21. Chapter 21
twenty-one
Jamie
I t’s dusk when I slide my card into the parking kiosk in a dirt lot at the edge of the point.
Noel fidgets beside me, her fingers in her skirt.
It’s pink and gauzy and covered in flowers, short enough that my eyes keep landing on the hem.
Her sweater is pink too. She looks like cotton candy, sweet and delicate.
It brings back the memory of how indelicate I was with her after she agreed to come here with me tonight, when we’d fallen back into her bed for another couple of hours until I was forced to either leave or be late.
I’ve never desired to stay horizontal for so long before.
Normally restlessness gets the better of me and I need to get up, move.
But there were too many places I still needed to touch her, too many words bubbling out of us.
We talked about the house, the brewery, what we want to do downtown before the snow flies. Stupid stories from when we were kids.
I told her how Greg’s family had a slip off of the East End, and it was a miracle none of us ever drowned falling off the rowboat we used to get out there after dark.
She told me how she used to take the ferry to Peaks with her Nana to go to the same festival as the T-shirt I had on yesterday.
We figured out we were definitely there at the same time, and my mind had taken that coincidence and run with the what-ifs.
Of course, she was a pre-teen there with her grandmother and I was sneaking beer in my backpack with my delinquent friends, so they were just fantasies.
If there’s any magic in all of this, it’s that this beautiful, perfect woman found some reason to wake up beside me.
With that thought in my head, I grab her hand and lead us down the walking path leading to the outdoor venue. The air’s more crisp the closer we get to the water, scented with smoke from the food trucks, and cold dirt. It feels like walking over a bridge toward fall.
I try not to think of it as the season before she’s supposed to leave.
It feels like the two of us have grabbed hands and taken a huge leap, only to find we’ve landed on ground that’s not entirely solid. My feelings for her are as solid as concrete, but this part I have no control over.
“Have you been here before?” I ask her, holding her hand a little tighter.
“Nope.”
“They do this every week. The organizers came to me a couple months ago wanting to partner. It’s one of the last of these before they shut down for the season. I think you’ll like it.”
“You’ve been right every time you’ve said that so far,” she says, beaming at me.
After a bend in the path, the huge stage comes into view.
They get big acts here in the summers, but tonight an obviously local four-piece folk band is setting up on the ground in front of it.
We curve around the stage onto the open grass, lined on the right with a temporary beer garden, a row of food trucks on the left, and surrounded on three sides by the Fore River.
“What first?” I ask, pressing my lips to the back of her hand. “Food or drink?”
“Food. It smells amazing.”
We order a couple of sandwiches at the gourmet grilled cheese truck, and I hand the guy my card, but when he gives me the slip in return, I immediately realize my mistake.
It’s old school and doesn’t have the suggested tip amount on the bottom.
Heat rushes up my neck as I try to work out the correct percent of the total, but I can practically feel the entire line watching me. Including Noel.
I’m not going to embarrass myself by pulling up the calculator on my phone, so I grab my wallet back out of my pocket instead, handing him a twenty.
The kid’s face lights up. “Thanks, dude.”
I give him a cocky nod like I’m some high roller not a guy who gets tripped up by simple math.
“That was generous,” Noel says when we step to the side to wait for our food.
“I’m a bartender. I tip well.” My palms are sweaty so I shove them in my pockets instead of holding her hand again.
“I thought you were the owner of a very successful craft brewery.”
“That’s my side gig.” I wink at her but she’s giving me that vaguely psychic look, and I don’t think I’ve pulled anything over.
I’ll have to explain myself eventually. She’ll see the pen marks on my hand when I need to keep track of beers during a busy shift. Or she’ll come with me to watch a game at Coppersmith’s, and she’ll realize I don’t know who’s winning even when the score’s showing.
“Jameson Bishop.” I’m still trying to work out how to tell her when they call my name from the other window. I pick up the sandwiches, gesturing to a picnic table at the edge of the water.
“Your name’s Jameson?” She smoothes her skirt beneath her legs to sit, and I hand her a box.
“Yup. Like the whiskey. But no one calls me that unless I’m in trouble.”
“Ohh. I’ll remember that.” Her eyes flash with a mischief I haven’t seen from her, and my heart does a tug-o-war with my dick to decide which one likes it more. It’s a draw. She’s perfect. I want to make an absolute mess of her.
I manage to tamp that down, though, because I also want to take her out tonight.
We talk in between bites, her feet crossed at the ankles and tucked between mine beneath the table, trailing off when the band starts and it’s too hard to hear each other.
We’re headed to the beer tap when I see Em at the edge of a blanket near the band, hand to her eyes to block the setting sun.
I do a double-take when I notice Cara sprawled out on the ground beside her. Interesting.
