He ignores me. Or maybe he’s focused on what he’s doing as he flips the burgers over the flame. I can’t believe his dad is trusting him to do that.
“Why’d we start calling her that again?”
“That would be my brother’s fault, Elaine,” Izzy says. “He found a dog collar at Disneyland and bought it for her, remember? Then he bet her that if she threw up on the teacups, she had to wear it for her school photo.”
My mother snaps her fingers. “That’s right. And our poor girl puked all over the place.”
Everyone laughs as I sink lower into a gray Adirondack chair, casting a sideways glance at Noah, who is smirking as he rotates the brats, listening in on us.
That was such a different life back then. He was my best friend’s somewhat famous older brother I had a crush on.
He certainly wasn’t the Noah I know now.
“To be fair, chokers were making a comeback then. It was cute,” Izzy says, trying to stick up for me as our mothers continue giggling over it.
She shoots me a wink, and I grin, but deep inside, I still feel mortified over it, especially since Noah was around to witness that whole debacle.
I dare a glance at him again, though I don’t know why. It’s like I can’t stop looking at him, and I know it’s because of what happened the other day.
I need to talk to him. Need to make amends. And I want back in on fixing up the farm. This wedding means far too much for me to leave it in Noah’s hands. I have to make sure it’s being done right.
“I’m grabbing another drink,” he announces. “Anyone want anything?”
“I’ll take another Bellini, please,” my mother requests.
“And grab that bowl of chips, dear,” his mother says.
He nods, then heads inside.
I find myself pushing to my feet and following behind him, mumbling a quick “I’ll go help him” before taking off.
He doesn’t need help. I know that, and Noah knows that too. But still. I want to talk to him alone for a moment. I want to make sure we’re genuinely okay and that he’s going to allow me to set foot on the farm again.
I sneak through the sliding glass door, and it snicks closed behind me.
He’s standing at the fridge, doors wide open as he reaches for the six-pack he brought along.
“Let me see it,” I demand, knowing full well he knows what I’m talking about.
He glances over his shoulder, not the least bit fazed by my sudden appearance. “No.”
“Dammit, Noah.” I walk farther into the kitchen. “Just let me see how bad it is.”
“Not a chance. Get lost,Odie,” he says as he pulls the pitcher of booze from the fridge and sets it on the counter.
I ignore him and shove myself in front of him, reaching for the sunglasses sitting on top of his busted nose.
Being the skilled former hockey player he is, he easily dodges my advances.
“Stop being such a pain in the ass.”
“You’re the only pain in the ass in this room,” he counters. “Or should I say pain in the nose?”
I glare at him, then reach for the glasses again.
Yet again, he dodges me.
“Noah . . .”
