54. Noelle #2
I breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. I was still hated by the town mascot. As it should be. Balance was restored to the world.
“Mind if I steal my girlfriend?” Cal’s strong arm looped around my waist. “I have to man the kissing booth and need a partner.”
Mrs. Gulliver gasped in horror, hand to her chest, clutching her pearls. Yes, literal pearls. “Kissing booth? That sounds scandalous!”
“Oh, you have no idea.” Cal smirked. “Excuse us.”
“Cal!” I hissed, trying to hold back a laugh as he carefully dragged me away from the woman. “She’s going to think you’re a rogue.” And send her to an early grave if you keep insisting on PDA. Not that I was complaining—about the PDA, that was.
“Oh, I am, sweetheart, but not that kind.” He winked at me, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honour.”
He was never a Scout, and we both knew it. “So you aren’t stealing me away to make out?”
“Well, that was an excuse, but I’m game if you are.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I swatted his chest. “I have a potluck to run. And there is no kissing booth.”
“I know. I came to kiss you for good luck before these kids whoop my hide.”
Right, the community hockey game. “Everything’s in order? No hiccups?”
“I told you I had it sorted.” Cal squeezed my hand. “Someone’s gotta teach the whippersnappers something.”
“Okay, now you’re starting to sound like Macy.”
“You’ve got good friends, Elle.”
“I really do.” I smiled. “And I’ve got a really great boyfriend who keeps his promises.”
“Oh yeah? Did he promise to kiss his incredible, kindhearted, brilliant girlfriend? Because he absolutely should have.” Cal smirked, leaning down. Our lips brushed and—
“Daddy!”
Cal groaned, pressing his forehead to mine as Khia ran towards us. “I love her to death, but I swear I’ll never get to kiss you at this rate.”
“Come find me later?”
“Always.” He snuck in another quick kiss. Far too short, but a promise of things to come. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I love you, three!” Khia added, grinning up at us.
My heart skipped with happiness as I watched my two favourite people in the world walk hand in hand down the street towards the community center where the fundraiser game was being held.
An arm looped through mine. “Admiring the view?”
“It’s a nice view.” I chuckled, nudging Juliet with my shoulder. “How are you feeling? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
After the day at the pumpkin patch, Juliet’s midwife insisted she take it easy. Which was akin to trying to stable a wild horse.
Juliet scrunched her nose. “I wanted pie. But I promised Myles I wouldn’t overdo it. I figured if he saw me with you, he’d be less inclined to worry.”
“You’re actually pretty sweet, you know that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I must be losing my edge.” Then she sighed. “But I wouldn’t purposely worry him for the world.” Her posture softened. “He already stresses too much.”
“I’ve got you, sis.”
Together, we wandered down the street. Laughter permeated the air from the bobbing-for-apples booth, and a little farther down, the fire station had a doughnuts-on-a-string challenge going on.
Jamie and Brooks were getting a little too competitive as they simultaneously tried chomping on pastries while shoving each other.
But they had a fan group cheering them on—all of the pint-sized variety.
Tables were littered with plaid plastic tablecloths fluttering in the breeze. The potluck would start in a little over an hour, once the guys finished with the hockey game.
After Juliet snuck her two pieces of pie, I walked her back towards the apartment above Bean There, Done That. We made it past Donovan’s Downto’n when a flashy Mercedes peeled to a stop farther down Main Street where the blockades were set up.
“Where’s Dallas when you need him?” Juliet muttered, gripping my arm more tightly and glancing around for her law enforcement oldest brother. “That idiot doesn’t know how to drive.”
“Dallas or Mr. Mercedes?” I teased.
“You’re one to talk, Miss Mailbox.”
I gasped. “I thought that was a secret!”
“I may have wheedled it out of him with a plate of my cream puffs.”
“Typical Jules.” I chuckled and consulted my clipboard to see which booth I needed to check on next.
“Noelle!”
My head shot up at the familiar voice—a very unwelcome voice. Ice skittered through my veins, freezing me in place like I was Princess Anna. “Nate?” I croaked.
“Your ex?” Juliet stiffened beside me as the impeccably dressed man strode towards us.
Nate Perkins could have been modeling for a GQ magazine in his loafers and peacoat. Actually, I think he had once.
“Why is he here?” Macy hissed, appearing with a funnel cake in one hand and apple cider in the other. “Doesn’t he have other victims to harass? And I didn’t think you told him about this place?”
“I didn’t,” I whispered, leaning heavily on my cane. For some reason, sharing Serenity Springs with Nate felt like tainting a memory, so I’d kept my hometown close to my chest while we’d dated. So how did he find me?
Macy glared darts at him. “I’m going to find your man,” she hissed. “Please punch Nate for me.” And she vanished.
Nate stopped in front of me, ignoring Juliet at my side. “So this is where you ran away to. Charming.” He said charming with the same condescending tone someone used to describe a child’s scribbled drawing.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
He puffed his chest like a rooster prepared to cock-a-doodle-doo. I’d have taken a screaming banshee over him any day. “I’m here for an exclusive.”
“Excuse me?” Clearly, I was hallucinating, and my ex was not in fact standing in front of me, phone in hand, ready to record our conversation like the reporter he was. We were a bowl of popcorn short of a vaudeville show.
“You and Cal Satterfield. Rather mercenary of you, isn’t it?” Nate shifted the leather satchel slung on his shoulder. “What makes you think he’d want anything to do with someone like you?”
My ears buzzed. “Someone like me?” Call me Polly the Parrot, but I couldn’t stop myself. The brain fog I’d been pushing through all day had turned my faculties into a floppy disk while everyone else was running on high-speed internet.
Nate shot me a patronizing look, eyeing me from curly hair to my comfortable Converse. “You’re wholesome enough, but nothing like the women he’s been connected to in the past. And men always have a type.”
“Who do you think you are?” Juliet demanded, breaking into the conversation.
“Nate Perkins, of the New York Perkins,” he said smoothly. “Reporter with the New York Record.”
“Let me rephrase,” Juliet said with a sharp smile. Even with the pie she was gripping, she was downright terrifying. “What are you doing in this town, harassing this woman?”
“Harassing?” he tutted. “It’s a free world. Freedom of speech.”
“I’ll show you freedom of speech—”
I gripped Juliet’s forearm, silently asking her to let me handle this.
She refrained from whatever harangue she was about to launch, but her face did enough talking.
She was giving her best Dorothy from The Golden Girls scowl, and it was glorious.
If it came to a fight, my money was on her, hands down.
“What made you think I’d talk to you about any of this?” I asked, giving a vague wave. “We broke up.”
Nate shrugged. “I saw your picture in the papers. News of your little . . . conquest traveled fast. And so here I am.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“C’mon, Noelle. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame.” He eyed the cane. “You weren’t using that in the picture. I thought you were better after your . . . episode.”
Those invasive paparazzi photos would be the death of me. I gritted my teeth. “That’s not how chronic illness works. And you would know that if you’d been paying attention to anything beyond your own nose.”