Chapter 9 Noah

It's at two tables pushed together in the back corner of Gran's Home Kitchen that eight of us sit to eat after the photo shoot. The rest of the restaurant is surprisingly crowded for a Monday night. Add to that the chatter from the helpers that came out today and the over-the-top energy of Nadine, it feels like the four walls of this poor place can barely contain us, just one accidental sneeze away from bursting open.

Also, I'm the one in the corner. Cole is two seats down from me on the other side of the table. Somehow, Nadine ended up right next to me, which removes any possibility of escape. Dean is across from me, too, sawing his way eagerly through a rib-eye. Behind me and to my other side are wood-paneled walls. I'm like a checkmated king in a game of chess I never agreed to play. That's alright; my arms don't need much space anyway. I don't mind my elbow banging the wall every time I cut my steak.

I look up from my plate to find Cole glancing my way.

Our eyes meet.

It isn't the first time since we've taken our seats that he has looked at me like that—like he wants to eat me instead of what's on his plate.

And the second our eyes lock, my heart becomes a freaked cat scrambling out of a bathtub.

I have to look away at once, then quickly cut a bite of steak—bang, bang, bang, my elbow against the wall—and bring the juicy piece to my lips.

But then I stop with that single bite pressed to my lips, not quite parting them to let it in.

I close my eyes.

Meat against my lips.

As if it's Cole's lips against my lips.

Cole's meat.

I pucker my lips slightly. I think I'm trying to recapture that sensation we shared on the sidewalk when he kissed me.

When he stole my breath away.

It might have been a simple kiss to anyone else, but to me, it felt like everything I had missed out on in my whole life. It felt like a door flying open with glittering treasures inside. It was ten night skies worth of New Years' fireworks exploding at once. It was the first and last bite of moist vanilla cake fresh out of the oven. It was a winning lottery ticket and I had so many debts to pay.

I don't think I've ever allowed myself to feel that level of joy before.

Honestly, I'm not even sure I expected it to feel so good.

But now that I've had a taste, everything else feels numb and far away. Photos. Interview questions. Burton's griping. Even the disaster that became of today due to Anthony's arrival. Nothing at all seems to bother me or affect me. It's as if everything in my life up until this point has been a three or a four and I never noticed.

Cole kissing me was a ten.

Now, nothing can hope to compare.

"You alright there, son?" asks Dean from across the table.

My eyes flap open.

Dean is staring at me. Nadine is staring at me.

Cole is also staring at me.

I quickly push the bite of meat into my mouth like I meant to all along and chew with unnecessary vigor, then nod vaguely at everyone before staring down at my plate, my face flushing.

A minute later, the table becomes engrossed in a story Mindy shares about her twins, supplemented by pics from her phone, and I am no longer the center of anyone's attention. I'm left to stare down at my plate and wonder why I was trying to make out with my food instead of eat it.

Is that how desperate I am for Cole to kiss me again?

There is another piece of information I seem to be pushing to the side like unwanted veggies on my plate. Perhaps the most vital fact I learned yesterday.

Cole telling me he likes me.

And has liked me since our high school days.

How could someone like Cole possibly have so much interest in someone like me? Cole, who is about to have the entire town throwing flowers, money, and unmarried sons and daughters at him?

"Cole, darlin', I hope you're really onboard with my zany ideas for this whole bachelor pageant thing," says Nadine, catching his attention. "I mean, I'm talkin' full-on beauty pageant. Formalwear. Talent show. The guys and gals will go wild."

Cole gives her a playful grimace. "Talent show? Oh, I'm not so sure I'm talented enough to—"

"Hon, it doesn't matter, you can tie your shoes and call it a talent. You're so adorable, you'll have them at your feet no matter. Besides, it's the sexy underwear and swimsuit fashion show that'll really bring in the big bucks. Y'know, male-body exploitation."

Cole chokes on a sip of water he was going for.

