Chapter Twelve #3
Rachel hid her smile because, just for today, she allowed herself to be happy in Noah’s company.
Happy, but on guard. Noah eased his truck across Cattail Creek, taking the narrow road into downtown Service.
Main Street bustled with people. They rolled past the green awnings painted with the shops’ names in bold white letters, careful to avoid the mothers pushing strollers over cobblestone streets and clusters of kids racing between storefronts with melting ice cream cones from the Yoga and Yogurt Place.
Twenty minutes later, they piled out of the truck on foot to assess a few empty storefronts and unused spaces.
Before long, folks gathered on the sidewalk watching Rachel snap photos while Noah fielded questions about the upcoming redevelopment meeting.
Several passersby waved at Rachel, their curious glances directed at a vacant building.
“Rachel, that you and the Calvary boy?” Old Man Wanakee called from his perch on the bench outside the barbershop. Her father had his hair trimmed once every few months in his barber’s chair.
“In the flesh, Mr. Wanakee,” Rachel answered before Noah could give the elderly man more information than she was willing to share about their outing.
“Well, I’ll be. Heard our big-city architect was back. Gonna make our town look like one of them California glass beehives?”
Rachel laughed, genuinely and unguarded. “No, sir. Wanna help highlight what’s already special about Service.”
“Noah, my grandson and his classmates enjoyed their ride on the fire engine. You might have a new recruit on your hands,” Mr. Wanakee joked.
Rachel watched as a blush stole across Noah’s face. Of course, he’d make a dozen mini-mes who wanted to be brave heroes who gave back to the community.
“Well, my PawPaw trained me early, sir. Just paying it forward.” He looked at her and cleared his throat. “We done here?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “The structure looks sound.”
Noah studied the entrance and the windows, no doubt considering fire suppression material updates, fire behavior, and exits. “What are you thinking, Six?”
“Maybe Mrs. Rosa Mae’s historical society and the library could share the space. The layout and resources are similar. They could support each other.”
Noah nodded his approval. “The glass fronts are great for displays. And the interior renovation could be minimal.”
“Given its location at the intersection and the corner entrance, it would make an excellent community space.”
“The shelves could be repurposed for books,” Noah suggested, watching her work with her digital pencil on the screen.
“That’s true, Noah.” Rachel nodded slowly, making notes. “We’d need to consider accessibility…”
“Ground floor access, central location. Safer access for seniors. Family-friendly egress for strollers. Might consider relocating the post office to free up space in the town hall for local government, too.”
“You’re right.” The town hall currently housed the mayoral office, law enforcement, the library, the post office, and all the community meetings.
“I know a thing or two about building codes,” Noah offered. “Could save you some research time.”
“I’ll remember that.” She closed her tablet cover. “I’m done.”
Easy conversation flowed as they walked up Main Street, crossing Cypress and Maple Streets, passing The Coffee Bean Barn, The General Store, and the Twist N’ Curl Beauty Parlor. They were entering the Black Bear when, from behind the bar, Gracie Lou shouted, “Game time! Benji versus Noah!”
“What? No,” Rachel said, her mouth agape. After a near-perfect afternoon with Noah, thirty-year-old, beer-soaked former high-school jocks and Benji, with his California yogi athleticism, in a matchup would spell disaster for any adult male behavior from either of them. “Benji, what did you do?”
“Just telling the fellas I’m handy with a football.” He was already out of his seat, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “You know I like to throw down.”
“And I could tackle you,” Rachel hissed. He had no idea how crazed Noah and his buddies could be when challenged about their football prowess.
Noah grinned. “Benji, I like you. You sure our friendship can survive the defeat?”
“Noah, don’t you dare.” Rachel knew he heard the inherent threat. Her warning went unheeded.
Benji stood, stretching like this was just another day at their yoga studio. “Can your ego?”
“That sounds like a challenge, Noah,” Caleb said, clearly a dare Noah would never ignore.
“You’re on my team,” Noah called.
The other firefighters, most of them Service County Otters who’d followed Noah’s lead as teens on the field, volunteered once more.
Apparently, the men of Service, and a few women, conspired against her to vanquish the Noah of five minutes ago.
In his place, a bullheaded teenage version of the man arose, like a genie from a tipped-over beer bottle, with his band of brothers fixated on pummeling her plus one.
Rachel pivoted on her heel, eyes following both men through the exit doors. “This is going to be stupid, isn’t it?”
Benji said something that made Noah smirk, and then Noah shoulder-checked him as they headed toward the Johnson farm with the whole bar behind them.
The game was on.
And so, apparently, was the competition. If he thought she would cheer him on… Think again, cowboy. Think. Again.