Chapter 24
As the minutes ticked down to the start of the pageant, Niko felt strangely calm.
It helped that the mood backstage was nothing short of buoyant.
Even as a few good-natured jabs flew around the room, there was still a feeling of camaraderie, like they all understood they weren’t really competing against one another, but working together for a common goal: to support the town they loved and, of course, put on a good show.
Of course, that thought wasn’t very comforting if he ended up completely embarrassing himself.
Someone had set up a curtained-off area for the contestants to change, so he got dressed in his suit, laughing off the exaggerated wolf whistles from the other contestants as he joined them again. He did sneak a glance at Merritt, though, who was looking at him like she was the wolf.
Daniela paced in the corner, muttering to herself with her eyes closed, looking as glamorous and beautiful as if she were a pageant contestant herself.
Before he knew it, Lana, the stage manager, who also ran the local community theater, was ushering her into the wings, and muffled music began to play.
“Judges, you’re next,” Lana said, somewhat ominously. Merritt stood and followed the other two out the door. Niko had to stuff his hands in his pockets to avoid the temptation to reach out and squeeze her hand as she passed.
The judges would be seated onstage, providing both commentary and scores out of ten.
Their scores would be combined with an audience vote in a complicated calculation that Freya, a devoted Dancing with the Stars fan, was in charge of tallying.
Even though he didn’t fully understand it, Niko felt reassured that Merritt’s vote wouldn’t have enough weight to tip the competition in his favor.
He strained to hear Daniela’s introductions, but Lana was busy corralling them into the order in which they would walk onstage, so all he could hear was faint applause. Once they were in line, walking into the wings, their playful chatter faded, the atmosphere growing serious.
“Now that you’ve met our judges,” Daniela said, “are you ready to meet the twelve finest specimens Crested Peak has to offer?”
The crowd roared.
“Hey, that’s my husband you’re talking about,” Susan joked, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd.
The final lineup ended up being fairly diverse, ranging in age from Luis, twenty-three, one of the chefs at Last Chair Pizza, to Bert, sixty-seven, the local librarian (and husband in question).
Niko stood in the wings, listening to the other contestants get introduced, so absorbed that he was startled to realize Daniela was now talking about him.
“Our next contestant hails from Tallahassee, Florida, but he’s called Crested Peak home for the past eight years.
I think it’s safe to say most of the buildings around here would be falling apart without him, and you know what?
So would we. Please give it up for the handiest man in town, our own local Greek god, Nikolaos Petrakis! ”
Breathe. Just breathe.
And smile, don’t forget to smile.
Okay, and walk, too. Breathe, smile, walk. Breathe, smile, walk.
The next thing Niko knew, he was standing center stage, next to Daniela. His heart thundered in his chest, drowning out the applause from the audience. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine.
He couldn’t do this. What the fuck had he been thinking?
But then he caught a glimpse of Merritt at the judging table, watching him with that familiar intensity, an encouraging smile playing at the corners of her lips, and it was like she’d thrown him a rope at the last possible second before he was swept out to sea.
He was able to get his bearings enough to exchange greetings with Daniela, his voice barely shaking at all.
“And who are you competing for tonight, Niko?”
He leaned his head down, getting closer to the mic. “The Crested Peak Affordable Housing Fund,” he said, clearly and confidently, and he heard a few scattered whoops from the crowd.
He let out a full-body sigh of relief once he retreated upstage to assume his place in the lineup.
Soon enough, he was able to escape backstage again until it was his turn for his talent.
He’d already seen most of them during the dress rehearsal the day before, but he wished he could see Merritt’s reaction when Khalid, the local orthopedist, performed an acoustic cover of “Wonderwall.”
When he returned to the stage, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, the stagehands had already set everything up for him: an easel with a giant pad of paper, and a camera trained on it, broadcasting a magnified feed to the giant projector screen behind it.
He was extremely grateful that, for once, it hadn’t been his job to figure out how to make that happen.
He stood in the center of the stage, looking out into the gaping black pit of the audience.
Breathe.
“Hi,” he said, which was about all he had the stamina for.
“Hi, Niko!” someone who sounded a whole lot like Jo hollered back, to scattered laughter.
A surge of adrenaline pumped through him. “I’m going to draw a quick portrait for you guys tonight, if that’s okay.”
“It’s okay!” someone else yelled, to more laughter. Niko wasn’t sure if this was the reaction he was looking for or if things were getting away from him. His heart beat a steadily accelerating rhythm in his chest.
“Um, okay, good. That’s good. But, uh, first I need someone to be my model.”
As he looked out into the audience, the shapes of individual people slowly began to come into view. It had been Merritt’s idea to have him pick a volunteer.
And up until the moment he got on that stage, he’d genuinely been sure he’d pick a random person.
Instead, he turned to the judging table. “Ms. Valentine, would you do me the honor?”
Merritt’s eyes widened in shock, and he could tell her brain was working a mile a minute, calculating whether she should turn him down.
Would she? He was sweating again.
