Chapter 18
Now he’s backing away? —Milo Warner
I am going to murder Ezra Morehouse.
Okay, I’m not actually going to murder him. I’m a doctor, and I take my Hippocratic Oath very seriously. First do no harm, and all that.
But right now, I’m having a lot of other fantasies about what kind of potential Hippocratic Oath-endorsed torture I’d like to put him through.
That bastard. I’m one hundred percent sure he’s the one who sent those flowers, and I am beyond livid right now.
How fucking dare he pull that kind of shit?
I’m so full of pent-up anger I can barely speak.
We’ve made most of the rest of the drive to Montpelier in silence, and now, as we move through the main streets of Vermont’s capital, the car is still quiet.
Noah clears his throat and speaks first. “Wow. Montpelier is a lot smaller than Albany.”
“Only state capital in the country without a McDonald’s, I think?
Or they have some weird claim to fame like that.
” The GPS orders us down some cross streets to a series of buildings that look surprisingly commercial.
Must be a mix of businesses and government buildings on this street.
Signs dot various windows. KEEP VERMONT WEIRD, one of them reads.
A giant sign in another window says TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS.
Huh. Hopefully that means that the community center’s public support of the LGBTIA2S+ community isn’t the reason we keep getting our funding denied.
Dogs aren’t allowed in the agency, but it’s a cool day outside, so we leave Bear with some chew toys and lowered windows and head for the building together.
We navigate through winding hallways, following the directions to a small door marked AGENCY OF COMMUNITY DEVELOPMENT.
“Walk in behind me?” I ask Noah. We’re heading into unchartered territory here, and protective Milo is ready.
Noah sighs. “Stop being so perfect all the time, okay? But yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
I push the door open, and Noah follows me inside.
The office is tiny. There’s a large counter at the front, and I can see cubicles and a few doorways behind it.
No windows are in sight. Dang. Maybe the drab office views have made the workers in this agency so moody that they deny all grants out of life frustration.
Standing behind the front counter is a guy around Noah’s age, maybe a few years younger.
He’s a little taller than Noah, but about the same build, and he’s got chestnut hair and green eyes.
His blue button-up shirt has a stain under the collar, and over the top of the counter, I can see he’s got on a scuffed pair of ancient Nikes under frayed jeans.
He’s wearing a name tag that says SCOUT in large black letters.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
“We’re here about some community grant applications that keep being denied for very odd reasons,” I tell him.
Scout’s face instantly goes a shade paler. Huh. That’s interesting. He swallows. “Uh, grant denials? Um, yeah. We can look into that.” He taps the mouse at his computer station. “What’s the name on the application?”
“Gabe Gomez, for the Devon Falls Community Center.”
Scout purses his lips and winces, and Noah sidles up next to me as he flashes me a look. Good. I’m not the only person who thinks something weird is going on around here.
“Hello there.” A tall blonde woman with a perfect linen pantsuit and matching manicure appears out of an office doorway. “May I help you?”
Scout whirls around to look at her. “Mrs. Perry, more people are here from the Devon Falls Community Center.”
There’s a minute of quick, unspoken communication between them that I can’t fully read, but Mrs. Perry’s eyes narrow before she turns to look at me and Noah.
“Ah, yes. I already spoke to a Mr. Gabe Gomez about your applications. Grants for new after-school programs are not always awarded, as I told Mr. Gomez. We award them whenever possible, but there have been issues in each application you’ve sent us. ”
I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s why we’re here. The reasons you’ve sent our application back still aren’t making any sense. We’d like to talk to you again.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Perry’s smile is as fake as the nails she’s wearing, and it’s clearer than ever something very strange is going on here. “Not a problem at all. Let’s go back to my office, shall we? Your name is?”
“Dr. Milo Warner,” I tell her, adding just a little bit of emphasis to the word doctor, because all those years of medical school mean I can. “And this is my colleague, Noah Hardaway. He’s the social worker at our community center.”
I gesture toward Noah, but he’s looking back and forth between me and Mrs. Perry. “Milo,” he says. “I think I’ll wait out here, if that’s okay? While you talk to Mrs. Perry?”
Oh, shit. He was the one who wanted to come down here and take the lead on this conversation. Now he’s backing away? I pushed him too hard in that conversation in the car, didn’t I?
Fuck. My inner alpha pushed Noah over some kind of edge, and I didn’t even notice. Fuckfuckfuck. “Everything okay?” I ask Noah, keeping my voice low.
“Fine,” he says clearly. “I’ll be right out here at the front counter, okay?”
There’s no way in hell I want to leave him alone in this office, and Noah knows more about this grant application than me right now, but the last thing I want to do is make him even more uncomfortable. “Okay, sure,” I finally agree. “Find us if you change your mind.”
Mrs. Perry leads us into a tiny office, barely big enough to fit a desk and two chairs. There’s a window here, at least, but the view of the parking lot next to us isn’t exactly showing off prime Vermont landscapes.
“You’re connected to Mr. Gomez’s center?
” Mrs. Perry smiles as she takes a seat at her desk and gestures for me to sit in the chair.
“Yes, I’m afraid the paperwork he’s been sending us has been highly disorganized.
He’s very young, isn’t he?” She makes a tsking sound with her tongue.
“Perhaps he isn’t quite ready for a leadership role. ”
“Excuse me?” I lean forward in my chair.
“Gabe Gomez and I have spent months getting this center ready to open, and I’ve seen his leadership on full display every single day.
And your agency, I know, has an excellent reputation for helping after-school programs get up and running.
If our paperwork still isn’t in the order you want it in, we’d love your help getting that problem solved, Mrs. Perry. ”
Her eyes narrow until they’re sharp and distant. “Our agency isn’t a bank, Dr. Warner. We help communities worthy of and ready for these programs to get them up and running.” She leans forward until our gazes are even. “It seems clear Devon Falls simply isn’t ready.”
