Page 26 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Now that I’ve seen it, I think my heart just exploded.
“Oh … of course! Kidding! Ha!” I let out a laugh. It comes out way too stiff and unnatural. I immediately try a different kind of laugh. It’s even worse. What am I doing? “I’ll see you tomorrow, little bro!” Now I’m breathing even more life into the bro thing?Stop talking, Cole, just stop. “I mean, um … I’ll see you tomorrow, N-Noah. I hope.”
That’s the last thing he hears before heading off with Burton. I just stand there on the gravel like a lost garden gnome. Tamika is next to pass me by, offering a little wave and a, “See you around, Mr. Man-of-the-Hour!” before slipping into her own car. I listen to the vehicles as engines ignite.
I think my own engine just died.
I’m becoming entirely too skilled at humiliating myself lately.
I hear heels clack down the steps of the porch behind me. “I promise I won’t mess it up this time,” comes Nadine’s voice as she joins me on the gravel.
I’m still staring at the car Noah’s in. “Mess up …?”
“Y’know how guilty I felt after that whole Christmas fiasco? I just can’t forgive myself for settin’ you up with Malcolm the way I did, pushin’ you two together like that. Someday, I’m gonna learn my lesson to quit playin’ matchmaker. It obviously isn’t my thing. But you know what, Cole?” She pats me on the back and offers a wink. “Everything happens for a reason. And now, I’m doing theoppositeof playin’ matchmaker. I’m letting the town play the role of matchmaker itself! And once this event gets underway, you’ll have more options in love than you can count.”
I watch Burton’s car pull out, but from this angle, I can’t see Noah in the passenger seat. I gnaw on my lip as I watch them go, shrinking down the long, winding driveway into the darkness.
Did I just miss a chance to drive Noah home? I could’ve saved him a long and tortuous car ride back to town with fart-machine Burton.
“Oh, do you have the jitters, Cole? Is that the problem? Don’t worry,” Nadine carries on. “Everyone will fall in love with you. This is a good thing! I know you were the hero at the festival today, but see this as your chance to be the hero for the whole town. Can you do that for me?”
I can’t see the car anymore. I don’t know about saving Spruce in any way. From my perspective, the town isn’t in peril. The only one whose hero I want to be right now is Noah’s. The only person whose attention I care to earn is his.
And as usual, he’s too adorably clueless to even notice.
If I really want to get Noah’s attention, I’m going to have to do something bigger, something direct … something he can’t ignore.
Chapter 7
Noah
It’s after taking a long shower (to wash off the longest car ride out of the Spruce countryside in recorded history) that I huddle at last over my notebook with just the desk lamp on, writing out all of my questions for Cole in the morning.
This process is a lot easier when I’m preparing questions that someone else will be asking.
Why did Cole insist on me being the interviewer?
More importantly, why did I give in?
I write one question out. Then I stare at it and imagine myself asking the question. Then I scribble it out with a scowl. I do this no less than forty-two times. I’m on the second page of making my list of interview questions and don’t even have the first one.
Every time I imagine myself asking him the question in real life, I see him sitting right in front of me.
Sitting too close.
His eyes pierce me with expectation. He notices I’m awkward and gives me a gentle smile to try and soothe me, which in most circumstances would be nice, but to me feels more like needlessly torturing your food before you eat it. No one should be allowed to have such a power-commanding smile like that.
Then, beyond all reason, he will actually answer my question.
And he will answer it well.
And I will forget to write anything down, because my eyes are defenseless against his spellbinding gaze, which will trap me like a tiny butterfly in a net, fighting feebly as I lose my strength. I will inevitably be his. Captured and helpless and ready to be eaten.
But before I’m his meal, I’ll be humiliated.
My dying thought will be: I shouldnothave agreed to be his interviewer.
There is another possible outcome. He could be nice. Gentle. Understanding. Carrying no butterfly net behind his back.
