“Paige,” I say, my voice tight with barely contained frustration, “can I talk to you for a minute?”
Her smile falters. “Of course, Noah. What’s up?”
I wait until the room is empty before I let my feelings spill out. “What were you thinking? I can’t co-chair the parade committee. I don’t do things like this. I don’t put myself out there in front of everyone. I keep to myself, stay behind the window of my trailer, stay safe.”
Paige’s brow furrows in confusion. “Safe? What do you mean by ‘safe’?”
I run a hand through my hair, frustration building that that is what she decides to focus on. “Being in charge of something makes me a target. People will judge what I do, and I don’t need their criticism. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.”
Paige is quiet for a moment, her head tilted to one side as she considers my words. Then she asks softly, “But if you don’t try something, how will you know if you like it or if you’re good at it?”
“I just know already,” I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t need a Christmas Parade fail on my back. I don’t even want to think about what people will say about me after that.”
Paige presses her lips together, a determined look crossing her face. “You’ve seen my channel, right?”
I nod, unsure where she’s going with this.
“Have you ever read the comments?”
I swallow hard, remembering some of the harsh words I’ve seen posted under her videos. I give a barely perceptible nod.
Paige’s voice takes on a mocking tone as she makes air quotes with her fingers. “Unoriginal. Small-town hick. Some people shouldn’t have passports. Clickbait—and not in a good way.”
I cringe at each horrible word, all of which I’d read before in the comment section of her videos.
“Do you know what?” Paige continues, her voice growing passionate. “I don’t care what they say. Just because they type it or say it or think it doesn’t make it true. What is true is that I love what I do, and it feeds my soul. At the least, I hope my channel is entertaining. At the most, I hope it’s an avenue for God to express Himself through me.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, genuinely confused.
Paige’s eyes light up, and she starts gesturing as she speaks. “You express yourself through drawing, right?”
I nod, still not sure where she’s going with this.
“Well, that’s creation. God created us. We’re His creation. When we use the talents He gave us, it is an expression of Him. I make videos; you draw, Allen paints, the parade committee organizes, the Ramirez family cooks, the list goes on.” She pauses, drawing a deep breath. The passion she feels for this topic is evident, and I’m captivated by her energy. My fingers itch to draw her like this, to catch the fire in her eyes and the conviction in her stance.
“You’ve been holding back,” she continues, her voice softer now but no less intense. “Limiting God in your life. You need to let loose.” She pauses again, then adds quickly, “And you need to co-chair the parade with me because it will be a lot of fun, and I don’t want to do it alone. That’s boring.”
I can’t help but laugh a little at her sudden shift from profound to playful. It’s so typical Paige, and my resolve weakens.
Paige links her arm with mine. “I’m taking that as a yes. Let’s go to Violet’s, grab a couple of burgers, and talk aboutvision.” She waves her free arm across the air in front of us as if painting the word there.
I want to draw that, too, I realize. The way she moves, the enthusiasm that radiates from her—it’s all so vibrant and alive. It makes me want to pick up a pencil.
Instead, I f nod. “Alright,” I say, surprising myself with my agreement. “Let’s go to Violet’s.”
As we walk out of the community center and into the crisp night air, I’m struck by a realization. For the first time in years, I’m actually a little excited about something beyond my daily routine or the next workout Sam will have us do. The idea of involving local artists in the parade, of possibly creating something beautiful and meaningful for the whole town to enjoy, is creative in a whole new way.
Violet’s Diner is warm and inviting when we push through the door, the smell of coffee and grilled onions wrapping around us like a comforting blanket. We settle into a booth, and as Paige starts outlining her ideas for the parade, her eyes sparkling with excitement, I get caught up in her enthusiasm.
Maybe,I think as I listen to her talk about the people we need to talk to, including the police chief and the mayor,this won’t be so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to step out of my comfort zone. And as I look at Paige, I realize that maybe I’m opening myself up to more than just new possibilities in my career. Maybe, just maybe, I’m opening my heart as well.
Eight
NOAH
The soft glow of my desk lamp casts long shadows across the living room as Paige and I pore over parade plans. The warmth from the fireplace battles against the chill seeping in through the old window frames, creating a cozy cocoon that wraps around us like a well-worn quilt. The scent of pine from the small Christmas tree in the corner mingles with the rich aroma of the cocoa we’ve been nursing for hours. She keeps making it, and I keep drinking it.
I steal a glance at Paige, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sketches out ideas for float designs. The golden light catches in her hair, turning it into gold. For a moment, I’m tempted to grab my sketchbook and capture the way the shadows play across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw and the spark of creativity in her eyes.
