe out as the ma?tre d’ clears his throat to the giggling staff.
The minute I hit the street, the brisk air feels like a deep breath and a shot of adrenaline, making me wired as my mind races back to the fact that tonight I’ll be engaged to Goldie.
If she says yes.
She’s going to say yes.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, noticing a missed call from an unknown number, but I ignore it, opting to text my girl instead.
Me: Working should be illegal on your birthday. See you when you’re home.
Rexy: Amen. It’s my firm belief that Monday birthdays should automatically transfer to the nearest Saturday.
Me: Agreed. But we’re still gonna celebrate you a little tonight at Evie’s thing . . . and then again on Saturday.
Rexy: Sheesh. It’s like you love me or something.
Me: Or something was an option? Nobody told me. Great now you’ve already shared my toothbrush so it’s too late.