8. Willa
CHAPTER 8
WILLA
As I step onto the festival grounds, a wave of autumnal scents envelops me, instantly putting a smile on my face. The air is crisp, carrying the sweet aroma of maple syrup mingled with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. The sight before me is a feast for the eyes—vibrant hues of red, orange, and yellow paint the trees, and the ground is adorned with pumpkins and hay bales, creating a picture-perfect festival scene. It’s as if Maple Falls has been plucked out of a storybook and presented just for me to enjoy.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the tantalizing smells of cinnamon and spices wafting from a nearby food stall. My stomach rumbles in anticipation, and I make a mental note to indulge in some maple-glazed funnel cakes later. I can already see myself lounging in bed with some sticky sweetness tonight.
The sound of laughter and cheerful chatter fills the air, along with the melodic strains of live folk music. Children run past, their faces painted with fall leaves, pumpkins, and in some cases as kitty cats, but all are filled with excitement, while couples stroll hand-in-hand, soaking in the festive atmosphere.
I make my way through the crowd, scanning the booths looking for the team table for the Ice Breakers. It doesn’t take me long to find it: I simply needed to look for the busiest spot with the longest line.
I recognize a few of the guys as I approach the booth. One of them, Cooper Montgomery, I met a few months back when we shot his photos. He wasn’t warm and fuzzy, he was pretty much what I’d call a grumpy grandpa. He’d smiled through the pictures, but we had to take many breaks so he could relax. He reminded me of Roy Kent in that show, Ted Lasso . He’s a fluid and talented man on the ice, but in front of the camera, he had frozen.
When we make eye contact, I’m pretty sure he’ll recognize me. I wave in his direction as I walk up to the table, only to be surprised as his upper lip curls and he stands at attention in front of me.
“Hi there,” he says in a robotic voice. He sticks his hand out in front of him as if he’s been practicing; it’s not a natural move at all. “I’m Cooper and I’m having the best time in Pine Falls.”
Doing a double take, I cock my head to the side. “Did you just call it … Pine Falls?”
In a flash, another familiar face is in front of me. This one is doing her thing and being a fixer.
“Cooper, we’re in Maple Falls. Please say it with me. Maple. Falls.” Blair Radcliffe has a reputation for being one of the best in her field of sports publicity, and as usual, here she is proving her right to have earned that title. As she looks my way, she beams as she realizes it’s me in front of her.
“Willa Blackwell!” Blair runs around the table and wraps her arms around me. “It’s been ages. Oh, my gosh, I thought I saw you at the media event at The Regent’s the other day and didn’t have a chance to say hi. How are you?”
“Good.” I hold up my camera bag, which had been slung over one arm. “Working, but looks like you are, too?”
“New client,” she says, nodding in Cooper’s direction. “This one’s a wild card. ”
I’m about to pull her away so I can get the scoop when the man I’m here to meet waves and walks over to join us.
“Hey,” Noah interjects, stepping around Cooper and grinning easily at me. That smile of his. I’d rob a bank for it.
“Hi.” I take in the team jersey he’s currently wearing and nod my appreciation. “The Ice Breakers jersey looks good. Mind if I take a few photos of you in action here before we wander off?”
“Not at all. Gives me time to finish up.” Noah turns around, tapping one of the other guys standing at the back on the shoulder. “I’m going to leave here in a couple of minutes. You guys covered?”
The young player nods; he’s an up-and-comer I recognize. Appreciating the fact he’s here, I motion for him and Noah to get closer. “Let me snap a picture of the two of you.”
The guys lean in and grin, and I click away. As Noah moves around the booth, signing a few more autographs and talking to the folks who’ve waited in line for their chance to rub shoulders with a celebrity hockey player, I continue snapping.
True to his word, within a few minutes he’s on my side of the table, pulling his jersey off and throwing a sweater on over his head. It’s a nice one; the green matches the flecks in his eyes.
“I brought more clothes, too.” He grabs a backpack, showing me as his evidence, and tosses it over one shoulder. “Want to walk around before we take these photos?”