Dean lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, Nadine! Come on, now. I'm not strutting any catwalk in my drawers."

"Oh, Dean, you know you've got the goods, don't talk yourself down. Cole, what's that face for? We already have a venue. Cissy's been kind enough to offer her big backyard pavilion we use for the Spruce Ball every summer."

Cole's eyes grow. "The McPherson pavilion? TJ's family?"

"Oh, yes, you know TJ, of course, he's just a year behind you. Aren't you two friends? He's such a cutie! A total sweetheart. I'd have invited him on as a bachelor if I didn't already know Cissy would've nipped that in the bud in half a heartbeat. She coddles the boy. You didn't hear that from me. Also," she adds after the fastest sip of wine known to man, "I'm not sure we'd have found the right gal for him anyway. Ain't no lady in this whole state will live up to Cissy's ridiculously high standards for her prized son."

Mindy clears her throat from down the table. "Can you go back to talking about the swimsuits? You kinda got off track."

"I'm actually still right on track," Nadine happily sings, "as I was about to point out how that lovely pavilion of Cissy's can fit the whole town and then some, it sure can. And all those people it'll fit will want to be entertained for their buck."

"Their buck?" chokes Cole.

"Yes, their buck! This'll be a ticketed event, of course! They don't call it fundraisin' for no reason! So one of you better wear the hell outta that swimsuit." She appears not to notice the look of frozen horror on Cole's face. "And I'm not talkin' no silly polka-dot swimsuits. I want one of you in nothin' but a Speedo for the whole swimsuit portion. Full package, showin' off what God gave you."

Dean lets out another roar of laughter, unable to respond with words. Cole appears unable to blink or breathe.

I stare at Cole from my spot in the corner, watching all of the nightmares play across his face. I can't help but think of that bad high school theatre audition my junior year that keeps haunting me, the one time I foolishly thought I could be brave.

"One of you will be a good sport, won't you?" she asks blithely as she cuts a bite of baked potato.

When Dean recovers from his laughter, he gazes over at Cole, as if deferring to him. Cole notices, makes a quick adjustment of his facial expression, puts on a smile, and shrugs. "Speedo, it is!"

"That's the spirit!" cheers Nadine, her mouth full.

Dean snorts and shakes his head, tears of laughter still in his eyes. "Way to take one for the team, Mr. Cole! I admire you!"

Cole chuckles with a note of anxiety. "Well, if … if you don't go all out, what's the point of going at all? Right?"

"Damn right!" agrees Dean, then reaches around to give Cole an encouraging pat on the back.

Soon, the table is back to chatting away. Cole continues to talk and have fun, too, though I can tell that his mind is crowded with conflicting views about everything. It's evident every time he tries to laugh at something someone says. His laughter dies too fast. There is a clear and constant edge in his eyes. The misgivings he shared with me yesterday while we were out with his dog are still fresh on my mind.

Maybe I should have listened to him more.

I find myself struck with sympathy for him.

The very next instant, I picture Cole standing on a stage in the bright spotlights, the whole town of Spruce there to watch, while he wears nothing but a pair of tight, crotch-hugging Speedos.

I see his confidence return.

I'm in the front row.

He grins down at me as if from the top of a mountain, smirks, then cups his crotch with a hand. "You like what you see, Noah?" he asks me. "Wanna put in a bid on me?"

Then the real Cole glances at me, shattering the fantasy.

He meets my eyes.

I panic and look away.

"My stars, Nadine, really," says Dean as he leans over the table and brings his voice down so no one else hears, "what possessed you to invite that mad and troubled boy as our third bachelor?"

"Oh, he isn't that bad," she says.

"You can't possibly think a guy like that would be onboard for wearing swimsuits and formalwear and doing a talent show. He was barely able to handle a simple photo shoot."

"You'd be surprised what I can talk people into."

"Nadine, he was drunk today. Drunk and foul and … and, to be frank, uncomely."

