6. Willa
CHAPTER 6
WILLA
“Is this the only table you have available?”
My eyes cannot be deceiving me. I’m standing in a restaurant with no one else in it, save another couple at the opposite end of the room. Surely the only table they have for me to sit at is not the one that happens to be directly beside Noah? Not to mention the fact the place is small enough I’d practically be sitting at his table anyway, the tables are that close to one another.
The young girl looks at me woefully. “I’m really sorry, but we’re full with reservations tonight.” Her tone is apologetic, and she’s young, so I’m not going to debate the situation … but still. The odds. I flex my hands, stretch my fingers, and take a deep breath, trying to fight back my irritation when I see a sliver of my tattoo under my sleeve.
Believe. Ha. I almost snort out loud. How about I believe I’m Harry Potter and I cast a quick spell to time travel to another restaurant in another town altogether?
“What about the bar?” I nod my head toward the old wooden bar where an older woman is busy making drinks and watching me through narrowed eyes. “Looks like there’s space there.”
“Our bartender isn’t on duty for another hour.” When I shoot her a questioning look, obviously confused by the woman pouring herself a soda from the beverage gun, the young girl stammers. “I’ve been asked to not have anyone sit there until his shift begins.”
So this fact leaves me to be seated by the blight that plagues me. Yes, I’m being ridiculously overdramatic, but the thought of chewing my dinner and having to stare at Noah, or work hard to look anywhere in this room besides at Noah, turns me off in the biggest way. Like a light switch after a big night out. I didn’t go to that party tonight because I wanted some time alone, time to myself to plan out the schedule I need to juggle in the days ahead.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh, pulling out my notebook and phone. When I look Noah’s way, he’s watching me, his expression frozen. I can’t read him, but he could be as weirded out that I’m about to be seated beside him as I am. I’ll save us both the trouble. I pick the chair where my back will be facing him and pull it out and settle in.
The hostess hands me the menu and asks for a drink order before she disappears from sight. I make a mental note to apologize to her. Poor thing. It’s not her fault she’s seated me next to the devil.
“Hi, Willa.” Of course his voice is like hot chocolate. The devil’s would be velvety and delicious. My instincts tell me to ignore him, but I’m here to work. I can hear my mom’s voice in the back of my mind telling me to play nice.
I pick up the menu and fake peruse it. Fake because of course I can’t think about anything else right now except that he’s right there.
“Hello, Noah. Fancy running into you at dinner.”
“A man’s gotta eat,” he responds.
“No doubt, but when I heard about the party happening in town tonight, I figured you’d be the first one signed up to be there.” I flip a page of the menu a little more aggressively than intended and manage to rip it a tiny bit. Must. Breathe .
“Contrary to past reports, I’m not the guy who goes to all the parties any longer.”
I want to turn around and face him, see the look on his face, but the stubborn part of me refuses. He’s the one who is engaging me; I can only imagine that eventually my lack of wanting to chat will catch on and he’ll focus on something else.
“So, you’re telling me a leopard can change his spots. That’s nice,” I manage to say, doubt dripping with each word. Holding my menu up in the air for him to see. “But, the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned. If you’ll excuse me, I need to decide on my meal.”
There’s a pause before he answers. “Of course, sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”
A weight slides off my shoulders. Was it really that easy? I decide it has to be and go about choosing my meal, landing on the lasagna, then turning my attention to my notebook. This was to be a planning session for Noah’s photos amongst other work, and I intend to stay focused, even if he is right behind me and I can hear him breathing.
I started making a list of places I’d scouted around town over the past few days, hoping to run it past him and see if anything connects for him as well. Of course we’ll do the obvious photos in the arena and get shots of Noah at practice and on the ice with his team, but it’s the pictures of him doing whatever Noah does that my editor and the Athletic Edge readers are going to want.
Time of day is important, too, so I start dividing up shots I can do in the late afternoon when the sun is going down and its natural filter is at its best, and another column for early morning shots that would add a layer of warmth and illumination to the visual. I love getting up for early morning runs, and I’d noticed steam rising from the stream in the park in town this morning. That could add a romantic feel to some of the pictures if he’s able to meet me at that time.
Ugh. Noah and romance? Come on .