“I’d love to,” I say, but I hold my camera up. “However, as long as we’re walking, I want to snap. The sooner I can get these pictures taken, the sooner I can relax.”
Noah flicks his hand to his forehead and gives me a tiny salute. “Got it. Well, I want to check out the bobbing for apples station, if that’s okay with you?”
“Lead the way.”
Lucky for us, and for my shoulders because my camera is heavy, the bobbing for apples station is located beside the team stand.
I love the way all the kids get super excited when they realize Noah is going to compete. As he takes his place in line, all the kids in his line decide to run over to the other one. Thus ensues a great deal of jostling as they all try to push their way to the front, each one wanting a chance to take on ice hockey’s bad boy, no doubt.
My chuckle becomes a full body laugh when I notice the incredulous look on Noah’s face. As parents and festival workers attempt to bring order to the chaos, my heart melts a little when Noah claps his hand together and gets everyone’s attention.
“Hey, listen up,” he announces, fighting his own laughter. “Everyone who gets in a nice, straight line gets a turn.”
Once the line has formed, Noah claps again and says, “Alright. Let the games begin!”
Then he––literally––dives in.
It could be carnage, but it isn’t. There’s a lot of water, snotty giggles from happy children getting to go up against their G.O.A.T, and did I mention the water? Because it is everywhere.
But the best part? It’s when he slows himself down. I may be the only one who can tell, but I notice that he could have grabbed at least ten apples in the time it takes the winner to get the one apple they needed.
That’s right. He let the kids win and it’s adorable. In fact, after several invitations, he does it again. And again. And one more time.
As the children cheer and celebrate their victories, Noah’s face lights up with genuine joy. He high-fives each of the winners, their smiles reflecting his own. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes about his character. In a world where winning is often everything, Noah’s willingness to let others shine is a refreshing reminder of the kindness and humility that I’m starting to learn define him off the ice.
It’s a part of him I was thinking was there when we’d met prior to this. Now, I’m seeing it in person, like watching Prince Charming come to life. It’s a side of him I’m getting to know and I really think I like .
Walking away, I show him a few of the pictures I grabbed. Holding the camera, his smile stretches across his face.
“These are really good,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he passes the camera back to me with the other. “Do you want me to change into another shirt before we do more?”
“Please,” I say with a laugh, finding our banter easy. “If you want to put another shirt on, since your sweater is now soaking wet, that would be great.” Looking around, I spot a sign for DIY Leaf Crowns. Who knew? “We could go make some crowns and take pictures of you. Kind of perfect for the Comeback King.”
Noah throws his head back and that infectious laugh of his is back. “Love it.” He points to a food truck nearby. “Let me duck behind there and swap my sweater.”
I watch as he jogs partly behind the truck, but in reality he’s still in full view for all of us. It’s as if he thinks he’s out of sight and no one can see him. With his back to me, he tugs that gorgeous green sweater off his head and shoves it into his backpack. For a brief moment, I’m left standing in the midst of a crowd of people, gawking at the rippling muscles of this man.
Broad shoulders taper down to a well-defined waist, each movement showcasing the powerful muscles in Noah’s back. The sunlight glistens off his tanned skin, highlighting every sinewy detail, making it impossible to tear my eyes away. And believe me, I am in no hurry to do that.
I’m still staring as he tugs on a T-shirt and then his Renegades sweatshirt before he turns and faces me triumphantly and holds his hands in the air. “Ta-da!”
“Good branding,” I manage to choke out, grateful I can hide behind the lens and take a few pictures. When I put the camera down, my cell phone goes off and I pull it from my back pocket. A glance tells me it’s my mom, so I decline it and send her a quick text letting her know I’ll call her later. It’s not like me to not take her call, so I don’t want her to worry, but I also know if I do take her call, there will be lots of questions, especially if I reveal who I’m currently with.
When I look up, Noah is pointing at the leaf crown table. “Ready?”