I glance at Cole again. He's listening to another one of Mindy's stories about her nightmare kids. I watch him laugh, face lighting up, a sparkle of joy in his eyes.

He really is so beautiful.

How can someone so beautiful, inside and out, actually like a person as awkward, reclusive, and unappealing as me? I'm an odd-faced Jiggle-Wiggle. He's a hidden son of Apollo, a demigod hidden away in a small Texas town, out of sight from the other jealous gods and goddesses that would bring him harm.

Everything in the universe, if thought out enough, is logical.

Like math. Like history and its indubitably tangled thread of cause and effect that stretches to the birth of all things. Like the stars and the speed of light and why we can't see black holes.

But Cole's attraction to me …?

That makes no sense at all.

"He's had a tough time, Dean, a real tough time," says Nadine with overflowing sympathy. "Please go easy on him, will you?"

"Easy? Nadine …"

"This whole thing just sort of fell together in the past forty-eight hours or so. I needed some men in a pinch. I already had you and Cole in mind, and it just so happened I ran into Trey at church yesterday morning, and he was tellin' me about the Myers' whole situation, how that poor Anthony's been havin' nothin' but stroke after stroke of bad luck. Couldn't make it in vet school. Cost his parents so much money and time. Then decided to enlist, but got injured in boot camp and sent right home. Then their dog died." She lets out a sigh and stabs a buttered broccoli floret with her fork. "Trey and I think this just might be the kind of thing a boy like Anthony needs to get back on his feet."

Dean shakes his head. "I'm not sure I agree, Nadine."

"Look, I'm not bein' obtuse here, I know just as well as any that Anthony can be … a bit much. But it's been my philosophy that everyone deserves a second chance, and it has never steered me wrong. By the way, aren't these broccolis to die for?" She stabs another one and brings it to her lips. "I think it's the garlic butter or somethin'. De-lish."

Another bite of steak finds its way to my lips, then doesn't quite make it past, as I continue to stare at Cole and obsess, trying to figure him out, trying to hear the words he said to me yesterday all over again. I'm determined to analyze them until they make sense to me. Until I can understand what he sees.

What he feels.

I press the bite of meat to my lips as I stare at him, frustrated.

"Didn't he get into a fistfight with your son?" asks Dean.

Nadine scrunches up her face. "Y'mean that tiny little nothin' tiff at the movie theater? With my sweet Jimmy? That was ages ago, Dean, nearly three or four summers ago. Goodness, I cannot believe you still remember that."

"I remember everything," he says. "That boy needs therapy or Jesus, not a pageant."

"Just water under the bridge. And for the record, he is gettin' Jesus," she points out with a wiggle of her fork. "He goes to church every Sunday, doesn't miss a single one. That's why Reverend Trey had his eye on him. Hey." She reaches across the table and pats Dean's hand. "Don't worry. You'll see in the end, it's for the best. Just be patient and try to … well … keep your big sweet heart open like it always is, okay?"

Dean appears to swallow a whole monologue he was about to deliver before he finally concedes with a nod. "But," he says with a lift of his own fork, "if that boy proves too much trouble after all and you need a third slot filled on the fly, I am happy to connect you with at least four other eligible bachelors. Say the word. Good men, very good men, four of them. Maybe five if Josiah and his lady friend finally break up. It's inevitable, the two are always at each other's—"

"You can have my husband," cuts in Mindy, who apparently finished her own thing and has been listening. "Joel's been totally useless lately with the kids. He stubbed his little toe the other day on the leg of the coffee table, you'd think he lopped off a limb and was gushing blood everywhere. Like, am I raising three screaming children or two? I don't even know."

"Sometimes a stubbed toe sure can feel like a lopped off limb," murmurs Dean with an endearing smile, "with or without blood."

I glance over at Cole.

He's frozen up.

