Noah:Yes, you are. You should have just drip-dried, and I wouldn’t look like I went ten rounds with Tom Wilson.
Me:Who?
Me:You know what? I don’t care. It’s not my fault. And for the last time, I can’t just “drip dry”!Why Are You Like This?!
Noah:Because you made me like this.
Me:
Noah:I don’t know how you did that, but right back at you.
That’s the last we spoke to each other, but I know he’s still sporting that bruised look under his sunglasses. He has to be.
“So, Odette,” Lydia Stevens says, pulling my attention.
I tuck my phone away and take a sip of Mr. Stevens’s signature drink of the evening—a peach mango Bellini. He switches it up every week, and it’s adorable how much effort he puts into making each one fun, little umbrellas included. “Yes?”
“Iz was telling me about your ideas for the venue. She said you and Noah were working on revamping the barn. How’s that going so far?”
“Uh, good. We made good progress the last time I was out there. We haven’t worked for the last few days since ...” I drag my eyes to Noah, who, while he looksveryinvested in cooking the meat, is definitely eavesdropping. I don’t know how I can tell, but I can.
“Oh, right. He said he got something in his eye. It’s why he’s walking around with those silly sunglasses on even though it’s far toodark out for them.” Lydia says that last part a little louder and pointedly to her son.
He lifts his head and looks right at me. Sure, I can’t see it, but I can certainlyfeelhis stare. It’s hot, and not in the fun kind of way.
“Hazard of the job,” he says, then takes a swig of his cider. It’s Glove Save, a dry and slightly bitter cider he makes at Stick Taps.
I will myself not to react since I know exactly what “job” he was doing when it happened.
I haven’t told anyone about the incident, and I guess Noah hasn’t either.
“Poor kid,” Lydia says, like Noah is still a young boy and not a thirty-eight-year-old man. “I wish he’d take those sunglasses off and let his father look at it as if the man hasn’t been a doctor for over twenty-five years. He’s not retired yet.”
Brian Stevens has been the town doctor forever. He was my doctor as a teen and is still my doctor today, but at the end of the year, he’s hanging up his stethoscope and enjoying retired life. Not having him working in Port Harbor will be weird, but I’m excited about what’s coming for Izzy’s parents. They’ve been talking about buying an RV and traveling the countryside for years. Now they can finally make it happen.
Not that she’d ever tell her parents, but it’s a huge reason Izzy is hurrying to get married. She wants to be settled down before they go off on their adventures and not have to drag them back here for the wedding. She’s doing it all for them.
I wish she’d do it for her, though. She always had plans after college to go to Europe and backpack and find herself, but then things got serious with Craig, so she never did. I wonder if she would have followed through with that plan if they had never gotten together.
“He’s just being Tough Noah like always, Mom. You know how he is,” Izzy chimes in.
She’s right. He’s downplayed his injuries for as long as I can remember, like when he battled through the playoffs with a broken ankleanda groin tear.
But that’s hockey players for you. They’re built differently from the rest of us.
Sometimes they are a littletoodifferent—like being too stubborn to take their sunglasses off even when it’s getting too dark to wear—but they are different.
“We all know how stubborn Noah can be.” He snorts at my comment, and I glare at him. “Something to say, Noah?”
He shakes his head once. “Not a damn word, Odie.”
It’s the most he’s spoken to me since I got here. Usually we’re picking fights all evening just because we can, but he’s been quiet tonight, which means I’ve been right about what’s going on—Noah is avoiding me.
I’ve tried to get him to let me come help with the farm over the last two days, but he’s refused me at every turn. I wanted to drive out to the cidery yesterday when he told me no again, but I didn’t get the chance thanks to my meeting with a new florist running late. Still, even after, I had half a mind to show up and ... and ... well, I don’t know exactly what I would have done other than demand he talk to me. But at least it would have been something.
“Odie.” My mother laughs, pulling my attention away from Noah, who looks far too good each time he takes a drink from his bottle. “You always hated that nickname.”
“And I still do,” I say loudly enough for Noah to hear.