“Let’s do it,” I say with a grin.
“But you have to do one, too.”
“Agreed, but no pictures of me.”
“Someone doesn’t like to be in front of the camera?” he asks, teasing.
“You got it.” I give him a little push, gently steering him to the table. It’s a colorful array of autumn leaves, ribbons, and other crafting supplies.
Noah picks up a large, vibrant maple leaf and watches as the woman in charge gives a quick demonstration on how to make one. As he works, his hands mimic hers and move with a gentle precision, selecting each leaf with care and arranging them just so. I point my camera at Noah and at his crown, snapping away steadily. The rustling of the leaves is soothing, and I find myself entranced by the rhythmic motion of his fingers.
In a matter of minutes, he finishes the crown and then gently places it on my head. I reach up to touch it, marveling at the intricate design. “Thank you,” I say, my voice filled with gratitude.
“My pleasure. Every queen deserves a crown.” He smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “It looks good on you, Willa.”
Something inside of me hitches. It’s like a rope has been tied to my insides and they’re pulling them to my outsides. I feel exposed, vulnerable. We may be standing in the middle of a busy fall festival, but it’s like the world has fallen away and it’s just us. Me and Noah and those beautiful pink lips of his that I hadn’t noticed before.
When those lips turn up at the corners, I feel a surge of ice inside of me. A quick glance tells me I’ve been busted. He caught me staring at his lips. Which is exhausting, considering a few days back I was ready to wrestle him and drown him in the river.
Noah wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face?”
I feel a flush of heat as my cheeks surely are now red with embarrassment. “Ah, no, I was thinking …” Quick, Willa. WHAT were you thinking? Looking around, I’m at a loss for what to say next when I see a sign for a photo booth.
“I was thinking instead of me making a crown, that we should stick you in the photo booth. In a new outfit, of course.”
“Why do that when you have a camera?”
“Options.” Yes, Willa, go with that. “I can give the magazine some pictures of you from the photo booth to use as well. Who knows if they’ll use them or not, but we can try.”
Noah narrows his eyes but reaches for his backpack. “I’ve got one other top I brought with me. Do I need to change my pants as well?”
“Your jeans are fine. I’ve been taking photos from the waist up, and unless you plan on doing a handstand, we shouldn’t see your bottom half in these pictures, either.”
“You said bottom half.” Noah chuckles as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head.
“What happened to Mr. Conservative who needed to hide behind the food truck?” I tease as his sweatshirt comes off—and the T-shirt he was wearing underneath comes along with it. Leaving me standing, up close and personal, in the middle of Maple Fest with one half-naked Noah Beaumont.
And he ain’t hard to look at.
My eyes take on a life of their own, widening as I digest the sight before me. Noah’s body is, to put it mildly, a work of art. His chest is broad and chiseled, each muscle appears to be sculpted by a master craftsman—or perhaps just years of intense training. His abs are a perfect six-pack, each one defined and glistening slightly in the crisp fall air, making me wonder if he has a personal ab-polisher on standby .
His arms, well, let’s just say they could probably lift a car or two, maybe even a small house. They’re muscular and toned, veins running down them like a roadmap of strength and power. His shoulders are wide and sturdy, the kind that could probably carry the weight of the world—or at least a couple of teammates after a victory celebration.
As if the Universe couldn’t resist adding a touch of the ridiculous, a stray autumn leaf gently floats down and lands right on his left pectoral. It sticks there for a moment, as if even nature wants a piece of the action. I can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.
Noah, blissfully unaware of the spectacle he’s created, looks around in confusion. “Uh, why is everyone staring?”
“Maybe because you’ve turned Maple Fest into Male Feast-for-the-eyes,” I manage to quip, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances down at his bare chest and then back up at me, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Oh, whoops.”
I’m trying to maintain a straight face, but failing miserably. “You might want to put your shirt back on before the festival organizers start charging admission.”
He chuckles, quickly pulling his shirt back over his head, but not before giving me one last, all-too-smug wink. “You think anyone got a good look?”