"I didn't see any gushing blood," says Mindy flippantly after taking a sip of her sweet tea. "Just gushing tears. I mean, if he had lost a toe and was gushing blood everywhere, at this point I'm not sure whether I'd be more upset at my husband losing a toe than I'd be at the mess it'd make on our carpet, know what I mean? It's all I do all day long, cleaning up messes. Blood isn't in my skillset, and with these dang kids concerned, I hope it never is."

"All this blood talk is making me regret getting medium rare," teases Dean, poking his steak with a knife. "I mean, look at all this. The cow's practically still alive."

Nadine cackles at that. "Oh, Dean, bless your heart …"

Cole abruptly rises from his chair so fast, utensils rattle. The whole table looks his way.

He notices the attention he just earned, then quickly laughs it off. "Uh … S-Sorry, guys, I … um … got a call from home. I'm gonna take it really quick. I'll … uh, I'll be right back. Super, super quick, promise." He trips over his chair as he scurries off with his phone in hand, quickly making his way down the aisles of tables, gone.

The conversation carries on at the table, but my focus is on the door of the restaurant as it slowly shuts after Cole's departure. I stare at it, my foot bouncing in place under the table. Mindy goes on about her crazy kids. Nadine laughs again at something Dean says, but I suddenly can't be less invested in the table chat.

I know why Cole just abruptly left.

I also suspect I'm the only one here who does.

I quietly get up from my chair. "Um, sorry, excuse me," I say, though no one hears me, then squeeze behind Nadine to let myself out of the corner. I apologize when I almost trip over someone's foot as I navigate awkwardly through the aisles of the restaurant. "Sorry," I keep saying over and over. "Excuse me. I just need to—oops, sorry, thanks, I'm sorry, squeezing by, excuse me."

I make it through the door with all my limbs. It's already dark. The street is silent, just the muffled murmur of the restaurant behind me. The evening air feels completely still, like it's waiting for something to happen, breath held in anticipation. I look down the road one way and see the Spruce park in the distance beyond the storefronts, dark and uninhabited, a typical Monday.

I look the other way and find Cole sitting on the curb next to a parked truck, staring blankly at his phone.

And now I'm looking at him.

Really looking at him.

Something about his morose, vulnerable pose has struck me.

His calmness. His contemplativeness. His solitude.

He really does look like a displaced demigod, hidden away in this town, with an unknowable story that stretches deep into a dark and protected past. A young man of many mysteries. Alone in the world in so many ways. Looking for a place to truly belong, no hope in his heart that such a place can possibly exist.

I realize I'm likely projecting a lot of myself onto him.

My own aloofness.

My own sense of craving a place to belong.

But there's something beautiful about the way I find him here, alone with his thoughts and fears, as stripped down as he can be while still wearing all his clothes.

The literal gems that artists mine for in their day-to-day lives.

My heart stirs, but not for the reason of thinking about the way he kissed me or how he looks like in a Speedo.

Before I know it, I've pulled my phone out and lifted it to my face to take a picture. I attempt to fit Cole's moment into a perfect, succinct frame, compelled to capture him precisely the way he is right now in this raw and genuine state.

I press the button.

The flash—which I didn't realize was on—goes off, shattering the moment with its intrusive light.

Cole looks up, surprised. "Noah?"

I lower my phone at once, ashamed. "S-Sorry."

"Did you just take a picture of me?"

I stammer, unable to produce a response. Then I fight it back and ask the real question: "Are you okay?"

"Of course. Why do you ask? Oh." He peers at his own phone, as if forgetting he's holding it. "Right. The call. It … It was nothing. Just Nan asking me about, um …" He rubs his head, trying to come up with something. It's obvious. "She wasn't, uh, sure where I kept something. She's doing some work in the garden."

"In the dark?"

"She … likes working at night, I guess."

"Why are you lying?"

Cole's eyes snap to mine, appearing stunned. "What do you mean? I just … I …" Suddenly his expression softens. "I just noticed you're not as shy in front of me as you are around others."

I frown at him, thrown off by his gentle tone of voice. "Huh?"

