Chapter Seven Ezra #2
Noah sighs. “I think if it were anyone else, I might be, but Summer is cool. I mean, it’s not like we ever hung out a lot or anything, but she was around a bit when Izzy was still in high school, since they all used to hang out.
I always liked her. She didn’t annoy me as much as the other girls did. ”
“Even Odette?”
He smirks. “Especially Odette.”
I chuckle. If I were to believe in love, then I could get behind something like what Noah and Odette have. It seems kind of . . . fun.
But I don’t believe in it. It’s never felt like something that’s been in the cards for me, and even less so now that I have this screwed-up hip.
I don’t want to burden anyone else with it.
Who would want to deal with the endless doctors’ appointments, physical therapy, and someone in pain every day for the rest of their life?
Nobody. Hell, I don’t even want to deal with all that shit, but it’s my life now, so I guess I have to.
“But Odette isn’t who we’re talking about now. We’re talking about you and that damn lead foot of yours.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you got pulled over again.”
I lift my brows in a silent Really? This is what you can’t believe? sort of way.
He laughs. “All right, I retract that statement. I definitely can believe it. I just wish . . . fuck, man. I don’t know.
I get it. I do. It makes you feel alive, gives you back that rush you got from hockey.
But it doesn’t mean that I like it, and I don’t just mean for our reputation.
It’s dangerous. Something could happen.”
He’s wrong. He doesn’t get it. Unless you’ve had the thing you love ripped away from you on a moment’s notice, then you don’t know.
If only I had turned just slightly when I took that hit. Or if I hadn’t gone so hard after the puck. Everything would be different.
But it’s not.
“Something could happen to anyone at any time. What’s the harm in having a little fun until it does?”
Noah levels me with a look, and it has me sitting up a little straighter in my chair.
I nod once. “All right. I’ll cool off. You happy?”
“Very. Now,” he says, sitting forward, folding his hands together over his knees, “let’s address the other elephant in the room . . .”
I tip my head to the side, because I’m not aware we had another one. “What’s that?”
“The pinball machines!”
I grin. “I have eight ordered so far. Trying to find at least a few more to start things over, gauge interest, you know? Figured we’d go from there.”
“Solid. I approve of this.”
“Good. And things are going well over at the iceplex? Looked good to me today, but they could have been putting on a front.”
“That’s because everyone’s scared of you.”
I open my mouth to argue before I realize he’s not wrong. I’m well aware that my employees call me Grump Ass behind my back, and I’m perfectly fine with it. If it means they’re doing what they’re hired to do, then so be it.
Is that what Summer calls me too?
I don’t know where the thought comes from or why it matters, so I shove it away.
“But you’d be correct,” Noah continues. “Things are great there. Don’t have a single complaint.”
“The kids were really happy today.”
“Good, and that’s all that matters. As long as the kids are happy and have a place, then I’m good.”
I nod in agreement. It’s the whole reason we’re doing the iceplex. I’ll drain whatever resources we have to keep it going for as long as possible. I don’t care what it costs to give the game to someone else, the way it was given to me. It changed my life too much not to do it.
We’re quiet for a moment, and that one thing that’s been sitting in the back of my mind all day rears its head.
I clear my throat, trying to bring it up as casually as possible.
“Did you know Summer is a chef?”
Noah’s eyes narrow for only a moment before he says, “Yes, I did. It’s why I was so surprised to see her working here. She has to have better places to be than slinging cider for us. There’s no way we’re the only place that would hire her.”
“I don’t think we are.”
Not by a long shot, actually. But she claims she’s here for her father, and while I do believe that, I think there’s another reason for her coming back to Port Harbor.
“So what’s she doing here then? I mean, besides Sheriff Turner forcing you to hire her?”
“No clue, but it doesn’t mean we can’t take advantage of it, no?”
Noah looks at me skeptically. “What exactly are you proposing, Ez?”
I sit forward, resting my hands on the desk. “I think we should overhaul the kitchen.”
“Ha. Very funny. Clever joke, Ez.”
When I say nothing, he takes it as a sign that I most definitely am not joking.
“Holy shit, you’re not joking.” He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a puff of air. “You mean after the wedding, right? My wedding that we’re holding here in ten weeks?”
When I say nothing, Noah barks out a laugh.
“You mean now, don’t you?”
“Yes, but only because I think it’s the best time.
It could be a trial run.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I point at him and keep going.
“You and I both know that Odette has everything planned to the very last detail, including several backup options just in case.” Noah agrees with a nod, then motions for me to continue.
“If something went wrong, we’d be set. But it won’t go wrong.
I bet we could have this place turned around in a month, which leaves us plenty of time to work out the kinks for the big day. ”
He looks apprehensive, and I get it. It’s a big undertaking. I keep swearing I’m not taking on new projects, but this just seems like too good an opportunity to pass up. Besides, the arcade is nearly finished, so that’s a major task off my list. I can shift my focus to the kitchen.
“Not having a proper kitchen has been our number one issue with the wedding venue side of things since the beginning,” Noah remarks, and I know I’ve got him on board.
“Most people either cater their own food or have food trucks. We could bring that back in-house. Charge more. It would be a win-win.”
“Exactly my thinking. And I’ve already run the numbers. We’d break even within six months, maybe less, especially if we have a killer menu. And we have someone right under our noses that could make it.”
“Which is why you brought up Summer being a chef.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Fuck, man. You’re good. I’ll give you that.”
He contemplates the proposition for a moment, turning it over in his mind.
Finally, after a few quiet minutes, he says, “Honestly, it’s a good idea.
Probably something we should have done sooner, considering I don’t even grab food off our menu.
That’s likely a sign we should be doing something else.
While the timeline scares the shit out of me, if we could get it done, then I think it’d take a lot of stress off Odette’s shoulders. We’d just need Summer on board.”
“That’ll be easy. She, uh, she made some food the other night when I was working late, and fuck, dude. It was good. Like some of the best I’ve ever had. I don’t think we’ll have any issue convincing her to get on board.”
His brows lift. “She cooked for you?”
Images of Summer sitting up on that counter with me between her legs run through my mind on fast-forward.
I blink them away. “Yeah. So? She’s a chef. That’s what she does.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm? What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like a whole lot of something, and I want to ask him just what he means, but he speaks before I can. “Look, do you need me to stick around tonight?”
“Nah, man. It’s Friday. I’m sure you have something better to be doing than worrying about the cidery. Go home to your girl.”
He sags back in relief, then grins. “Thanks, Ez. You’re a nice guy, you know that?”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously.”
He laughs, then rises from the chair and makes his way to the door.
With his hand on the knob, he turns. I stare up at him, waiting for whatever it is that he’s going to say.
I have a feeling I’m not going to like it one bit, so I brace myself as best I can.
“Summer’s really nice, isn’t she?”
Fuck. Here we go.
“She’s . . . fine.”
I hate how I notice that Noah’s lips slowly pull into a grin and how his eyes get that obnoxious knowing look in them.
I hate that he’s looking at me at all.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I grumble.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Oh boy. This is going to be fun.”
“What’s going to be fun? What are you talking about?”
He just laughs harder as he pulls open the door, and all it does is piss me off.
“Noah!” I call to him as he exits my office. “What’s going to be fun?!”
But he doesn’t answer. His shoulders shake as he disappears down the hall and back into the taproom, leaving me sitting at my desk and wondering just what the hell it is that I might have gotten myself into.
And why do I have a bad feeling about it?