Chapter 14 Cole

Dean sits in a cream-colored armchair by the front window overlooking a flowerbed and a statue of a naked cherub with curly hair preparing an arrow to fire—a statue I was insisted twice is not Cupid. In front of him on a slightly different maroon-upholstered armchair sits Anthony, whose phone died and who has nothing to occupy his mind except the sight of a peculiar plant with spotted leaves that look like thousands of eyes staring right back at him. Neither have said a word to each other except for an obligatory, "Hey," when we first arrived here at the McPhersons'.

I'm standing a few paces away by a bookshelf, where at first I was busying myself scanning through the titles, but have since lost interest when I recognized none, and am now leaning against the wall under a painting of an old lady, gnawing on my lip.

The tension in the room is wire tight.

I wish someone would say something.

That someone comes in the form of TJ, the family's son and my former schoolmate, who appears at the entrance to the study. He's a charming guy my age with a slender build, short styled hair, and permanently sleepy eyes. At least that's how I see him. Ever since our high school days, I always felt like TJ could be someone I could either lounge with for hours being lazy or scale the side of a mountain. He's someone I never really got to know, always seeing him like an untouchable treasure of our small town—or at the very least our graduating class. Most of the rich families exude that vibe whether they mean to or not. Even the Strongs at times.

"Sorry to keep you all waiting," he says. "Malcolm had to step out earlier, but he should be back any minute. Can I get you guys something to drink? Water? Coffee? Raspberry sweet tea?"

"I'm fine, thank you," says Dean—at the same time Anthony says, "I'll take a sweet tea if you—" Then they both go silent, look at each other, and Anthony revises his response: "Nah, I'm good."

TJ seems to sense the tension and wisely turns away from it, facing me. "What about you, Cole?"

I decide to grab hold of the rope TJ is throwing, assuming he's throwing any. "I could use the boy's room, actually. Can you show me the way so I don't get lost?"

TJ chuckles. "Sure. Follow me."

Being the smart guy he is, TJ knows I don't need to pee; I just needed freeing from that suffocating study. "So what the heck is up with those two? Do you know?" he asks when we get to the kitchen at the other end of the house. It's a considerable walk. The McPherson estate is a huge plot of land in the Spruce countryside, maybe three times the size of the Strongs'. "You could cut the tension in there with an axe."

I come up to the counter where TJ is leaning. "I'm just here for the ride."

"I hear you. Want some raspberry tea anyway?" he asks. "I'm fixing myself a glass, so—"

"Sure, why not. Thanks." I watch him get out two glasses from the cupboard, set them on the counter, then go to the fridge. "So you're home for spring break, right?"

He comes back with a jug of tea. "Yep, sure am. As much as I like campus life, I always miss home. Plus, I have my part-time job at TS's to come back to." He pours, returns the jug to the fridge, then comes back with a bowl of raspberries, from which he drops a couple into each of our glasses. "Want any more?"

TJ never half-asses anything. "Two raspberries is more than the zero I was expecting."

He chuckles, then lifts his glass to mine. We clink them, then take our first sip. As expected, it's the most amazing glass of sweet raspberry tea I've ever had. Anthony and Dean are missing out.

"You always struck me as a college guy," he says after we both enjoy another tasty sip.

I lift an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep. All the time on campus, I'd stop and be like, ‘Cole should totally be here with me.' I always wondered why you chose not to pursue a degree. You'd totally fit in with my friends, I think."

He says this while we sit in his enormous house on his handful of acres his parents own. I think he might be ignoring the financial elephant in the room that separates us and our decision-making processes for attending universities.

I decide not to point it out. "Never really had a good enough reason to go. Everything I need's right here in town."

"Hmm." He studies me over the brim of his glass. "Sounds like you stayed behind for someone, not something."

I look at him, stunned. "Huh? Where'd you get that?"

TJ smirks. "And from the look on your face right now, sounds like I got it right on the first try."

"What look?" I let out a laugh. "What are you? A detective?"

"I just knew there was a bigger reason you stayed home. Don't get me wrong," he quickly adds, "there's nothing wrong with not going to college. There are so many people I go to school with who are just there because their parents made them or because it looks good on paper." He shakes his head. "As if the whole point of going to college is to fill some wall of their house with graduation gown photos to show off to their friends and family. ‘Oh, and this is my totally impressive son Preston, he graduated magna cum laude with a degree in literally everything.'" He makes a gagging sound. "Why is everyone so obsessed with looking impressive?"

