“Yeah.” He flattened his hand on the tablecloth, curled it into a fist again. “I had it good under that partner. A signing bonus that made a lot of problems go away. The best assignments. I didn’t spend a minute on any of the usual junior associate drudgery. And he still took me on all the yachts and out to the beach houses. I didn’t hate it.”
“And the farm? Do you hate that?”
“I have my moments.” He watched as I cut an enormous slice of tomato into quarters. “But it’s a lot different now than it used to be.”
Before his father passed. Before his mother moved away. Before Gennie came into his care.
He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. “If it’s good with you, I’m going to start making some calls about financing for the Twin Tulip project. In the meantime, try to put some flesh on the bones of your idea. The more detail, the better. I can have someone work it into a business plan.”
“Okay.” I popped a forkful of tomato, mozzarella, and basil into my mouth. “Is there anything else that you need from me now that we’ve”—I wiggled my shoulders which yielded a light huff of laughter from him—“officially lost our minds?”
He glanced over his shoulder, gestured to the server for our bill. “What else would I need, Shay?”
I ran my thumb over the back side of my fingers, tracing the twine.He didn’t mean that the way it sounded. He didn’t mean anything by it.“Nothing that I can think of.”
* * *
I was backin room nine the next morning, a bucket-sized cup of iced coffee sweating on the horseshoe table and a plan of attack in hand when they arrived. Four of them, each bearing the unmistakable glower of teenage disinterest and grayish-blue t-shirts readingLittle Star Creamery Crewover the heart.
“Mr. Barden told us to come here and move furniture,” one of the girls said. She looked familiar but I couldn’t place her face.
“Where do you want this stuff?” the tallest boy asked. His voice was somewhere down in the basement. “Do you have, like, a seating chart? We could set up the desks from that.”
“I can do the bookshelves,” the other girl said, holding up a hand. “I can just sit and put books on the shelves, right? I don’t have to carry anything?”
“Noah. Sent you,” I said. “He sent youhere?”
“Yeah,” the tall boy said. “We’re not allowed to leave until it’s finished so…” He motioned to the room. “What do you want us to do?”
Now that the initial shock of being gifted four teenagers had worn off somewhat, I said, “You’re precious but I’m all set. Really. Thank you for checking in though.”
The girl I couldn’t place shook her head. “Mr. Barden said you’d say that and we’re supposed to tell you it’s nonnegotiable.” She gestured to herself. “Like Brady said, we’re not allowed to leave until it’s done. I’m Lillian, that’s Schultzy, and that’s Camille.” She slipped her hands into her jean shorts. “Where should we start?”
The tall one, Brady, popped in his earbuds. The quiet one, Schultzy, scanned the room. Camille added, “If we do this, Mr. Barden said we could have Friday night off and I haven’t had a Friday off all summer.” She glanced at her phone. “I really don’t want to work this Friday.”
I rubbed my thumb over my palm, tracing the spot where Noah had tied a scrap of twine around my finger less than twenty-four hours ago. That ring was on the windowsill in my bedroom at Thomas House now. It didn’t feel right to wear it today, knowing I was going to be arranging desks and moving bookshelves. It would get snagged somewhere and I didn’t want that.
Also, I didn’t need to wear a wedding ring because I had no need to communicate that I was married. That was the most relevant reason. Not wanting to ruin the ring was secondary. Obviously.
Lillian pointed to the rolled-up rug. “The rug probably has to go down first. Where should that go?”
“In front of the whiteboard,” I said. I couldn’t rob these kids of a free Friday night, even if I didn’t know what to think about Noah shipping them off to me.
It was the strangest wedding gift anyone had ever received. And it was so sweet that I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face all day.
chapterthirteen
Noah
Students will be able to negotiate under less than ideal circumstances.
A slammed door.“I want to wear shorts!”
“Then wear shorts,” I called up the stairs.
Drawers opened, banged shut.“I don’t have any!”
I dropped my head against the wall. There was no way this morning could get any worse. A goat on the loose, another refrigeration problem at the bakehouse, a last-minute staffing issue at a farmers market, and now a niece stomping around in underwear and an eye patch. “You do. They’re in your drawer. The bottom one.”