"You speak your mind. Unafraid. And that must mean you feel more comfortable around me," he concludes. "That is a fact which happened to escape my attention until just now."

I can feel myself shrinking. My heart races indignantly. "I'm … I'm not more comfortable around you than other people."

"You sure about that?"

"I'm actually totally uncomfortable around you."

Cole appears to be amused by that. "Yet here you are, coming out of the restaurant to … snap a shot of me while checking on my nonexistent phone call …?"

My face reddens. This is going all wrong. Why does he look on the brink of laughing right now? "I—I came out here …" I start, choke on my words, then finish, "to check on you, because they all started talking about blood, and that's obviously why you made up a fake phone call to get away."

My words stun Cole.

Visibly.

Did he really think it wasn't that obvious, the real reason he got up from the table and fled?

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't pass out on the curb," I explain. "It can be dangerous. There's a probability you could have fallen and hit your head on something if left out here alone."

He appears to be thinking it over. "I'm sorry for lying, Noah. I guess I … do tend to keep the truth close to my chest sometimes. I don't like everyone to know the really personal stuff." He gazes up at me. "But you're not just anyone. Of course you noticed why I really left. I shouldn't be surprised. You're always so … observant."

"Doesn't take a detective," I mumble.

His lips curl as he continues to stare at me. "So what you're really trying to communicate to me, Noah … is that you care."

I stare back. "What?"

"You came just to make sure I wasn't lying out here like a log on the curb. You knew the real reason I excused myself. You cared enough to get up from the table, crawl out of that corner Nadine trapped you in, and check on me. You didn't have to, but you did." A smile finds his lips. "Honestly, I'm touched."

I go quiet.

Cole always seems to know more than I realize.

He even noticed how I was confined to that corner spot.

"Not to mention the photo shoot earlier," Cole continues. As he seems to think about it, he smiles even deeper. "Despite how bad Anthony got, you kept your cool and took the shots. You are such a focused and driven person, Noah. And you also think about others." He meets my eyes again. "I like that about you."

It's amazing, what just a few words of praise can do. I find all of my anxieties obliterated. His kind words come like a gift to me, a gift of confidence and appreciation, a gift of acknowledgement.

I think I might be smiling.

A genuine, uninhibited smile.

The very next instant, I think about the kiss. Cole's face upon mine. My body arrested with too many sensations to process. My bones locked in place. My nerves prickling with elation. My heart thumping unremittingly against my ribcage.

The touch of Cole's supple lips on mine.

The instant conclusion I came to: that I would never feel this happy ever again.

How did a mere kiss do all of that to me?

How did one touch from Cole's lips destroy my sense of self?

"Did I say something wrong?" asks Cole, lifting his eyebrows with concern. "Are you okay? Did you malfunction?"

I snap out of it. "Our dinners are getting cold. We …" Flashes of our kiss keep invading my thoughts, cutting my sentences into pieces, like a steak. "We should go back inside. They're …" I wish he would kiss me again. I want it so badly, I can barely breathe. "They're likely talking about something else by now, so I'm sure it's safe for you to come back, too." We're alone. We're out here and we're alone. It would be so easy. The probability of anything being witnessed is nearly zero. "They have been changing topics roughly every three and a half minutes, which is a bit fast for my taste, but …" I suddenly realize I'm rambling in an effort to stop the constant onslaught of happy kissing visions in my mind. So I shut up, give up, and finally turn to head back inside.

"I meant it when I said I liked you, Noah."

His words stop me at the door.

My fingers are literally curled upon the handle.

"I was nervous about our interview … about what you might ask." He speaks to my back. "The truth is, there's a lot about my personal life I don't want everyone to know. Such as … what my family's like. Or why I'm still single. Or … who I like." He lets out a sigh, scuffs the pavement with his shoe. "Until this past Christmas and the whole Malcolm thing, most people didn't even know I existed. I live a relatively quiet life with my family, Porridge, and my cousins out in the farmlands. Then the festival happened, we happened, Nadine and her crazy ideas happened … and now I'm in the middle of this whirlwind I can't control." He lets out a nervous chuckle. "A whirlwind that'll find me in a pair of Speedos on a big stage doing God-knows for a talent show."

