Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I hear Nan’s voice in my head all over again—He’s gayer than a sack of Blow Pops! Thankfully, she’s not here, so I smile and politely respond, “Honestly, I’m just doing this to help out Nadine. I’m not hoping to get anyone out of it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Just in our brief time chatting, I can tell you’re a fine young man. If my granddaughter didn’t already have a fellow in her life, I think you’d be quite fitting for her.”
I’ll take that as a compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
“No, no—Dean, please, call me Dean. I already feel like a fossil standing next to you. No need to overdo with any ‘sirs’. Oh, I never got your name.”
“Cole.” I shake his hand. “Cole Harding.”
“Dean King. Oh, I’ve already done that part, haven’t I?”
A door opens across the room, blinding sunlight shining in for a moment. I see Nadine entering with a man, and the pair of them appear deep in discussion. She says something and laughs, and the man appears to react stiffly, clearly not a person of humor. Is that Burton’s father, by chance?
My curiosity ends when I see a third person trail in behind them just before the door shuts:
Noah.
Oh, wow. He looks so cute today in a baby blue shirt paired with khaki shorts. His hair is messy as usual. His camera is slung over his neck by a thick strap. His head hangs in that shy “please don’t look at me” kind of way as he walks. He carries a tripod tucked under one arm and a purple notebook in his hand. I bet he checked ten times before leaving his house that it was the correct notebook today.
Noah’s eyes flick up from the ground, spotting me.
I waste no time. I smile at him and give him a wave.
He looks away.
I drop my hand, deflating.
“And where’s our third leading man?” asks Nadine to no one specific, spinning around on her heels as she approaches me and Dean. “Is he here? Why don’t I see him? Did he die?”
“Running late,” says Mindy (tiredly) from the makeup station, her feet propped up on another chair, bored.
“Late? Really? We scheduled this at noon so no one would—”
“Are you forgetting who it is?” asks Mindy. Nadine’s eyes turn as sharp as needles. “Sorry, I’m just saying. Maybe better to curb your expectations a bit.”
Nadine instantly puts on her happy face again. “We can wait. Hi, Dean! Hi, Cole!” she greets us cheerily. “Aren’t y’all melting in those lights? You look stiff as carrots! Come over here and relax. Our third bachelor still has to show up and get into makeup, so it’ll be a bit. We have drinks for you guys over here, y’know.”
“Who is the third fellow?” Dean quietly asks me. I answer with a distracted shrug, my eyes still following Noah as he heads over to a pile of props and equipment, appearing to be sorting things.
I wonder if I should be bold and go right on over to him to see how he’s doing and apologize for yesterday.
But what am I apologizing for?
Being too bold?
Being too confident?
Giving him exactly what I thought he wanted?
I keep feeling like a desperate creep who wants to suffocate Noah with my affection until he either likes me or dies.
There must be something wrong with me.
Dean heads over to help himself to some water, where he then quickly gets wrapped up in conversation with a cheery Nadine. I start to head to the drink table myself, but come to a stop as my eyes linger on Noah a while longer, watching as he quietly fusses with equipment stacked near the wall all by himself.
Go over and say hi?
Leave him alone?
Screw it. I head over to Noah and come to a stop by his side. He’s quietly flipping through his notebook, studying whatever he has written there. I don’t know if he notices me yet, but he hasn’t budged. Maybe he’s too deep in his thoughts. If I say something, I might startle him. But if I say nothing, I’m just standing here. Can I just give a gentle apology? Or should I start with a clever remark about his notebook? I could just ask how he’s doing, or—
“Are you wearing cologne?” he asks softly.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Cologne?”
“My camera is fairly advanced,” he admits, “but I’m afraid it isn’t yet capable of picking up scent.”
I am left stunned, lips parted.
Is Noah proving yet again that he has a sense of humor?
My heart races with relief. This is the rope he’s throwing me, I’m sure of it. “It’s probably just my deodorant or something. I, uh, severely underestimated how hot these lights would be. Or that lighting would be my nemesis at all. Thought it’d be my nerves, if I’m being honest here.”
Noah doesn’t respond or react, continuing to search through his notebook, finger gliding slowly down each page.