“Oh, I think they got more than a good look,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve just become the highlight of the festival.”
Trying not to be awkward, I attempt to turn our attention back to the photo booth.
“So, photo booth. Looks like they have fun fall props for you to hold onto.” The words coming out of my mouth are like foreign objects. Why do I get absolutely ridiculous when I’m nervous?
Noah watches me, his lips twitching at my anxiety. Lips I need to stop looking at and fast.
He stands next to the booth, grabbing some corn stalks as props and putting on a hat that is clearly meant for a scarecrow. “Should I wear it?”
Putting the lens to my eyes, I crack up. “Perfect. Serve me some looks.”
“How’s this?” He puts on a pout as he picks up a jack-o-lantern and acts like he’s kissing it.
“I like it, but maybe you should”—I point to the actual photo booth—“go inside and do some of the photos there?”
“Okay, but I have one caveat.” He takes off his hat and looks at me, hazel eyes wide with sincerity. “You take at least one photo in there with me.”
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being on the other side of the camera. But for a good picture, and to keep our fun train rolling, you can bet I’ll do it.
“Fine. One.”
“One set of pictures.”
“One picture.”
“You can’t do that, Willa. You have to stay in there while it does its time. And that’s usually for four pictures.”
I take a big breath in and let it out, slowly. “Okay, but they aren’t ever shown to anyone, okay?”
“Wow, I don’t know how you ended up so mad at photos of yourself, but okay.” Grinning, he pulls back the curtain and holds a hand out. “After you, m’lady.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab the scarecrow hat and a stuffed black cat and crawl inside the booth. Noah squeezes in beside me, grabbing a handful of hay. As the first flash pops off, we’re staring at each other, I’m pointing at the hay as he pets the stuffed cat in my clutches.
“What are you doing with that hay?” I ask, realizing as I say it what he’s doing. A second before the next flash goes off, Noah tosses the hay in the air, the photo sure to be a good one with the both of us giggling as hay floats to the ground around us.
I can feel the hay in my hair, and when I look at Noah, he’s got a cluster of it stuck to the side of his head. Without thinking, I reach out and begin to remove it at the same time he does, our hands touching in midair. His touch sends a heat across my flesh that makes me freeze in place, a statue without a pedestal. Pop! The flash goes off, causing me to blink my eyes.
When I open them, I’m thrilled to find that he’s looking at something he probably shouldn’t be. My lips.
Pulling his gaze up to meet mine, my heart skips a beat. Like a magnet, I feel my body being pulled closer to his as he’s leaning in closer to me. I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek, there’s a citrus smell mixed with cedar that has to be his cologne, and the way he’s looking at me says more than any words ever could … when my phone rings.
We both jump in the air as the flash bulb pops, and the moment is broken. Holding on to one another, we fall out of the booth laughing and my phone stops ringing, so I choose to ignore it. We’re both still catching our breath a few minutes later when the strip of photos shoots out of its slot on the side, giving us a chance to see ourselves in a different light.
The pictures in my hand say a thousand words. There is no denying it, there’s something happening right here, right now. Even I can see the chemistry between us, especially in the last shot. A shiver flutters across my flesh as I’m transported, even momentarily, to a few mere moments ago when we were alone, squished into that photo booth, sitting almost on top of one another.
A flash of heat stirs inside and I feel flushed, so of course I’m super thankful when a few kids run up to Noah and ask him for his autograph. Gives me a chance to breathe through what almost happened and get a grip.
The atmosphere around us is vibrant with laughter, the scent of cinnamon and apples filling the air. As he finishes his last signature, he turns my way.
“I thought I saw hayrides,” Noah says, winking. “Feel like going on one?”
Smiling, I’m about to answer when my phone rings. Again. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s Mom once more, so I decide not to answer. Only Noah notices and can’t resist commenting.
"Not going to answer that?” he teases, raising one eyebrow. “What, are you dodging your mom now?”
