Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
NOAH
I park in front of Allie’s apartment at exactly six fifty-eight, feeling as nervous as a schoolboy about to go out on his first date. Pushing the button on the intercom, I wait a full minute before I hear Margie’s voice through the speaker. “Who is it?”
“It’s Coach Riley,” I tell her. I wonder what she must be thinking with me picking up Allie for supper.
“Oh, hey, Coach.” She buzzes me up.
I climb the stairs in record time and wait for the apartment door to open. When it does, I walk inside to find that Decan and Leah are there, as well. “Hey, you two.”
“Coach,” Decan says. “We’re having supper with Margie tonight.”
“Good for you,” I tell them. Then I ask, “Is Coach Rogers around?”
Allie walks into the room looking absolutely beautiful.
She’s changed clothes and is wearing dress pants and a burgundy sweater.
Her dark hair hangs full and loose around her shoulders instead of in her standard ponytail.
It looks so soft, it’s all I can do not to walk over to her and run my fingers through it.
“Noah, hi. I didn’t realize it was so late,” she says. Smiling at the kids, she tells them, “I paid for the pizza; you just need to let the delivery guy in.”
“Thank you, Allie,” Margie says with an almost worshipful expression.
“Are you two going out on a date?” Leah wants to know.
“What? No,” Allie tells her. “We’re having a coaching meeting.”
“You look pretty nice to be having a meeting,” Decan tells her.
“It’s fun to wear something other than my teaching clothes,” she tells him. And while I’m sure that’s true, I do hope that I’m at least part of the reason she looks so good.
“What about me?” I ask the kids. Spokesmodeling my own attire of a fresh pair of jeans and a pullover, I inform them, “I changed too.”
“You’re a regular stud, Coach,” Decan tells me.
“Very nice,” Margie contributes.
Their praise isn’t exactly what I’d call effusive, but it’s better than nothing. What makes the biggest impact is the look of appreciation on Allie’s face. “You look like you’re trying to impress someone,” she tells me.
“It’s Friday night.” Then I tease, “You never know who we might see out there that I want to dazzle.” I accompany this statement with a little shimmy, which makes the kids laugh.
Allie walks toward the front door while telling her guests, “I won’t be late.”
“Leah and I have to leave at nine,” Decan replies. “That’ll give us each two hours with our friends so that we won’t be totally lying to our parents about where we’ve been.”
“Do you need a ride?” Allie asks.
“Decan is driving our mom’s car,” Leah answers. “He’ll drop me on his way.”
With a wave, we leave the apartment. As soon as we’re outside, I tell Allie, “It’s nice that you’re letting Margie have Decan and Leah over. They must miss each other.”
She smiles at me in such a way my heart skips like a perfectly flat rock frisbeed across Elk Lake. “It’s good for all of them to stay close. I know Margie really misses her siblings.”
Once we’re down the stairs and into my car, I ask, “So, pizza or should we go somewhere nicer?”
“What else do you have in mind?”
“We could go to the country club.” Allie doesn’t answer right away which I take to mean she’s worried that will make this a real date. I quickly explain, “As friends.”
“I do love their beet and goat cheese salad,” she responds.
I take the next left which takes us in the direction of the club. We drive silently while Noah Kahn serenades us from the car’s speakers. It’s rare to find someone you can be quiet around without feeling the need to fill the space with chatter.
Instead of pulling up to the valet, I park in the lot. It’s a beautiful night and I wouldn’t mind walking next to Allie. After getting out of the car, I go around to the passenger side and open the door for her. I offer her my hand to help her out.
As soon as she gets out of the car, she makes a motion to reclaim her hand, but I just hold on more firmly. “We shouldn’t be holding hands,” she says. “That might send the wrong message to people.”
“What message might that be?”
Allie stops walking and turns to face me. “That we’re more than friends.”
“Or,” I tell her, “they might just think we’re good friends. Personally, I don’t care what they think.” I hold eye contact for long enough that she gets nervous and breaks our staring contest first.
“Good friends don’t hold hands,” she says primly, before successfully pulling hers away. The truth is that I don’t fight her very hard. If and when Allie holds my hand, I want it to be because she wants to.
Trying to lighten the mood, I ask, “But good friends do go out to dinner, right?”
“They do when a delicious beet salad is waiting.” And just like that we’re back on track.
Walking into the country club is like old home week. I haven’t been here since moving back to Elk Lake. Why my parents keep their membership, living in Florida most of the year as they do, is anyone’s guess, but who am I to complain?
Tim Ferris, whose family owns the club, greets us outside the Players Grill. He looks like a movie star from another era with his tall, blond, still-tanned good looks. Come to think of it, he looks exactly like he did in high school. “Noah Riley, no way! What are you doing here, man?”
Shaking his hand, I tell him, “I moved home a couple of months ago. I’m the new coach of the Elk Lake High School basketball team.” I try to make it sound like this is an exciting endeavor, but I’m pretty sure Tim is too savvy to buy it.
He confirms this when he asks, “Why in the world would you want to be Coach Crappie?” He laughs at his own joke.
“It’s a long story,” I tell him. Gesturing toward Allie, I say, “Do you remember Allie Rogers? She was my sister’s best friend growing up.”
Tim turns his attention to Allie. “Your parents are Margaret and Bob, right? If I’m not mistaken you had your wedding here.” His gaze shifts between me and Allie as though he’s wondering what we’re doing here together.
Allie notices and hurries to tell him, “Brett and I are divorced, so I moved home. I’m teaching English at the high school.” She feels the need to add, “Noah and I are just friends. I coach the girls’ basketball team and the kids all practice together.”