My grip on the door handle tightens further.

Suddenly, I find myself thinking about my mom—and how I try to hide her. Her saccharine shows of affection that have always embarrassed me since I was a child. The Jiggle-Wiggles I couldn't bear to admit came from her. How I've been hiding myself from the world since I can even remember.

I know he has misgivings about doing this pageant. Of course he hasn't been forthcoming. It makes perfect sense that he treated our interview like a conversation among pals.

It was the only way he could cope with it all.

Not to mention other feelings he apparently has.

"I apologize," I blurt out.

"For … For what?"

"For failing to understand your perspective," I answer him. "For not allowing you any opportunity to express yourself. I … I think I should have considered the rather obvious fact that this may not be comfortable at all for you, exposing yourself to the town, whether via an interview or a pageant." Silence passes. "It was just a second ago I thought I'd be in the spotlight when Burton had me write a story about the festival. And that had me wishing I was half a turtle. So really," I finish as I turn back around to face him, "I understand about—"

But the moment I turn, I'm silenced as I find myself face-to-face with Cole, who has stood from the curb and come up to me.

Face-to-face with the one who kissed me.

The one who has held my heart hostage since yesterday.

"You mean half a turtle so you can retreat into your shell?" he asks, his voice soft and way too close. "Aww, that's so cute."

I can't breathe. I step back. My heel hits the restaurant door. "Wha … What …?"

"By the way, how did it turn out?" he asks.

I swallow. "Y-You mean the article?"

"The pic you snuck of me when you first came out here."

Why do I keep finding Cole's face so close to mine when we're together? Why does this keep happening? Why am I just as excited by it as I am terrified?

I look down at my phone. It's blurry. I left my glasses at the table. Wait, no, I'm wearing them. Are my eyes blurry from fear? "S-Sorry. I didn't mean to take it. I just, um—"

"You don't have to apologize. It's what you do. You take pics and capture moments. I get it, it's your instinct."

It bothers me how quickly he understands things I don't say. Like he's in my mind. Like he's the drummer of my heart, beating it for fun, tom drums and bass drums and snappy snares.

Does he enjoy being the percussionist of the madness going on inside of me?

"I wish I could just … ‘capture the moment' the way you do," he admits with a funny little sigh. Even his laughter sends chills of delight up my neck. How does he do that? "Anyway, can I see it?"

I fumble with my phone, then pull up the photo to show him.

He peers at it, then smiles. "You have quite an eye, Noah."

My heart grows a mouth and screams.

I don't know what to do with his flattery. Do I thank him? Do I say something back? Do I throw up and pass out on the ground?

"Sorry," he says suddenly, then steps back.

I look up at once. "What? Sorry for what?"

"I'm doing it again. Asserting myself on you. Didn't I just …?" He lets out a frustrated chuckle as he takes another step back and shakes his head. "Didn't I just apologize and say I wouldn't do this? I already told you how I feel. And I kissed you and totally freaked you out. Yet here I go, obliviously pushing myself onto you and invading your space again, uninvited, unwelcomed …"

There's a vacuum now where his body used to be.

Where his face used to be.

His piercing eyes.

I suddenly make the discovery that I miss the terrifying fight-or-flight response I just felt eleven and a half seconds ago.

"It's … It's okay," I tell him, my voice tiny.

"It's not okay," he insists. "I even told myself I wouldn't do this today, no matter what. I said I'd respect you. I'm a respectful guy. I'm …" He lets out another frustrated chuckle. "Really, Noah, you'd be better off just keeping your distance. I clearly … I clearly can't control myself around you."

After saying that, he grimaces, appearing ashamed by his own words, then turns away.

