Page 63 of First Love, Second Draft

And so far the sum total of that outline was Chattanooga, whatever that meant.

But hey, the yard looked good.

Gracie tipped her head back. Oh, this project was doomed. Her career was doomed. Everything was doomed. Start the funeral dirge.

Her lips apparently preferred something livelier than a funeral dirge. They returned to whistling a Glenn Miller tune.

“Pennsylvania 6-5000.”

Gracie jerked, whipping her gaze to find Noah standing in the doorway. “I thought you were still outside.”

Noah stepped into the room, bringing the smell of fall and smoke along with him, as he set a cup of tea on the corner of her desk. “Needed a break. Thought you might be ready for one too. It’s herbal.”

“Thanks. And it was ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo,’ by the way. The song I was whistling.”

Noah removed a gray stocking hat he must’ve dug out of the hall closet and shoved it into his back jeans pocket as he ran his fingers through his flattened hair, making it stick up in sweaty angles. “I promise you that wasn’t ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo.’”

“Because you’re a Glenn Miller expert, are you?”

“Pretty much.The Glenn Miller Storywas my grandma Rosie’s favorite movie. Must’ve watched it at least a dozen times the one summer I lived with her. So trust me, if anybody knows Glenn Miller, it’s this guy.” He pointed his thumbs at his chest.

“Well, sounds like you need to watch it again. Because this girl”—Gracie jabbed her thumbs at her chest—“was whistling ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo.’”

“I’m telling you, ‘Pennsylvania 6-5000.’”

“If I’d been whistling ‘Pennsylvania 6-5000,’ it would have sounded like this—” Gracie began whistling.

Noah immediately started shaking his head. “That’s ‘Little Brown Jug.’ Listen, this is ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo.’” And because he never could whistle to save his life, he began making weird trumpet-sounding noises.

“You kidding me? That’s ‘A String of Pearls.’ Maybe ‘Tuxedo Junction.’”

“You’re just naming songs.”

“You’re just making noises.”

When they transitioned into a weird mash-up of “In the Mood” and Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” Gracie waved her hands and yelled, “What is happening right now?”

“We’re working on the memoir,” Noah said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“This is not working on the memoir.This”—she waved her finger back and forth between them—“is putting me at a high risk for a stroke.”

Noah lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Time to focus. No more Glenn Miller showdowns. How about we both just take a breath for a minute? You drink some tea. I take a shower. We start fresh in a half hour.”

Not a bad idea. She reached for her teacup. “Fine. Reconvene in a half hour. Maybe then you can tell me what Chattanooga is all about.”

“I thought Glenn Miller was off-limits. Oh wait. Do you meancharcuterie?” He stepped to the desk and tapped on the paper full of his scribbles.

“That sayscharcuterie?”

“Probably spelled it wrong, but yeah, see?” He ran his finger alongthe next bit of chicken scratch that may as well have been written in Greek. “It ties into this metaphor I thought up about baseball. But I was trying to get it written down so fast that now I can’t tell what I wrote. Shoot, now I can’t even remember how it all tied together.”

“Get out.” Before she dumped the cup of tea on his head. Which, after hearing about Rachel’s beer experience, honestly didn’t sound like a bad way to handle things.

“All right. Be back in thirty. Unless...” He paused in the doorway, his voice full of nonchalant innocence. “You want me to switch that shower into a bubble bath for two?”

Gracie threw a pen at him. He smirked and disappeared from the doorway, making ridiculous trumpet sounds to the tune of Bobby Darin’s “Splish Splash” all the way down the stairs.

If Gracie smiled, it was only because he was stupid. And annoying. And a tiny bit appealing in his flannel button-down shirt that smelled like autumn leaves and outdoor work and all sorts of good memories, including cool fall days that ended in a bubble bath for two.

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