10. Chapter 10
ten
Jamie
M y phone buzzes against my face, startling me from a dreamless, pain-induced sleep. That’s what I get for scrolling in bed last night against concussion protocol.
I reach for it, squinting at the bright light of the screen, then try to remember if the doctor said concussions can cause hallucinations because the last thing I expected was to see Noel’s name.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes and text her back.
Jamie: No plans. Kind of sidelined at the moment.
Noel: I’m downtown. Do you want to start being friends today?
Hell yes, I do. I roll out of bed, my first two steps an exaggerated limp before I adjust to the pain in my knee. I know I said I would play the good patient today, but I’m not missing a chance to see her.
I text her back on my way to the bathroom.
Jamie: Have you eaten breakfast? If you pick me up, I can come back with you and get my car out of your driveway .
Noel: Be there in ten.
She agrees much more quickly than I anticipated, and a jolt of panic has me moving faster than I should. I haven’t shaved in two days—lifting my right arm is unbearably painful—and I’m growing a full neck beard.
I glance at my closet while I brush my teeth lefty. I managed to put on real clothes last night for the launch, but it was exhausting and I had to take a few breaks. I don’t have time for that today. I probably shouldn’t show up looking like a mess, though.
I settle on my nicest pair of black joggers and a green Fortune tee I’ve been told looks good with my eyes.
Skipping the product, I pull my hat on my head, shove my feet in sneakers, and make it downstairs to the front door just in time.
Noel’s walking into the parking lot, her hair in a ponytail tied with a ribbon and a blue dress swinging around her knees.
I’m stopped short at the sight of her through the glass.
Sundresses are my kryptonite on a regular day.
Noel in a sundress makes me want to put my fist in my mouth and bite.
Her skin is sun-kissed, and her sandals are the kind that lace up around her ankle and tie in a bow.
I picture pulling the knot loose, then doing the same with the ribbon in her hair.
Unwrapping her like a fucking present. And then I picture punching myself in the face because this is not appropriate or helpful.
Get it together, Bishop . This is basically a business meeting.
The fact that Noel is beautiful is not a new revelation for me, but I’ve been trying to ignore it for several reasons.
One, this is too important for distraction.
If it takes a hundred reminders that I need Noel’s help more than I need to let my mind wander into what if territory, I’ll do it a hundred and one.
And two, Noel’s incredibly sweet. Kind. Cute as hell. And I speak fluent pick-up line. It’s never going to happen.
Noel’s the kind of woman you fall for, and even if mixing business with pleasure wasn’t a terrible idea in and of itself, mixing affection with pleasure is an even worse one. Her reading on the roof showed me that too.
She puts a hand above her eyes to block the sun, and I push out to meet her. “Hi, friend.”
This gets me a little smile, and okay. This is good. She seems way less stressed about being around me than she did last night. “My car is a few blocks away,” she says. “We can grab it after we eat?”
“Great. I know a good place, unless you had somewhere in mind.”
“Anywhere is good.” When she turns, her skirt flares around her thighs and I have to look to the sky for strength. If only getting it together was a little easier for me.
I take Noel to my favorite greasy diner on Commercial Street. It’s a closet-sized nook nestled between a fish market and a marine supplies store, but it’s New England famous.
A couple of weeks ago it would have been impossible to get in here on a Saturday morning, let alone have a choice of where to sit, but after Labor Day rolls around, the townies get our favorite spots back.
The waitress appears at the host stand in a T-shirt that’s a little too neon for my lingering concussion. “Hi, Fran.”
“Jamie Bishop.” She gives me a look like she wants to roll up a newspaper and smack me on the head with it. “How’s your mother?”
I grin. “Beaming with pride, last I saw her.”
“Hmph.” Fran’s worked here since the Stone Age, and she has a long memory that includes the late nights my buddies and I came in for two A.M. bacon and eggs. We weren’t always well behaved.
Noel, on the other hand, in her pretty dress and ponytail, looks like a good girl whose reputation I’m about to tarnish. The look on Fran’s face says she’s thinking the same thing, despite it being the better part of a decade since I’ve made trouble for her.
Don’t worry , I want to tell her. I’m not planning on touching this one.
“Sit wherever you want,” she says, glaring at me over Noel’s head.
Noel flashes those big eyes at me, and I gesture to a booth, following behind and gingerly sliding in across from her the same way we sat last night. Hopefully this time I can keep her a little longer. Hopefully this time she doesn’t pass out.
“How are you feeling?” she asks when she catches me wince as my back hits the wooden booth, and I‘m back to thinking about her in flannel pjs, waiting with me at the ER even though she could have easily ditched me at the door. Sweet. Kind. Beautiful.
I blow a breath through my teeth. “I’m not sure what’s worse, the pain or the boredom. I actually googled if I could still play hockey with broken ribs but it was a pretty clear no.”
She snorts. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Thank you for your sympathy. It feels really genuine.” My mouth is curved into a teasing smile, but Noel’s cheeks still turn the most adorable shade of pink.
“Sorry,” she says. “I just meant… nevermind.”
I didn’t mean to embarrass her, but I don’t hate getting a reaction out of her either. It’s better than the fear or the general distaste from before. Besides, if she knew how long it had been since someone was concerned about my pain, she wouldn’t be embarrassed. I would.
“Anyway,” I say, nudging her knee under the table. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m not the one with the fractured sixth and seventh ribs and sprained knee.”
“Fair.” I chuckle again. “But I meant, ah, about this whole… thing. You scared the hell out of me at the bar when you fainted.”
She winces. “Right. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! That’s not what I meant. It’s just… is it always like that? Were you dizzy, or…?”