I’m not sure how long I’ve had my head down, but the sound of a voice beside me startles me and pulls me out of my haze.
“Excuse me, but are you ready to order?”
Finding a server prepared with pen and paper, I nod. “I’ll have the lasagna, please.”
“That’s one of the best dishes,” he murmurs in agreement with my choice, scribbling down the order on his pad. “We’ll get your order in now.”
Handing the menu back, I thank the man and wait for him to walk off, but instead, he shuffles to the table behind me.
“Sir, your order will be coming out later than intended.” The poor guy, I can hear regret in the server’s voice. As someone who waited tables for a long time while I was in college, I get it. Telling someone that their dinner is running late is not the best experience, especially if they’re hungry. “Our sincerest apologies, but the lasagna is just now in the oven.”
“Totally cool, may I have some more bread while I’m waiting?” Noah’s voice is calm, patient. Kind.
“Of course. We’ll also be happy to comp your meal because of the issue,” the man begins, but Noah pipes in quickly.
“No. That’s okay. I’m fine waiting.” He clears his throat before raising his voice a touch and saying, “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Okay, Beaumont. I feel like you’re talking at me now, but still … not going to play into it. I put my head back down and go back to planning out some shots. Classical Italian music plays softly in the background, and more people are slowly beginning to make their way through the door. It seems the hostess was right about the reservations; the tables around us are filling up with a little more speed now.
As I lift my iced tea to my lips to take a sip, I can feel someone’s breath on my cheek. A hand reaches over my shoulder and a lone finger taps on Noah’s name, which is at the top of my sheet.
“Are you writing in your diary about me? ”
I fight to keep the iced tea in my mouth, for fear of spitting it out not only on my notebook, thus ruining the work I’ve been trying to do, but also putting out the tiny candle that’s on the table in front of me. Of course, on second glance, I realize I could have sprayed away: it appears the candle is battery-operated.
“Why are you hovering over me and invading my space?” I snap, placing my glass back on the table and whipping my head around to face him. Only I find myself mere inches from his face, our lips almost touching.
“Because, I feel like we need to clear the air, and what better way to do it,” he says as he steps back and holds his hands out at his sides. “We’re in a not-so-crowded restaurant, together. We can literally break bread.”
“It’s not like we’re on a date,” I snarl. Man, I’m cranky. I’m starting to annoy myself.
“No, we’re not, because if we were, you would know,” he says, winking as he pulls out the chair opposite of mine.
“Please, go ahead and sit down,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “Not like I’m sitting here working or anything so trivial.”
If he hears me, he’s great at ignoring me. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you when I first saw you.”
“Riveting. Was I supposed to make sure you knew I had contacts now?”
“Ah-ha!” He snaps his fingers. “I thought it was contacts.” He points to his hair, then flicks a finger my way. “Your hair was shorter. Blonde?”
I let out a dramatic sigh. If I knew this was how my meal was going to go, I would never have left my hotel room, I’d have ordered room service. “Yes, it was. I guess … good for you that you noticed?”
“I definitely noticed you,” he says quietly, catching my gaze before he pulls his eyes away. Noah then nods at my notebook. “Is that for the Athletic Edge stuff we have to do? ”
Tapping my foot on the floor, I let out a heavy sigh. Again, Mom’s words reverberate in my head: Play nice .
“Yes, it is. I’ve been scouting places in Maple Falls for us. My thought is that I get a list together then go over it with you, see what you feel is doable.” Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I sit back in my seat, an attempt at placing more distance between us. “Or should I have my people call your people and we go from there? As long as your people don’t try to blacklist me this time, that is.”
There it is, I pulled back the bow and let the arrow go. I wait for another flash of recognition to appear on his features, but when it doesn’t, I feel a weird flip in my tummy.
Noah’s face twists with confusion as he looks at the wall behind me, chewing his cheek and drawing my attention to his jawline. It’s strong, sharp, and well-defined. Part of me makes a mental note “for the photos” and another part of me just … likes it.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, tapping a finger on the table in front of me. “These comments about ‘my people’ doing something to you.”
Here we go. Of course he’s going to defend them. “What about my comments?”
Noah’s hazel eyes flash bright green as he speaks. “I’m kind of in the dark about them. You said the other night at the media event that my PR team blacklisted you.”
