Chapter 5 LOVE IS IN THE AIR
LOVE IS IN THE AIR
‘No Lara?’ asked Noah, when I returned to our families’ designated picnic-blanket area.
The jogger girl had disappeared somewhere – perhaps for a quick lap around the block to get the blood moving – and I wasn’t about to press the issue.
Noah sat alone, sipping a cider as he sketched the dancers in front of the stage with a swift, practised hand.
His sketch was loose and suggestive, perfectly capturing the freedom of their movement.
‘She’s busy entertaining a stockbroker,’ I said as I sank down on the picnic blanket, arranging my dress so that it wouldn’t crease. ‘Apparently he’s a semi-professional polo player on the side.’
‘Busy guy,’ said Noah drily.
‘Overachievers are the worst,’ I agreed, with a nod towards Mom and Tiff’s empty spots. They’d disappeared at some point, perhaps to walk off some of the cheese platter. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d both jumped on urgent Zoom calls.
I helped myself to the punch bowl that Rosie had been assiduously refilling throughout the evening. ‘Wow, is this approximately ninety per cent alcohol?’
‘I think it’s had some magical assistance. I switched to cider after I heard ten whisperwinds in a row and realized I was hallucinating.’
‘Lucky I’m not driving,’ I said, taking a swig and grimacing. ‘I think I just travelled into the future. Where did Mom and the others run off to?’
I asked because I suddenly felt vulnerable, here alone on the picnic blanket with Noah as the sun dipped low, casting the cove with that soft, endless light of a late-summer evening.
I always enjoyed Noah’s company, but it was so rare that the two of us spent time alone, and I was nervous.
Or perhaps it was the way Noah was looking at me, his gaze thoughtful as always.
‘They got roped into judging the Tiny Trick-or-Treaters costume contest,’ he replied.
I smiled at the thought of little kids in pumpkins and bumblebee costumes.
‘So, how’s Lesley?’ I blurted suddenly, remembering the jogger’s name.
‘Lesley?’ He cocked his head quizzically as he helped himself to a handful of cashews.
‘Oh, right. She volunteers at the shelter. They’re doing an adopt-athon, trying to free up some space while everyone’s in town.
The animals will be out for the next hour or so, if you want to take a look.
But they’ll be taking them back before the fireworks so that they’re not spooked. I offered to help out.’
Ah, so that explained the whole standing close and giggling thing. Not that it was any business of mine. Not that I cared particularly whether Noah was still single.
‘You know I’ll never say no to snuggling a shelter kitten,’ I said. ‘Or a puppy with really long ears.’
‘They have some beagle mixes,’ said Noah, his serious expression giving way to a smile. ‘You have to tie their ears back with a hair scrunchie while they eat.’
Unwilling to risk another sip of punch, I opened a fresh cider, sipping at it to hide my self-consciousness.
There was something about Noah’s presence that set my nerves jangling.
But in a way I couldn’t quite articulate.
Maybe it was that he looked sculpted, even in his casual jeans and T-shirt, both flecked with paint, with his hair mussed from the ocean breeze.
Maybe it was the way that I could see how his magic glimmered around him – even if he rarely used it, unlike Finn, who argued that it was malpractice not to show off your built-in party trick at every possible opportunity.
Maybe it was that when I looked at Noah, I saw someone who felt and cared deeply – and the fact that I could be the subject of that emotion made me anxious.
‘Floppy-eared dogs are my type of dog,’ I said at last. ‘The sillier, the better. Or an agility dog. I could write about it for the paper.’
‘Is dog agility part of your usual beat?’
I chuckled. ‘When you have a newspaper pretty much run by two people, anything goes. If there’s movement involved, it’s fair game.’
‘Rubik’s Cube speed-cubing?’
‘I reported on that last year.’
Noah laughed. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in a while: deep and musical, and with a timbre that made the hairs on my bare arms stand up.
Now even more self-conscious, I drank my cider too quickly, spilling it down my dress. Magic crackled at my fingertips, but Noah got to it first. With a snap of his fingers, he used his own magic to lift the spill before it could stain or pucker the fabric.
‘Thanks,’ I said awkwardly. It wasn’t lost on me that, in spite of his hesitancy to use magic, he’d acted quickly on my behalf.
‘It’s a pretty dress,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to ruin it.’
There was a beat as he gazed at me.
‘Molly,’ he began quietly, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket. I leaned closer, waiting to hear what he was about to say.
But he was interrupted by a commotion behind us.
‘Ooh, back just in time!’ cried Rosie, hurrying up with a giant cinnamon roll in one hand. The other was looped around Mom’s arm. Tiff, meanwhile, clung to Mom’s other arm, and together they were a floral, witchy chain. A tipsy one at that.