What is up with this woman, and why does she have so much disdain for Gabe and our center?
I feel like I’ve been dropped right into the middle of the plot of a book without reading the beginning.
I take a deep breath and work to channel my mother.
What would she do right now? Turn on the charm, of course, until she got the rest of the story.
I lean back in my seat and send a relaxed smile across the desk.
“Mrs. Perry, maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. We both want the same thing, right? You want communities in Vermont to have strong after-school programs, and we want the Devon Falls Community Center to host one of those programs.”
Her smile stays thin and tight. “I want the right communities to have those programs, yes.”
Okay, now I’m stuck again. I’m churning through new strategies to adjust this conversation, focusing my brain onto memories of some of the most difficult patients I’ve worked with over the years, when there’s a knock at the open door of the office.
We both look up at once. Noah’s standing there, smiling at us. But there’s something at the edge of that smile… mischief, maybe?
“Mrs. Perry,” he says. “Scout and I were just talking at the front desk. He told me you’re from Coeville, Vermont?”
Her barely there smile stays in place. “I am. Born and bred, thank you,” she adds proudly.
Noah nods and leans against the doorway, crossing one of his Converse sneakers—those Chucks of his that he wears every single day without fail—over the other. “That’s great. Coeville has a harvest festival that’s really popular, right? One of the more popular festivals in the state?”
I’ve got no idea where Noah is going with any of this, and that overprotective alpha side of me feels some nerves, watching whatever’s happening right now play out in front of me.
But there’s another part of me watching Noah, seeing the confidence in his stance, hearing it in his voice, that feels nothing but pride.
“It’s an incredibly popular festival.” Mrs. Perry laces her hands together. “The best in the state, I’d say.”
“I looked it up on my phone,” Noah goes on.
“It sounds great. But while I was reading about it, I saw that the Coeville Harvest Festival can’t quite match the attendance numbers of the Devon Falls Leaf Festival, no matter how hard they try.
” He frowns. “That’s too bad. I even saw some posts online saying there are a few people in Coeville who resent Devon Falls and what we’ve been able to do up there with our festival. ”
I don’t miss the we in his sentence, and I smile. Noah’s never even been to a leaf festival in Devon Falls, but that town does have a way of claiming new residents. “Interesting,” I say.
“I thought so.” Noah shrugs. “You know, given that rivalry, I’m thinking that it might be a conflict of interest to have someone from Coeville reviewing an application for a grant that’s supposed to go to Devon Falls.
You’d probably agree.” He holds out a business card he’s picked up from somewhere.
“This is your supervisor, right? I see their email and phone number here. I’m thinking I’ll just call them, tell them about the problems we’re having, and explain that I’m worried about this conflict of interest. Then they can do a review for us, and we can get out of your hair. How’s that sound, Mrs. Perry?”
It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing as Mrs. Perry just stares at Noah while the fake smile drips down, away from her face.
“There’s no need to call my supervisor,” she finally says.
“No need at all.” She turns to look at her computer, and a few minutes later, her plastic smile is fully back in place.
“I think we can make sure that grant is awarded today. After all, every community deserves a good after-school program, doesn’t it? ”
My eyes are glued to Noah as he says, “Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t agree more.”
“How did you do that?” I ask Noah, as the two of us sit at an outside table at some restaurant known for its crêpes, of all things, devouring turkey and ham wrapped in thin pancake dough while Bear sits underneath us, occasionally glancing up with great hope that we’ll drop some crumbs. “What even was that, Chucks?”
Noah “accidentally” lets a piece of cheese fall from his hand, and Bear grabs it mid-air.
“We both knew something was up when we first walked in, right?” He takes a sip of water and smiles.
“I had this feeling I could get that guy Scout to clue me in if I could get him alone. So I nudged him a little, and he caved pretty quickly.” Noah shakes his head.
“We do need to file a formal complaint with the state. Scout makes it sound like she’s been denying other applications for other towns that she sees as a threat to Coeville.
And Scout can’t say anything. He’s too afraid of losing his job.
” He snorts. “And by the way, Scout says Coeville’s festival is a totally subpar festival. They don’t even have a parade!”
I laugh out loud.
“Anyway,” Noah goes on. “I figured the complaints could wait until after we got the grant, so I thought I’d try a little gentle persuasion. And it worked.”
“Of course it worked, Chucks.” I point my crêpe at him.
“You were brilliant back there. Fucking brilliant. If we weren’t sitting in the middle of a crowded square in the capital city of Vermont, I’d show you just how impressed I was.
” Noah laughs. “Seriously, though,” I tell him.
“Remember what I said in the car, about you being one of the strongest people I’ve ever met?
” His cheeks turn slightly pink. “That was strong as hell,” I tell him.
I drop my crêpe and take his hand, rubbing the tops of his fingers with mine. “You’re amazing, Noah Hardaway.”
Noah frowns as he looks down at where our hands are locked together. And then, suddenly, he pulls his hand away from mine.
“Everything okay?” I ask him as he pushes his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
“More than okay,” he says steadily. He types on his phone for a moment, and then he holds up the screen to show me a drafted text.
To his father.
Noah
Uncle Stan, I need to tell you something. I didn’t send you those flowers. I think it was Ezra who sent them. He’s done some other things I should tell you about. Call me so we can talk, okay?
“Whoa,” I whisper. I sit back in my seat, giving him my full attention. “Are you sure you’re ready to send that, Chucks?”
Noah chews at his lip as he looks down at his phone. “No one’s ever called me strong before,” he finally says. Quietly. Oh, so quietly. “Not until you, Milo.”
And then he hits the send button.