Grabbing my glass, I take another sip of iced tea to wet my whistle. Funny how my mouth goes ridiculously dry when I get nervous. “Yep. That’s pretty much what happened. You showed up a mess, as we both know, and when I asked you to leave …”
“I think you kicked me off your set, if memory serves?” he says, a smile playing on his lips.
“Whatever. Yes, I did kick you off because you were causing the work environment to be unstable and we were wasting money. But as a result of me making that decision, your public relations team made sure to let anyone I was trying to work with know that I was the impossible one. That they made the choice to have security escort me off the set.” A shiver crawls across my skin as my memory reaches back to that moment in time. The year where I could get no work. “Contracts I had were ripped up, money literally taken from me, and I was left with all the bills I had to pay. It happened so much that I finally called one of the accounts that fired me and asked them why.”
Noah shakes his head in disbelief. “That was my team?”
“It was indeed. The person who confirmed it was an old friend who was put in the terrible position of letting me go.” Leaning forward, I take my turn to tap my fingertips on the table for effect. “So I started asking around, and in every instance, I was told that Noah Beaumont and his team were blacklisting me. Do you even understand how awful that feels?”
Movement to my right pulls my attention away from Noah and his beautiful eyes. Our server has appeared and is holding two dishes of lasagna in his hands. He places mine in front of me, then looks at Noah, then back at me as if asking if he’s staying or going.
I incline my head toward Noah’s now-deserted table. “You can put Mr. Beaumont’s meal on his—”
“Why don’t I eat it right here?” he says to the server, moving my notebook aside and clearing the spot to make room for the dish. He drags his eyes slowly over to meet mine. “If you don’t mind, I want to talk this out.”
For the love of … all I wanted was to find somewhere to eat, call my mother, and do some work. Holding my fork in one hand and knife in the other, I let my eyes roll toward the heavens and say a little prayer. I’m also reminded that I made my own promise that if we had a chance to discuss this, I would do it. Because I am a big girl and that’s what I do.
I hate adulting.
“Fine,” I moan.
“Amazing!” Noah punches the air, then pats the empty spot on the table in front of him. “Put ’er there, sir. ”
The server places his food down and disappears, leaving us alone. Around us, more tables are filling up. Taking a bite of the food, I realize why it’s such a popular place for dinner. The lasagna is ridiculous.
“Oh, my God,” Noah moans, as he chews his first bite. “This is the best lasagna I’ve ever had. It’s melting in my mouth.”
I can’t help but smile, because for the first time in the conversation, I can’t debate the fact. “Well, we agree on that. My tastebuds are actually dancing.”
Noah laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Dancing? Like what kind of dance? Salsa?”
“Well, it’s not ballroom,” I say, emitting a tiny snort as I do. “Okay, that was so not attractive.”
Noah tosses his head back and lets out the most endearing laugh. It starts out as a few tiny guffaws, but builds to a crescendo. I’m taken on a ride with him and I start laughing, too. I’m honestly not sure if we’re laughing because I snorted, or because of the oddity of our meal and the fact we’re sitting here together, or what. However, I do know there’s some tension being broken, and oddly enough, it feels good. Especially the laughing.
As we both settle down again, I stab at my food and take another bite. Glancing up, I find Noah’s eyes boring into me.
I make a face, my lips quirking. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” He nervously flips his fork around like a tiny baton in his fingers.
I tilt my head to the side. “Are you?”
Nodding, he picks at his food, pulling his eyes away from mine. “I’ve owed you that apology since the day you kicked me off your shoot. But, I’m also sorry that the team I had working with me at that time did what they did to you.”
Looking down at my plate, I focus on chewing slowly. There’s something about the intimate act of sharing a meal, and space, with a person you’ve been mad at for ages that makes you slow down and hear them .
“Are you saying you had no idea that your people were torpedoing my career?”
Noah nods again. “When that shoot was done, I went off to my next game in Canada. That’s when the big fight happened in the lobby with the other team. After that, I was in rehab and unaware of anything happening. It wasn’t until I got out of rehab that I cleaned my house, as they say.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was making money for a lot of people back then. Being in the NHL meant sponsorships, a bigger paycheck. The agent I had at the time had looped in the publicity team to work for me. Everyone clipped the ticket, getting their share whether I thought they should or not when it came to me getting paid or signing a new contract.”
