Page 83 of We Can Do
“Thanks, Dad.”
The two of them shake, the older man beaming with pride that transforms his usually stoic features. The resemblance between them is striking in this moment—the same strong jaw, the same way their eyes crinkle when they’re genuinely happy. I look away and bite into my smile, knowing they won’t wantme drawing attention to the sweet moment. Noah’s relationship with his dad has evolved so much since that first tense phone call I overheard months ago.
“I can’t wait to read the book,” his dad says, nodding at the stack of copies ofSourdough Your Waywaiting on a table for our guests to take home. The covers gleam under the lights, the photograph of a perfectly scored loaf making my mouth water even though I’ve been surrounded by bread all day.
“I’m looking forward to hearing what you think,” Noah says, and I can hear the slight vulnerability in his voice that only those who know him well would catch. “Have you tried the charcoal and sesame loaf?”
“I’ve already had two slices.” His dad chuckles, gesturing toward the tables laden with samples. “That black bread threw me for a loop at first, but the flavor is incredible.”
The loaves are spread out across several tables, each one labeled with a small card indicating the page number in the book where the recipe can be found. In preparation for today, Noah and I got up early—Noah’s one day off from the bakery—and baked a handful of recipes from the book for the guests to try. The kitchen in our house had been a flour-dusted battlefield by the time we finished, but the results were worth it. There’s the classic sourdough that started it all, the rosemary and olive oil that became our Sunday tradition, the experimental chocolate and cherry that shouldn’t work but absolutely does.
Noah ducks his head and grins, clearly pleased. The tension he’s been carrying in his shoulders for days finally releases. Even though his dad has come out to visit Rye Again once before—a brief weekend that felt more like an inspection than a visit—there was a lot riding on this week’s stay. I could feel Noah coiling up tight with tension the days leading up to his dad’s plane landing, checking and rechecking that everything at the bakery was perfect. Now that his dad’s pride is palpable—not that I ever doubted it wouldn’t be—he’s finally unfurling, a flower in the glory of its bloom.
“Think about where you’d like to go for dinner tonight?” Noah asks him, already reaching for his phone to make a reservation wherever his dad chooses.
His dad shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “Nah. I’ll let our expert over here decide.” He smiles at me with genuine warmth. “You pick, Alexis. What’s the best place around here that you’ve reviewed?”
“Honestly? I know it should be something fancier, but it’sGet Stuffed. Their pepperoni is where it’s at.” I can already taste their signature crispy-edged pepperoni cups, the way the cheese gets those perfect brown spots.
“Then pizza it is.” He nods with satisfaction, and I love how easy he is about it. No need for pretense or fancy restaurants to prove something. “Ah, and I wanted to ask you. Who—who is that over there?”
Noah and I follow his gaze, which is lingering on Elaine. She stands chatting with Noah’s cinematographer near the window, wine glass in hand, her usually severe blazer replaced with a soft silk blouse that makes her look years younger. The evening light catches the silver threads in her dark hair.
“That’s my editor at the paper. Elaine.” I try not to smile, but it’s impossible. Does he think she’s pretty? The possibility of Noah’s dad and my boss... It’s almost too delicious.
“Hmm. Is she single?”
I chuckle, exchanging a quick glance with Noah. “Elaine hasn’t had a relationship in a couple decades. I’m not sure…” I think of all the times she’s mentioned her dedication to her work, how relationships are distractions she can’t afford.
But he’s already sauntering off, headed straight for her with the confidence of a man who single-handedly raised a son and built houses with his bare hands.
Noah sucks in a sharp breath. “He’s about to be shot down, right?”
“Probably.” I wince, bracing myself against the oncoming blow. Elaine is fully focused on her work, and she’s said more than a few things that make me think she has a huge chip on her shoulder when it comes to men.
But as we watch Noah’s dad introduce himself, something unexpected happens. Elaine’s eyes light up, a genuine spark I’ve never seen before. She even gives him a quick once over, her body turning more into his, angling away from the cinematographer mid-sentence. A smile tugs at her lips—not her professional smile, but something softer, more real. Within a minute, they’re both laughing, and she can’t take her eyes off of him.
“Well, damn.” I shake my head in amazement. “Miracles do happen.”
“Of course they do.” Noah’s hands find my waist, pulling me closer to him. “You came to me.”
“Oh, stop.” I roll my eyes, but he knows I love the goofy romantic talk. It’s become one of our things, these over-the-top declarations that would have made me cringe before but now just make me melt.
“Never.” He kisses the side of my neck, right at that spot that makes me shiver. “Hey. Thank you.”
Drawing back, I look him in the eye, searching his expression. “For editing the book? You don’t?—”
“No, for more than that. For every step we’ve taken together.” His fingers lace with mine, and my heart flutters in the same way it did the day we first kissed. “Every dough-filled, flour-dusted step. I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”
“Same.” My pulse picks up, and I know this is the moment. The perfect moment. “Hey, um… now that you’re done with one project, what would you say to another one?”
He cocks his head, curious. “Another one, like what?”
“A bun in the oven,” I say, both nervous and pleased with my pun. My hand instinctively wants to go to my stomach, but I keep it at my side.
He blinks at me, not understanding. The party continues around us, but it feels like we’re in our own bubble.
“A bun… in my oven,” I clarify, watching his face carefully.
