Page 12 of Penalties and Proposals

Believe.Ha. I almost snort out loud. How about I believe I’m Harry Potter and I cast a quick spell to time travel to another restaurant in another town altogether?

“What about the bar?” I nod my head toward the old wooden bar where an older woman is busy making drinks and watching me through narrowed eyes. “Looks like there’s space there.”

“Our bartender isn’t on duty for another hour.” When I shoot her a questioning look, obviously confused by the womanpouring herself a soda from the beverage gun, the young girl stammers. “I’ve been asked to not have anyone sit there until his shift begins.”

So this fact leaves me to be seated by the blight that plagues me. Yes, I’m being ridiculously overdramatic, but the thought of chewing my dinner and having to stare at Noah, or work hard to look anywhere in this room besidesatNoah, turns me off in the biggest way. Like a light switch after a big night out. I didn’t go to that party tonight because I wanted some time alone, time to myself to plan out the schedule I need to juggle in the days ahead.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh, pulling out my notebook and phone. When I look Noah’s way, he’s watching me, his expression frozen. I can’t read him, but he could be as weirded out that I’m about to be seated beside him as I am. I’ll save us both the trouble. I pick the chair where my back will be facing him and pull it out and settle in.

The hostess hands me the menu and asks for a drink order before she disappears from sight. I make a mental note to apologize to her. Poor thing. It’s not her fault she’s seated me next to the devil.

“Hi, Willa.” Of course his voice is like hot chocolate. The devil’s would be velvety and delicious. My instincts tell me to ignore him, but I’m here to work. I can hear my mom’s voice in the back of my mind telling me to play nice.

I pick up the menu and fake peruse it. Fake because of course I can’t think about anything else right now except that he’s right there.

“Hello, Noah. Fancy running into you at dinner.”

“A man’s gotta eat,” he responds.

“No doubt, but when I heard about the party happening in town tonight, I figured you’d be the first one signed up to be there.” I flip a page of the menu a little more aggressively than intended and manage to rip it a tiny bit. Must. Breathe.

“Contrary to past reports, I’m not the guy who goes to all the parties any longer.”

I want to turn around and face him, see the look on his face, but the stubborn part of me refuses. He’s the one who is engaging me; I can only imagine that eventually my lack of wanting to chat will catch on and he’ll focus on something else.

“So, you’re telling me a leopard can change his spots. That’s nice,” I manage to say, doubt dripping with each word. Holding my menu up in the air for him to see. “But, the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned. If you’ll excuse me, I need to decide on my meal.”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Of course, sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

A weight slides off my shoulders. Was it really that easy? I decide it has to be and go about choosing my meal, landing on the lasagna, then turning my attention to my notebook. This was to be a planning session for Noah’s photos amongst other work, and I intend to stay focused, even if he is right behind me and I can hear him breathing.

I started making a list of places I’d scouted around town over the past few days, hoping to run it past him and see if anything connects for him as well. Of course we’ll do the obvious photos in the arena and get shots of Noah at practice and on the ice with his team, but it’s the pictures of him doing whatever Noah does that my editor and theAthletic Edgereaders are going to want.

Time of day is important, too, so I start dividing up shots I can do in the late afternoon when the sun is going down and its natural filter is at its best, and another column for early morning shots that would add a layer of warmth and illumination to the visual. I love getting up for early morning runs, and I’d noticed steam rising from the stream in the park in town this morning. That could add a romantic feel to some of the pictures if he’s able to meet me at that time.

Ugh. Noah and romance? Come on.

I’m not sure how long I’ve had my head down, but the sound of a voice beside me startles me and pulls me out of my haze.

“Excuse me, but are you ready to order?”

Finding a server prepared with pen and paper, I nod. “I’ll have the lasagna, please.”

“That’s one of the best dishes,” he murmurs in agreement with my choice, scribbling down the order on his pad. “We’ll get your order in now.”

Handing the menu back, I thank the man and wait for him to walk off, but instead, he shuffles to the table behind me.

“Sir, your order will be coming out later than intended.” The poor guy, I can hear regret in the server’s voice. As someone who waited tables for a long time while I was in college, I get it. Telling someone that their dinner is running late is not the best experience, especially if they’re hungry. “Our sincerest apologies, but the lasagna is just now in the oven.”

“Totally cool, may I have some more bread while I’m waiting?” Noah’s voice is calm, patient. Kind.

“Of course. We’ll also be happy to comp your meal because of the issue,” the man begins, but Noah pipes in quickly.

“No. That’s okay. I’m fine waiting.” He clears his throat before raising his voice a touch and saying, “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Okay, Beaumont. I feel like you’re talkingatme now, but still … not going to play into it. I put my head back down and go back to planning out some shots. Classical Italian music plays softly in the background, and more people are slowly beginning to make their way through the door. It seems the hostess was right about the reservations; the tables around us are filling up with a little more speed now.

As I lift my iced tea to my lips to take a sip, I can feel someone’s breath on my cheek. A hand reaches over my shoulder and a lone finger taps on Noah’s name, which is at the top of my sheet.

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