Watching Noah, I can see he’s thoughtful. He’s also having trouble looking at me as he talks. He stops, taking a bite of his food, and I let him gather himself before dipping back in.
“Can you explain a little more, please?”
“Let’s just say I wasn’t the most business-minded man at that time. I was pretty naive.” Noah’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I realized while I was cleaning up that the people I had around me were enablers. From my agent to the PR people, even my business manager. They were all leeching off the drunk superstar. I was a hot mess and they were taking advantage, making hay while the sun shines, I guess you could say?”
And there it is, the moment when the tide turns. Every inch of me wanted to argue and fight with this man, to place blame and scream at him for ruining my life, but things are not always what they seem, are they?
As we’re sitting here, Noah’s demeanor has changed slightly. His shoulders are low, not quite slumped, but he’s not holding them up as proudly as he usually does. And the green that was flashing in his eyes has dulled a touch. I can tell that his little trot down memory lane has left him reliving moments in time that, like myself, he’d like to forget .
I don’t know what to do, so I sit quietly for a second before I pick up my glass and hold it in the air.
“Well, if it helps, the only reason I said yes to working with you this time is to get a promotion.” I place the glass to my lips and take a sip, and as I do, you bet I notice he’s watching me. Putting the glass back down, I place my finger on the rim, tracing its path. “You’re being touted as the Comeback King by the press this year. The man who is literally like a phoenix rising from the ashes of the AHL, rebuilding a once-stellar career into something with longevity. Staying power.”
“I wouldn’t call the AHL the ashes,” Noah corrects me.
“You’re right, sorry, bad comparison, but you know what I mean. You were knocked down from the NHL to the River City Renegades, and everyone thought you were done. That you'd go there and peter out eventually, yet you keep showing up.”
“The Renegades are good to me, and I’m loyal to them. They were the only team who would even dare take a chance on me after all of the mess-ups I had.” Noah shrugs. “I love the game. In a lot of ways, it’s all I know.”
“That’s like my work. I love the creative part, taking the photos and seeing what comes out of the images. I know what I want my pictures to say, but getting that feeling out and into a photograph showing a quick blink of a moment in time is the challenge.”
“I love a challenge, too,” Noah murmurs, his eyes slowly making their way to meet mine. The green flecks are back, shining brightly as he holds my gaze. Surprisingly, I don’t want to pull away. Not this time. Not yet.
The noise grows around us, a large party of at least ten being seated close by. The cacophony of sound pulls me out of the moment, as it does Noah as well. When I look back at him, he’s checking his watch.
“Am I boring you?”
“Not at all.” He chuckles, his tone genuine. “This is the least boring meal I’ve had in a long time. But I do need to excuse myself and head back now. I’ve got early practice in the morning.”
We sit for a minute watching each other while the busboy appears and clears our plates. I can’t tell if we’re in a staring standoff, or if he’s teasing me. We could also be playing a game of who blinks first. It’s all unclear, but I do know from my perspective, at least, things have changed.
The server slips past and drops off our checks. Reaching for my purse, I pull out my wallet, but I’m surprised when Noah grabs both bills and clutches them tightly.
“Please, allow me. I feel like it’s the least I can do.” He smiles at me and immediately throws me off my game yet again. It’s a loose, easy grin that feels intimate, as if we’ve shared something in a moment that is ours, and only ours. No one else’s to understand. Not now, not ever.
I wave my hand in the air, needing to come off as nonchalant. After all, I was the angry one when we sat down, right?
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Noah stands, his presence towering yet oddly comforting. “Well, Willa, it’s been … interesting.”
I can’t help but laugh softly. “That’s one way to put it.”
He extends his hand, and as I shake it, there’s a spark of something—hope, maybe? “Until next time,” he says, his voice low and sincere.
“Until next time,” I echo, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
As Noah walks away, I watch his retreating figure, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and unexpected excitement. This dinner might have started with anger and unresolved tension, but it’s certainly not how it’s ended.
I gather my things and head out, the night air cool against my skin. The streetlights twinkle around me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a warming flicker of hope for what my time in Maple Falls might bring.