I glance back at the restaurant. Through the window, all I see are people eating and laughing while the two or three servers on duty rush around hurriedly doing their jobs. No one is looking this way. We're all alone out here on the street.

Maybe that's what gives me courage. "Cole …"

"Really, it's okay."

"You said you liked me."

He meets my eyes right then, silent and still.

I can't quite look at him yet, so I say this to his chest. "Your feelings have been communicated adequately. You are good with your words. I, on the other hand, am not. I came out here on my own to check on you. Perhaps that's my way of communicating that I …" Fear takes hold of my throat like an ice-cold hand trying to squeeze it shut. "… that I … that I don't want … I don't want you to … t-to keep your distance."

Cole's eyes have grown twice in size.

He seems to be holding his breath.

And I seem to have reached my maximum amount of words I can utter before magically turning back into an awkward human-shaped rock with glasses.

Cole takes a single step toward me. "Are you saying … that it's okay … that I have feelings for you …?"

I can't seem to speak, so I simply give a stiff, microscopic nod.

He takes another step. "And it's okay I kissed you yesterday?"

My body grows stiffer, like I'm slowly turning into stone with each step he takes closer to me, yet somehow, miraculously, I am able to nod again.

He stops in front of me. "Noah … are you saying it would be welcomed … if I were to …?"

I can't stand it.

I lunge forward and press my lips against Cole's, desperate to taste him again, desperate for that overwhelming giddiness to live inside my body and never let me go.

I guess I miscalculate the amount of force I put into the kiss.

Because Cole lets out a grunt of surprise and loses his balance. When he falls backwards like a tree, I fall forward, and the pair of us go careening awkwardly toward the road.

For an impressive amount of time, neither of us actually fall.

In fact, we might appear to the casually-observing eye like a skilled pair of dancers fumbling gracefully and intentionally over our backwards steps toward the street.

Until a vehicle parked on the curb meets his back.

He slams against it.

And I slam against him.

Then the car alarm goes off, blaring out to inform all of Main Street about our unforgivable behavior—and a possible vehicular burglary in progress.

I'm pressed against Cole from both gravity and desire, crotch-to-crotch, face-to-face.

His eyes go wide.

Mine, too.

I let out a gasp and pull away—only to realize Cole is clinging to me by my shirt. He tries to get to his feet with me, but loses his grip, which sends him falling right back against the cold, hard hood of the car. Meanwhile, the alarm continues to cry out for the cops, desperate to be heard as it screeches for help.

I guess I can understand its plight. What inanimate object in its right mind would want a pair of horny guys making out on top of its face?

Just when Cole thinks he's found his footing, his back begins to slide down the hood toward the nose of the car. He attempts to stop himself, fails, starts to roll, shouts out an unintelligible curse word, then drops to the pavement in front of the car with a grunt.

The next second, Mindy steps out from the restaurant. "Ugh, sorry about that," she says, then lifts her key fob and silences her car. "Alarm's too damned sensitive. What're you doing out here?"

I stare at her, all my words glued to my throat.

"Oh, and where's Cole?" she goes on, glancing one way down the street, then the other. "Did he have to run home?"

Cole, who remains completely hidden from Mindy's vantage point, stares up at me from the ground with a silent grimace.

He apparently chooses not to make his presence known.

I decide on the fly to honor that choice.

"Y-Yeah," I answer, facing her completely as I turn my back on Cole, as if to further shield him from sight. "He had to go home. To help his grandma. She's doing gardening. Nighttime gardening. In the dark. At nighttime."

Mindy appears to find that odd for a second and a half, then shrugs it off. "Nadine has a question or two to ask you. Something about live streaming and whether the Spruce Press's website has the capability. I gotta say, I sure do not envy these guys and what they're about to be put through. I mean, a live stream? In bikinis with their man parts showing? The fuck …?"

And with that, I'm ushered back inside as Mindy continues to ramble on, but not before peering over my shoulder at Cole with a look of confusion and apology.