"What do you mean you think I stayed behind for someone?"

"Just a hunch." He turns his glass around and around on the counter, appearing contemplative. "Maybe we're afraid for others to see how we really are. So we all gotta look a certain way."

"You're changing the subject."

"My mom can be a little weird about appearances," he goes on anyway. "Honestly, it's … probably a big reason why … I haven't … well … y'know." He takes another sip and glances off.

His tone of voice makes me pause. I squint at him. "Why you haven't what?"

"Y'know," he repeats, this time with a brief, unhelpful gesture.

I continue staring at him. I, quite clearly, do not know.

He sets down his glass and frowns at me. "Cole, c'mon, man. Everyone else in town might be clueless, but I thought surely you'd be keen enough to know why I've never had a girl on my arm."

My eyes go wide. I lower my glass. "Wait a sec. Are you—?"

TJ snorts. "You really didn't know? It's that surprising?"

"I … guess I really didn't. I'd just thought—" And suddenly I'm not sure what I thought. That TJ McPherson was always so focused on getting straight A's that he didn't have time to date? That he had secret girlfriends over the years that no one knew about? Or he simply had no interest in dating? It's like my mind made all the excuses for him without him having to lift a finger.

"Cole." He shakes his head and lets out a laugh. "I figured out of everyone, you would've recognized it. I knew about you before you started telling people back in school. I thought you and I had a secret sort of understanding or something, at the very least."

"No clue." I can't help but laugh as I clutch my glass of tea. "I really … really must have had my head up my butt or something to not have noticed."

Saying those words, I realize it's my father coming out of my mouth. His words from this morning.

"Hey, don't worry," says TJ, likely misreading my face. "Now that you know and there aren't any lingering doubts, can you … do me a favor and …" He lowers his voice. "… maybe don't tell anyone else? I trust you like I trust my left hand, and I'm a lefty."

I frown. "Why don't you want anyone to know?"

"Mmm, there's a reason or three. I don't know how my mom will be about it, for one."

I find that very surprising. "Really?"

"I mean, sure, she'll love having a gay son, but it might take her a hot second to get there. She has all these expectations of me she's already laid out ever since I could walk. To be married by the time I graduate. To have two kids before I'm thirty. To have a wife who plays the guitar. Why is she set on the guitar? No one knows why she's set on the guitar. She's obsessed with getting someone in her family who's gifted in music, because I took piano lessons for two minutes when I was a child and that poor grand piano in our living room has been gathering dust ever since. Oh, also, my wife apparently has to sing. Married, kids, guitar, sing."

"Wow. I didn't realize …"

"Not to mention the last thing I want is to be pulled into one of Mrs. Strong's matchmaker hurricanes." He leans in. "Heard you were a victim of that recently."

I'm still shaking my head in disbelief. "TJ, I wish I knew. We … We could've been better friends or something."

"It's alright. Our friend circles didn't overlap much. And I've acquired more gay friends than I can count on campus." He takes a peek around the corner of the wall, as if hearing something, then returns to me. "It sounds like Malcolm might be back. Anyway, I guess this makes you the first person in Spruce to know. It was kinda killing me, y'know, not saying anything about it to anyone. So … thank you for being my ‘hometown confidant', so to speak."

I give him a smile of appreciation. "It's my honor, TJ."

He fights off a smirk, then lowers his voice again. "And what about you, Captain Secrets? Was I right? Is there a special lucky guy in your life, and are you two secretly a thing already, or …?"

For a moment, I'm tempted to tell TJ everything. Like a polite and mutual trading of secrets. But I promised Noah I wouldn't tell anyone. Besides, I kind of thought Noah disappeared off to college himself after graduation, since I haven't seen him until recently, so obviously he wasn't the reason I didn't scrape up the funds to hit up even Fairview Community nearby.

But he's definitely a reason to stick around now.

"Never mind," says TJ. "I can see twenty stories written on your face, and that might be too much to unpack over tea. I'm not gonna be my mom and probe you to death. I'm only here for the week before I gotta go back to campus anyway. Just … whoever it is … I hope he knows he's one lucky guy."

I smile, thinking about Noah this morning, how cutely scared he was of his mom catching us, how nervous he got when I started snacking on him before I left.

And all the time we spent last night searching our souls for places of familiarity and mutual happiness.