“I think I was just shocked. It’s not always like anything. It was only my second time, remember?”
“Right.” That Christmas tree in my brain lights up again. Only twice. Both with me. “You know, I never properly thanked you for taking me to the hospital. And staying.”
She waves this off. “I’m sure you did.”
“I didn’t,” I say, dipping my chin to catch her eye. “It was really kind of you. So is this.”
Noel tilts her head, and in the most subtle of shifts, she’s holding my gaze now. Studying me in a way that makes me feel a little uncomfortable and excited at the same time.
Then she abruptly looks away. “So what’s the deal with the woman who left you hanging that night?”
The smile tumbles from my face and I groan. “I was pretending you didn’t hear that conversation.”
“We were in a space the size of a postage stamp. Everyone heard that conversation.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Well, don’t worry. It was only my ego that got bruised.”
“She’s not your girlfriend, then?” she asks, picking at the corner of her napkin with her thumbnail. Shredding it, actually.
“Definitely not. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your boyfriend must have been jealous that you spent the whole night standing vigil by my bedside.”
She rolls her eyes and sweeps her hair away from her face, cheeks pink again. I’m developing an addiction to that color. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she says, and Fran, bless her, appears before I can reply with anything stupid.
“Specials are on the board,” she says, slapping menus on the table. “Coffee?”
Noel orders something French vanilla flavored, and I ask for a can of Java Jolt. Hopefully Fran heard me since she was already turning away.
Noel pretends to gag. “Java energy drink? Why not just drink coffee?”
“It’s locally made. My friend Em used to work for them, and I got hooked on it.”
“The bartender from last night.”
I nod. “We went to college together. When I opened Fortune, I poached her from them. Besides, I don’t like hot beverages.”
Noel blinks at me dramatically and it’s like her face comes alive with this little bit of snark. “As in, all hot beverages?”
“All.”
“Hot cocoa?”
I shake my head.
“Hot toddy?”
“No one likes those.”
“I do!” She clutches her heart. “My Nana made them every Christmas.”
I laugh. Between this and the way she’s sitting all prim and proper in this torn pleather booth, I’m beginning to think Noel might be a little old lady wearing a gorgeous twenty-something disguise.
Although, the Christmas part sounds nice. I’m always intrigued by other people’s family dynamics. Traditions and such that lasted longer than a year or two until you moved in with another family and started all over. But hot toddies are pretty disgusting. “I’d rather have a cold beer,” I say.
She visibly shivers. “What about hot soup?”
“Soup isn’t a beverage.”
“It’s a hot liquid, what’s the difference?”
I flash her a quick grin. “The same as the difference between drinking milk and eating cereal?”
She fights a smile, conceding the point with a few beats of silence, then shouts, “Warm apple cider!”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. “You’re not going to suddenly come up with a new beverage that has somehow escaped me for thirty years.”
Fran brings our drinks, and I order my regular: Southwest omelet with home fries and fruit. Noel doesn’t even look at the menu before ordering pancakes with whipped cream.
“Is that how old you are?” she asks me when we’re alone again.
“I’m thirty-one. I figured the first year doesn’t count because you only eat mush.”
“And drink milk. Warm.”
“What about you?” I ask, grinning.
She takes a big sip, smacking her lips. “I love warm drinks.”
“I meant how old are you?”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So that makes you twenty-six when we first met.”
“Mmm,” she hums around her coffee. “And that makes you the old guy at that party.”
I laugh again. “So you spent summers here?”
“Since I was a kid. Nana moved to long term care closer to us two years ago, though. Right after that night on the roof.”
“Us?” I glance at her left hand. She’s not wearing a ring, and my chest deflates in relief. Which I quickly kick myself for because this is a business meeting with a beautiful woman who can see my future. Not a date.
“Me and my mom.” Her smile is tight.
“You live with your mom?”
“She lives with me, actually. In my spare room. Well, currently she lives with her boyfriend in a van.”
“A van ?”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like.”
I snort. “That’s wild.”
“Very. Anyway, Nana needed a lot of care management, and she took care of me for so long.”
“That’s young to take that on. When I was that age, I was living with three other guys in a shitty three-unit on the outskirts of the city, brewing beer in the garage, and spending Thursday through Sunday at the bars.”
I’m what my stepdad used to call a late bloomer when it came to getting my shit together. I’ve been playing catch up ever since, no matter how successful the brewery has become. Sometimes this whole grown up job thing still feels like a disguise or a costume I’m trying on.
Noel raises her cup. “Sounds like career training to me.”
“Maybe I was smarter than I thought.” I huff a laugh. “So, your parents didn’t mind you being gone for months at a time?”
“It was just me and my mom then too, and it was either that or spend the summer in a different camp each week, which she could not afford. She relished her own time, anyway.”
There’s more to that story. I consider asking her about it, but my own childhood was messy enough that I know not to treat other people’s dirt like it’s my business.
“It was just me and my mom when I was a kid too,” I tell her. “Well, us and whatever guy she was married to at the time. Actually, it was mostly just me.”
Fran comes back, dropping our food. She shoots me another less-than-fond look, and this time Noel notices. “Not your biggest fan?”
“Fran? She’s coming around, I think. Another ten years or so and we’ll be vacationing together.”
“What did you do to piss her off?”
I squeeze ketchup onto my plate, flashing her a grin. “Let’s just say, I’ve had to grow into this charming personality.”
This earns me a laugh, a giggle actually, with her cheeks full of pancake and a dot of whipped cream on her upper lip. I stare at it until she licks it away. Until I can almost taste the sugar on my own tongue.
Friends. You’re a goddamn idiot, Bishop .