Noah has always been this way. It’s why he captained his former NHL team for as long as he did. The guy is good at figuring shit out, and he always wants to do it together. I respect that. It’s why, when he came to me with the idea for the cidery, I wasn’t even remotely scared to pack up my life and move to Washington and bet on him and the business.
He continues to stare at me, and fuck if it’s working. My walls start to crumble.
“We’re behind schedule,” I say.
“Schedule for what?”
“The arcade. We’re supposed to have the big opening next weekend, and we’re still missing three machines, plus we’re slacking on getting the press info out.”
“Okay.” He nods. “So then let’s talk to Sophie about it. She’s the one who posts on our socials, right? Have her double her posting. Get some boots on the ground and hang flyers around town. Hit the places that already stock our cider.”
“And the missing machines?”
“Who cares? I mean, would it be ideal to have everything? Sure, but it’s not the end of the world if we don’t. We’ll just tell people when they come in that we’ll be adding more games and shit later. Give them an incentive to come back.”
He has a point there. Hell, it might actually be smart.
“That could work,” I say.
“It will work. What next?”
“What do you mean?”
“That can’t be all that’s stressing you out. What else is going on? You been sleeping okay?”
I shake my head. “Do I ever?”
“When your hip isn’t being a bitch, yes. Is that the issue?”
I want to tell him it’s always the issue, but it’s hard to explain chronic pain to someone who doesn’t live with it. They don’t understand that you don’t get breaks. You just get days that are easier than others. Right now it’s easier, but it doesn’t mean I’m not still dealing with the pain.
“My hip is my hip.”
He nods with a frown, and I hate the fucking sympathetic look he gets in his eyes. It’s the same one I always receive when I talk about my injury.
I think one of the only people not to look at me like that was Summer, and that’s frustrating on a whole different level.
“I had the contractors in here yesterday about the kitchen. It looks like it’s going to be a four-week renovation at a minimum, and they can’t start for another week. So we add in roughly another buffer week just in case, and we’ll be pushing it really fucking close to your wedding.”
“Shit.” It’s all he says, but that’s because he doesn’t have to say anything else.
I’m the one who promised him that if we did this, we’d have it done before his wedding so that we could use the kitchen for it. Now I’m notso sure I can deliver, and it’s killing me. I don’t want to let him down. I don’t give a shit about marriage myself, but I know it means something to Noah. I want this day to be perfect for him and Odette.
“Well, there’s not much we can do about that now,” Noah says. “We already knew we’d be pushing it with the deadline, so this just gives us even more motivation to get it done. I can pitch in with the contractors. Get things moving faster.”
“Dude, Noah, no. I didn’t mean that you’d have to do that on top of everything else you’re dealing with. I just—”
“Let me handle it, okay? That’s my area, Mr. Numbers.”
He means it lightheartedly, I know he does. But it still sucks because he’s right. That is his area, and it’s only because I can’t help him. I’m sure I could swing a hammer for a bit or tear some tile out, but I can’t be down on my knees for long or stand on ladders or do just about anything else that wouldn’t have me in excruciating pain for days or weeks afterward.
I’m fucking useless.
“Fine,” I agree, pushing down the anger that always comes when I remember I’m never going to be able to move like I used to. “But I’m helping as much as I can, and you’re not going to argue with me about it.”
He wants to, but he doesn’t. “Speaking of the kitchen, Odette had lunch with Summer yesterday, and she’s really excited about the new menu.”
Everything in me perks up at the mention of Summer, and I tell myself it’s because I want this to work out for her too. I want to see her happy like that night she cooked for me. She can act as nonchalant as she wants about the whole thing, but I can tell she’s excited about the idea of overseeing another kitchen. The way her face lit up when we were picking out equipment was like a little kid finding buried treasure. It was fascinating to watch.