But before he knew it, she’d pushed her chair back and gracefully gotten to her feet, smiling calmly like this had been their plan all along. “Of course, Mr. Petrakis,” she said, matching his formal tone with only a hint of teasing.
She sat on the stool upstage, facing the easel, on a small platform so the whole audience could see her. “How do you want me?” she asked quietly, all innocence, but still, his throat went dry.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
“However you want, as long as you don’t move.
” He tried to keep any flirtation out of his tone—especially since that wasn’t an instruction that sounded appealing for her to follow—but her cheeks went pink anyway.
He was thankful that the camera was trained on the paper and not her face so no one else could see it.
In a way, it felt like cheating to draw her.
He’d already spent so long studying her, getting comfortable with the lines and curves of her face, that translating them to paper was almost second nature now.
He had five minutes and was pretty sure he’d already wasted one, so he started the timer on his phone and set it on the easel.
He’d been worried that this would be boring to watch, but even though neither of them said anything, the stage silent except the squeak of his marker against the pad, the audience stayed quiet and attentive, too.
Merritt had been right that facing away from the crowd was enough to ignore them, so he looked back and forth between the paper and her face until the beeping of the timer pulled him out of his reverie.
The audience applauded as he stood up, beckoning Merritt to come look at the finished product.
In that moment, he forgot all about the competition—his only concern was whether she was pleased.
And as she took it in, her face lighting up in a genuine smile, he already felt like he’d won the whole damn thing.
She looked up at him, emotion shining behind her eyes, and he had to remind himself that this was absolutely the wrong moment to kiss her.
Thankfully, the judges didn’t score him until he was offstage, and he didn’t bother sticking around in the wings to hear how he’d done.
He couldn’t fully relax, though, because there was still one more segment, the one he was most worried about: the Q&A.
They’d been given a list of the potential questions beforehand, none of which were very hard-hitting, but he could picture himself getting up there and going blank for anything more complex than his own name.
All twelve of them filed back onstage, standing in the same arrangement as when they’d been introduced earlier in the evening, trying not to fidget while they waited to be called into the hot seat.
Three people left…two…and, of course, he was the very last one to step up to the microphone, his underarms soaked with sweat.
Susan read off the card in front of her: “What do you love most about Crested Peak?”
“It’s home,” he said immediately, before he could think about it.
He paused, taking a breath to collect himself.
“When I was growing up, most people I knew were desperate to get away. Go somewhere else. I think this is the somewhere they meant. Everyone who lives here is here because they want to be, because they love it, because they care about keeping it special.” He cleared his throat, trying in vain to keep it from tightening.
“My whole life, I never felt like I really belonged anywhere. I never expected to find that here. Living here…knowing all of you…it’s changed me more than I ever expected.
But as I’ve changed, the town has changed, too.
It held me for as long as it was able to.
It made me ready to move on. And now that I… that it’s time for me to leave…”
He swallowed, overwhelmed with emotion, as a distressed murmur rolled through the crowd.
“I wonder if I would’ve been able to make this life here if I had to start over today.
I want to win tonight so that next lost twenty-two-year-old has the opportunity to find themselves a home, too.
Even if it’s fleeting. Because even when I’m gone, this place…
the people…you’ll all be with me forever. ”
His vision blurred as he returned to the line, the dull roar of the audience echoing in his ears.
Thankfully, there was a short break before announcing the winner, giving everyone the opportunity to vote on their phones, refresh their drinks, and place any last-minute bids.
But it felt like he’d barely had a chance to splash water on his burning face before they were being ushered back onstage again for the final results.
He half listened as Daniela explained that the runners-up would also be allocated smaller portions of the donations for the organization of their choice.
Second runner-up was awarded to Khalid, representing the Crested Peak Land Trust, and first runner-up went to Bert, who was, unsurprisingly, supporting the library.
Niko grinned and applauded, trying to ignore the rush of disappointment.
That was that, then. There was no way he was winning the whole thing.
He felt like he drifted out of his body for a moment, watching himself clap for whoever the winner was—but he jolted back into himself when he realized that nobody had stepped forward, and Daniela was looking straight at him with an open-mouthed smile.
He blinked, his head desperately swiveling from side to side, his mouth hanging open. Sure enough, every other guy on the line was smiling at him, too, clapping him on the back, holding their hands out to shake. He stepped forward on unsteady legs as the audience got to its feet as one.
When he turned his head, he saw Merritt was next to him, holding the sash emblazoned with Mr. Crested Peak. (An argument about whether to get crowns had wasted almost an entire meeting, with the noes eventually winning out.)
He ducked his head so she could place it across his chest. She was mouthing something at him, beaming, but he had no idea what the fuck it was.
Before she could pull away, he put his hand on her arm and tugged her into a hug, too overwhelmed to care if it was a bad idea.
It didn’t matter, though, because soon they were surrounded by all the other contestants, the hug growing to consume half the stage, he and Merritt in the center, the eye of the hurricane.
That was when he truly understood that his victory had less to do with his performance tonight, and more with his performance over the last eight years.
He closed his eyes, fighting back tears, and finally allowed himself to be embraced.