“Ah, so this is a Friday night brainstorming sesh, huh?” Tim steps in front of us and leads the way into the dining room.
Dark navy velvet curtains hang from the floor-to-ceiling windows along the north-facing wall and several large crystal chandeliers are suspended overhead.
All-in-all, it’s a far cry from the pizza place we were planning on eating.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about before our season starts,” Allie assures him.
I’m starting to worry that our meal is going to be all work and no play. Once we’re seated and Tim walks away, I ask, “Are we really going to talk about basketball all night?”
“I hope not,” she says. She puts her napkin in her lap before picking up the menu.
“Why did you tell Tim that then?”
Lowering her menu, she replies, “I don’t want him speculating about us.”
“Why do you care what Tim thinks?”
“I don’t care about him more than anyone else. It’s just that you’re going to be leaving Elk Lake eventually and I don’t need people gossiping that I’ve lost another man.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I imagine with her parents being members here, most of the club knows the story of how her marriage ended.
Which means there has to have been a good deal of gossip.
I can see how that would make her leery of broadcasting a new relationship. Not that we’re in a relationship.
“I didn’t think about it like that.”
“Why would you?” She takes a sip of her water and looks back at her menu. “I’m getting the salad and the clam chowder. How about you?”
“I’m getting the fish and chips,” I tell her. “And probably the apple galette for dessert. I’ll share it with you, if you want.”
She scoffs. “I’ll take a bite of your fish and chips, but I’m getting the Mississippi mud pie, and before you ask, I’m not sharing.”
“That’s not very nice of you,” I tease. Meanwhile, I love that she’s not one of those women who pretends to eat nothing more than a lettuce leaf while on a date.
“I haven’t had it in three years,” she responds. “Maybe once I’ve come back a few more times, I’ll feel more generous.”
“That would mean we’d have to eat here again.” I gaze across the table at her challengingly. “Should we make plans?”
“I can come with my parents,” she tells me. While that’s true, if she hasn’t had the mud pie in three years, it doesn’t sound like she’s done that. Although for the sake of keeping the peace, I don’t mention it.
After the waiter comes and takes our order, he asks what we’d like to drink. I ask Allie if she’d like to split a bottle of white wine, but she replies, “I’m only good for one glass or I’ll fall asleep. I’d better order it that way.” I do the same.
“This is better than pizza, isn’t it?” I ask once the waiter is gone.
“It is,” she agrees. “But pizza is better for the budget.”
I don’t really know what Allie’s finances are like, so I don’t know what, if anything, she got in her divorce. While I probably shouldn’t be nosy, I still am. “It’s got to be tough going from two incomes to one.”
“Not really,” she says. “It’s a lot cheaper to live in Elk Lake than Madison, and until recently I’ve been staying with my folks.”
“Did you and Brett own a house?” I ask her.
“We were saving for one. When we split, I took my half and went to Europe. I spent it all there.”
My mouth hangs open like a mounted fish. “All of it?”
“Yup. I didn’t want anything that came from my marriage, so I figured the best thing to do was to have some fun.”
“Did you?” I’m shocked she would do something so impulsive. From what I’ve learned about Allie since getting to know her better, she seems like she’d be the fiscally conservative type. She did just make that comment about pizza being better for the budget, after all.
“I had a wonderful time,” she tells me proudly. “I stayed a full month, and I went to seven countries.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that. I go with, “I’m impressed. I don’t think I could travel the world alone.”
“You’d be surprised how much courage can stem from utter and total heartache.”
It’s not that I pity Allie as much as I’m angry anyone could have ever treated her like her ex-husband did. “What was your favorite country?”
“Scotland. And not for the beautiful scenery and architecture like you might think.” She explains, “I love the accent. I barely understood a word anyone was saying, but the sheer musicality of their speech kept a constant smile on my face.”
“Scots do sound very lyrical,” I agree. “Personally, I love an Indian accent. Whenever I call support for my computer, I’m positively entranced by the sound of the technician helping me.”
Allie laughs. “I feel like a stereotypical American, because I really don’t know what they’re saying.”
Once our waiter delivers our wine, I lift my glass and toast, “To coming home.”
Allie taps her glass against mine. “I never thought I’d live in Elk Lake again but I’m not mad about it.”
“And you’re going to raise your family here.” I say this more to ascertain her intentions than as a statement of fact.
“At the very least, I’m going to try to adopt a baby here,” she confirms.
“I predict that once you do, you’ll be hooked on raising her in known territory.” I don’t know why, but I see Allie as a girl mom. I picture lots of bows and tutus in her future. The image puts a smile on my face.
“I know I’ll have an easier time affording a house here,” she says.
“Compared to Chicago, it’s dirt cheap to live in Elk Lake. But of course, there’s nowhere near as much to recommend it.”
“Don’t be a snob,” Allie tells me. “Elk Lake is perfectly lovely.”
I raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Did you think that before you decided to adopt a baby?”
I can tell she’s trying hard not to smile. She ultimately loses her battle, and says, “I did, although not as much. I suppose there’s a place for every time in your life. And Elk Lake worked out well for me growing up.”
Taking a sip of my wine, I consider her words.
I like that she didn’t say there’s a time and place for everything.
She said there’s a place for every time.
As I contemplate this, I wonder if maybe Allie and I both being in the same place at the same time is a sign that we’re meant for something more than friendship.
Although how that could be with our vastly differing plans is anybody’s guess.