I turn to Noel. “Em’s here. Do you mind if we say hi?”
“Of course not.”
We cross the lawn, waving when Em sees us. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” I say hi to Cara and give Em a cocky smirk that says, “ and look who you brought.”
She ignores me, though, instead turning to Noel. “I know you.”
Noel slants nervous eyes at me, until Em says, “From the launch last month.”
“Right. I’m—”
“Noel,” Em says. “Like Christmas.”
She laughs. “Yes.”
I introduce Cara who’s staring at me with a too-wide grin. I know instantly she and Em have been talking about me. Before Wes’s dad, my mom was married to this guy who had two daughters, both younger than me and obnoxiously interested in everything I did. This is like that.
Cara stands to give me a side hug. Her huge mass of cinnamon-colored curls sticks to my stubble, and I make a show of pushing it down before hugging her back.
“You and Jamie went to school together, right?” Noel asks Em, and it’s fucking adorable the way she seems nervous. Like she’s trying for something she doesn’t know she already has.
I slide my hand into hers. “We met at intramural soccer when we were freshman at SMCC.”
Em nods. “He sucks at soccer, by the way. He’s too tall to run right.”
Noel tips her head to look up at me like she’s doing the math on that. “First of all,” I say, glaring at Em. “I only played soccer to keep in shape for hockey. It was a commitment to get this good.”
“Please remember you’re talking to the woman whose porch you bled all over after a hockey game.” Noel pats my cheek playfully, then lets her thumb trace the last of the bruise around my eye.
“I took a bad hit because I’m such a fierce competitor,” I say, leaning into her palm. “I like to mix it up on the ice. It’s dangerous.”
Em snorts. “You’re a big, dangerous teddy bear, Jamie.”
“That’s right. I heard you got your brain jostled,” Cara says. “Em said you’re defying all of your doctor’s orders and being a general idiot about it.”
Noel’s eyes go wide like she can’t decide whether to laugh or press for a specific list of my defiances. “Noel’s been taking care of me,” I say.
They’re both looking at Noel now.
“Are you a nurse?” Cara asks.
“I am not. And he hasn’t listened to me once.”
A connection fires in my brain. “Actually, Noel’s an artist, Cara.”
Cara lights up at that like I thought she might.
The two of us are in a networking group together which is how she and Em met.
People often underestimate Cara because she wears bright, bohemian clothes and as a former theater kid, has a tendency to break into song.
She’s sharp, though, and extremely ambitious.
And she’s been talking non-stop about a project she wants to begin by year’s end.
“What kind of art?” she asks Noel.
“I’m a graphic designer.”
“She’s a painter.”
Noel flicks a look at me, half chastising, half curious. “Mostly watercolor, but not exclusively.”
“Botanicals,” I add, repeating Noe’s fancy word for plants.
Cara presses her hands together. “Well, that’s some fucking serendipity.”
I nudge Noel. “Are you taking any commissions?”
“Why? Do you want me to paint your portrait?”
Em barks a laugh. “Oh, I like this one.”
Me too , I think. Me fucking too . “Now that you mention it. Cara, what do you think? My face could sell a lot of coffee.”
“Before the black eye, maybe.”
“Ouch.”
Cara turns to Noel. “You know the old fish shacks on outer Commercial Street?”
“I do.”
“I turned them into a coffee and breakfast stand—The Cara Bean. This summer was our first season, and it was amazing. It’s the perfect location to grab commuters from the bridge on their way in and out of town.
I’ve been looking for someone to design a mural for the sides of the shacks while we’re off season. ”
“Oh.” Understanding breaks on Noel’s face. “What kind of mural?”
“Realistic. Naturey… is that a word? But, like, also fun.” Cara nods her head like she’s figuring it out as she goes. “Something uniquely Portland. That’s all I have so far, which is exactly why I need a designer. I’d be thrilled to talk with you if you’re interested.”
I’m standing on the edge of a cliff waiting for Noel’s answer. It’s not entirely selfish, this would be a great thing for her, but also, a job is a very practical reason for her to stick around longer. There’s nothing Noel loves more than being practical.
Her eyes dart to mine as if she’s heard my thoughts—I’m not convinced she can’t—then she turns to Cara. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I’m staying at my grandmother’s house.”
“Long enough to design it, though,” I say. “Right?”
She chews her lip, and I bump her with my shoulder. “Well, yes. I mean I could design it from anywhere.”
“But you said you’ve always had more inspiration here.”
Cara grabs her purse from the blanket and digs her card out, handing it to Noel. She punches me lightly in the bicep. “Jamie Bishop, you little match maker. Noel, please text me, will you?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Noel slips the business card into her purse, hiding her grin between her teeth. I don’t miss it, though, and I’m clinging to it hard.