I smiled – rarely were Mom and Tiff carefree and giggly. The Summerween festivities were one of the few times they allowed themselves to drop their facade of perfectionism and productivity. Mom didn’t even have her Bluetooth earpiece in.
‘Finn’ll be on stage any second now,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s up after the Bangles cover band. They’re not bad, are they? The Bracelets. Takes me back to my big-haired, big-earringed prime.’
‘You’re still in your big-haired, big-earringed prime,’ I told Rosie, giving her a hug.
‘Spoken just like Charlie,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m glad you’ve taken on the responsibility of talking me up.’
‘It’s an honour, not a responsibility,’ I teased, giving her hand a squeeze.
‘You should join Finn up there, Noah,’ said Tiff with uncharacteristic verve. She’d clearly had more than her usual single drink. Poor Damien. It sounded like he might miss his FaceTime tonight. ‘I’ve heard you singing in the shower. You’re not entirely tone deaf.’
I flushed, trying to avoid thinking of Noah in the shower.
‘I’d rather bite my own toenails,’ said Noah, grimacing.
Well, there went the naked shower visual.
‘Funny you should say that,’ said Tiff, ‘because Molly used to do that as a child.’
I had to say, I preferred it when Tiff erred on the side of moderation.
‘Thanks for that, Tiff,’ I said cheerfully, with a look that said she’d better watch out, or she might find her bed magically short-sheeted tonight.
The Bangles cover band were halfway through a decent rendition of ‘Hazy Shade of Winter’, which they’d announced would be their last song.
All around, festival-goers were up and about, singing along, and an all-ages dance circle had formed in front of the stage.
I laughed as I watched toddlers bop around alongside teenagers and grannies, all of them in costume – everything from cutesy pumpkin outfits to witchy gowns.
Some weren’t bad: there were a few teens who were managing a solid attempt at West Coast Swing, which I’d dabbled in during college.
The song ended with a crashing of guitars, and the band stepped aside for Finn, who had his shirt half-unbuttoned and his guitar slung casually over his shoulder.
‘Hello, abs,’ said Tiff. She clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘Don’t tell Damien I said that.’
‘Your six-pack’s safe with me,’ I whispered, bursting into giggles.
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Tiff.
The sunset was in its full glory now, and the sky was striped with red, pink and purple. It was a magnificent backdrop, and one that lit Finn up in a way that gave him an ethereal, almost faun-like appearance.
Seeing us in the crowd, he pointed, then gave a wink that made a few of the college-aged girls in the crowd shriek and titter. And some of their moms, as well.
‘Give ’em hell, hon!’ shouted Rosie, waving a sparkler she’d produced from the picnic basket. Mom squealed as it got too close to the cheese, melting the edge of the gouda.
Adjusting the microphone, Finn softly strummed the guitar. The gentle notes of the instrument rang out against the clear night, and a murmur went up among the crowd. Candles and phone flashlights lit up the dusky air, sparkling alongside the glitter of the setting sun on the ocean below us.
Finn played a bum note, then chuckled. ‘Sorry. I probably should’ve practised.’
A murmur of amusement went up through the crowd; Rosie shook her head ruefully. Trust Finn to admit something like that and receive positive feedback.
After a few attempts, he found his way into the song.
‘Ah, there we go,’ he said, nodding as the crowd clapped along.
Lara came swooping in, pulling me to my feet. ‘Looks like he’s playing your song, babe.’
She was right: it was a ballad I’d heard Finn play dozens of times over the years, usually around a beachside bonfire or out on the back lawn of the Pink House.
‘No luck with Mr Wall Street?’ I asked tipsily, glancing around for the guy I’d last seen her with.
‘The night’s still early,’ said Lara, slightly cagily.
The ciders had gone to my head, and I let out a whoop that set off a few other nearby cheers.
‘Very restrained, Molly.’ Lara’s moon-shaped face paint sparkled on her cheek, glowing with the gentle magic the artist had imbued it with. Seeing me staring at it, she tapped her cheek, then pointed at Noah. ‘Shame you weren’t on face-painting duty tonight.’
‘I’m … off the clock,’ said Noah, knitting his hands together. ‘And I don’t have my paints.’
I flushed. The thought of Noah’s hands on my face, even if it were for something as trivial as face painting, was almost too much to bear.
Lara passed him her makeup case. ‘That’s better than your paints. Don’t touch the pink lipstick, though. The colour is discontinued. I bought that tube off eBay for a criminal amount.’
‘Go on, Noah. Don’t be a wet blanket,’ said Rosie, who’d just sloshed her punch all over the blanket. She giggled. ‘See? Not like that.’