I can hear the teasing in his voice as I roll my eyes and slip the phone back into my pocket. “Oh, trust me, you don’t want to get in the middle of that. She’s probably calling to ask if I’ve met any ‘nice young men’ at the festival.”
Noah grins. “Well, have you?”
I can’t help but to shoot him a look. “Why? Are you volunteering?”
“Just making conversation,” he says with a chuckle. “But seriously, why not answer? She might just want to chat.”
“Right, because nothing says ‘great time at a fall festival’ like a twenty-minute guilt trip about how I’m still single. Besides, she has this knack for calling at the worst times.”
Noah crosses his arms. “And being here with me qualifies as one of those ‘worst times’?”
“Well, let’s see …” I say, sighing dramatically. “I’ve got leaves and hay in my hair, I can’t see anything from the flashing of lights from the photo booth, and now I’m dealing with a nosy guy who thinks he’s funny. Yeah, pretty much.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure you’re not missing out on some important mother-daughter bonding.”
“Oh, we bond just fine. Like superglue and glitter. Which, by the way, is still stuck on my kitchen table from her last ‘crafting’ visit. That also turned into a ‘why are you single’ lecture.”
“All right, all right. I get it. No mom calls during festival fun. Message received.”
“Good,” I say, nudging him in the ribs with the pointy tip of my elbow. “Now, let’s go see if we can get a seat on that hayride before you start giving me life advice next.”
“Advice, like on your career? Wouldn’t dare. I’m in no position to give that kind of advice. ”
“Good.” I chuckle. “Not with the run of luck you’ve had over the years, right?”
Beside me, I feel a wall of tension slam down between us. Like a gate over a castle moat. When I look at Noah, he looks taken aback. When I replay my words, I realize how callous they sound, considering the miles we’d crossed to this point.
Immediately apologetic, I say, “And … cue the moment I go too far.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone gets a second chance, right?”
After all of the playful banter and what I thought was headway made, have I really just screwed things up? I’m so good at being awkward. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”
Noah forces a smile. “No, it’s fine. Really.”
I go to open my mouth, to say I’m sorry again, but another small herd of fans appears in front of us like ghosts in a paranormal show. As he turns his attention to them, my awkwardness and fragility over all of this gets the best of me. I want to go. Now.
“Maybe I should … um, go check out the cider booth. Give you some space.”
Noah stops long enough to glance my way, a look of confusion in his eyes as he searches mine. “Yeah, sure. Enjoy.”
Well, that’s gonna leave a mark. “Right. I’ll touch base later.”
“Talk to you then, Willa,” Noah says as he turns away, his jaw tense.
I walk off toward the cider booth, keeping my head held high but feeling the weight of my words and the awkwardness that now hangs between us. The lively sounds of the festival seem distant as I glance back, seeing him heading in the opposite direction.
At the cider booth, I wrap my hands around a warm cup, the fragrant steam curling up to meet my face. As I take a sip, the sweet, spicy flavor does little to distract me from the realization that hits me like a ton of bricks: I like him. I like Noah Beaumont.
It’s a startling thought, especially considering how just a few days ago I would not have considered us to be on speaking terms. Yet, it feels like my feelings have shifted. He’s not just the frustrating hockey player who messed up my photoshoot—and my life—anymore. He’s becoming someone I find interesting and attractive. Scratch attractive—he’s hot .
Every laugh, every cheer from the crowd only seems to highlight the turmoil inside me. How is it I’ve arrived at this complicated mix of attraction and confusion? My heart races every time he looks at me, and I find myself wanting to be near him, even when everything feels so uncertain.
I glance back one more time, seeing Noah’s broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd, surrounded by adoring fans. He’s more than just a guy trying to make amends; he’s someone I might be falling for, and that realization is as thrilling as it is terrifying.
With a deep breath, I turn back to the festival, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The path ahead isn’t clear, but I can’t ignore what I’m feeling. Maybe, just maybe, it’s worth the risk to see where this could lead.
Because some things are worth fighting for, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone and into the unknown.