Page 111 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Of course, it’s a joke. There’s no butler. But the instant I see Noah, I feel deep relief. While Dean and Anthony continue to share their disturbingly adorable moment—and TJ walks over to check if he can help them somehow—I whisk Noah away.
A moment later finds us sitting in a quiet bay window at the other end of the guest wing, his backpack on the floor by our feet. “I was worried,” I tell him. “You weren’t answering my texts, and it’s been hours, and—”
“I know,” says Noah. “I’m sorry.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He swallows hard, then nods stiffly. “Yes, all’s good.”
I’m not convinced. “Did one of your mom’s baked goods come to life and take over the house? Did you discover your dad’s trains crashed into each other? Casualties numbering over a thousand? Mayor of Windville is in hot water with the local authorities?”
Noah cracks a smile—which was my intention. “No. As far as I know, everything is operating just fine in Windville, and my mom wasn’t up to her usual baking experiments. I’ll let them know you were so concerned.They’ll love that,” he adds as an aside. Then his eyes catch the strange painting near the window. “Is that a goose’s body with the head of a horse?”
“There’s a lot of weird art around here. Just go with it.” I lean into him. “I’m so glad you’re here, Noah.”
He pulls his eyes from the painting and smiles at me. “I’m glad to be here, too. Are you recovered after today? Did you get rest?”
“Not much. But I’ll get rest now that I’ve got you.”
“It was surreal today, watching you up on that stage.” He lets out a sigh of amazement. “Cole, I don’t know how you find the confidence in yourself to do all of that. One of my worst memories is standing on a stage in front of a bunch of people for an audition. It haunts me to this day.”
“An audition? When was this?”
“Years ago, my junior year of high school. Tamika even paid witness. She was a sophomore, I think. Now, anytime I’m in front of a bunch of people, or a social setting with a lot of pressure, I feel like I’m right back in that auditorium. I freeze up.”
I frown. “You never told me about that.”
“And then you go and make it look so easy, jumping onto that stage and being your amazing, talented self …” He looks the other way. “Even when you’re nervous, you look so confident.”
I take hold of his hand, bringing his attention back to me. “I’m only confident because you’re out there watching me. Who do you think I was performing for earlier? It wasn’t for anyone out there in that audience. Couldn’t even see them, anyway. It wasyourface I had in my mind the whole time. That pep talk you gave me in the dressing room?You’rethe one who gives me confidence.”
He averts his eyes. “Cole …”
“I don’t know when it’ll happen, but someday, you’ll let go of that audition nightmare. It won’t haunt you anymore. You have to make the choice to let it go, or fight it, or forgive yourself, or turn it from something that crushed you into something thatmadeyou. Have you ever asked Tamika about it? I bet the last thing she’d say is how scared you looked. She'd probably tell you howcourageousyou were to get up on that stage in the first place.”
“You think …?” he asks halfheartedly, still gazing away.
I touch his face, stroking his cheek. “Babe, I think you’re one of the most courageous people I’ve known. The people in that high school auditorium in your brain, they don’t matter. Just like all the people who will fill that pavilion in a couple of days don’t matter to me. You’re my inspiration, every second I’m on that stage. You are the only person who matters.”
He stares back. I want to say his eyes look happy, but I can’t help noticing the same persistent edge in them. Is my pep talk not helping at all? Is he still affected by my stage fright earlier in the dressing room when I could barely button my shirt?
If I’m being honest with myself, despite everything I’m telling him, there’s a part of me thatisnervous about the show. A part of me that totally lacks confidence. Things could go wrong. Lighting instruments could fall on my head. My clothes could magically fall off, exposing me to the insurmountably large audience that will no doubt fill that pavilion from end to end.
Do I even believe my own words about confidence?
“What are you guys doin’ way over here?”
Noah and I turn to find Anthony at the mouth of the hallway, his eyes red from crying, his robe hanging open to reveal that he’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight white boxer-briefs.
I realize belatedly I’m still caressing Noah’s face. For whatever reason, I don’t drop my hand.
Anthony looks back and forth between us. “So you guys gonna finish makin’ out or whatever the hell y’all are doin’ and come join us? Dean and I are takin’ a dip in the pool. TJ’s with us.”
Noah and I glance at each other.
“Or don’t. Y’know, whatever.” Anthony leaves.
After a second, Noah smirks. “You did say you wanted me by your side until ‘all of this madness is over with’ … I believe were your exact words.”