One such place being his shower.

And his bed.

I down the rest of my tea, including the raspberries, then nod at him. "Y'know you can hit me up anytime you need a friend to talk to, alright? Number hasn't changed. We're connected online. Shoot me a DM if you need to vent."

"Will do. Just don't be surprised if my next DM is a wedding invitation," he says with a grimace.

TJ and I turn when we hear the murmur of conversation. Well, to be more precise, it's the sound of Malcolm talking accompanied by Dean and Anthony's footsteps as they follow. "There you are," says Malcolm. "A far cry from the boys' room."

Malcolm is always so well put-together, stylish and dressed to perfection, with his dark hair combed neatly and his eyes focused and sharp. After the failed attempt of Nadine's to set the two of us up, we've since become friends, though between his job of being Nadine's event coordinator and his boyfriend Samuel, the two of us haven't had much time to hang out or even talk.

Malcolm stops some distance from the kitchen with a tablet pressed to his chest. "Mr. Harding," he greets me with a smile.

I have a suspicion it might be his first genuine smile in a long time. "Hey there, Malckie," I greet him back.

His smile drops away. "Really? You, too?"

"Sorry," I say, wincing. "Samuel got me into the habit."

"Forgiven. Now what are you doing over here chatting away with TJ? We have got an event itinerary to go over and half a morning left to do it in."

With a glance behind him, I see a stiff-postured Dean with his arms crossed, and Anthony who appears to be picking something out of his teeth with his pinky nail.

All signs point to this being a wonderful and easygoing day.

"Sorry," says TJ. "I pulled him aside. He's all yours now." Then he shoots me a grimace of apology and nudges me toward him.

Malcolm wastes no time as he whisks me away with the other men. "Needless to say," Malcolm drones on as we head for the back doors to the pavilion, "there will be a lot of pressure on our shoulders to make this event as amazing as possible, so it is very important that you guys keep up and be the shining stars Nadine believes you can be." He taps on his tablet. "Now are you guys free over the next few days? Tamika is going to interview each of you on video so we can create content for social media and to promote the live stream. Your homework is to brainstorm what you can do for the talent portion of the event and to think of what angle we can take for each of you. Y'know, like how we can package you up and sell your story. Dean, I think we can showcase you as the Mr. Hot Daddy type. I'd suggest Mr. Silver Fox, but you're bald, so …"

Dean blinks. "Uh, hot … daddy …?"

"Trust me," Malcolm goes on, moving a mile a minute, "you'll have everyone drooling over you. ‘Daddy' is a hundred percent the direction for you. As for you, Anthony, you can fit the role of Mr. Bad Boy. Oh, watch your step," he says as we exit through the back doors and onto an enormous covered patio area. Steps lead down to a decorative stone path to the pavilion. "Not to be insensitive, but you've got an image around town—even you're aware of it—so why not lean further into it and just pitch you that way? The ‘bad boy' thing is hella hot. It sells."

Anthony wrinkles up his face. "The fuck …?" he mutters under his breath.

Malcolm either doesn't hear him or doesn't care. "Of course, my lovely friend Cole, you will fit the obvious image of Mr. Picture Perfect."

"Picture Perfect …?"

"Don't question it. You're dashing, you're young, and you're a local hero. You're total boyfriend-and-husband material. That'll be the charm-icing on the charm-cake. By the way." He stops in his tracks and faces me. "Can you sing well? Like, at all? Any singing talent at all in your perfect bones?"

I sputter. "I, uh …"

"Never mind." He smiles. "I was just … curious. Appeasing a totally innocent, personal, irrelevant curiosity of mine. Don't tell Samuel I asked that question." He goes right back into walking, as if uninterrupted. "Between the trio of you, we are going to steal everyone's hearts … and hopefully their big ol' wallets, too, if we do this properly."

I catch a look from both Anthony and Dean, who seem equally bewildered.

Until Dean's face suddenly warms and he lets out a laugh. "I'm starting to think this might be a lot of fun. Sure, fine, yes, go right ahead with this ‘hot daddy' thing for me. Make me feel ten years younger. I place my trust in your capable hands, Malcolm."

Dean's outpouring of positivity appears to annoy Anthony, who makes a face and says, "I'm not some leather-jacket-wearin' ‘bad boy'. Why do you gotta go and pigeonhole me like that? I'm a good guy, Malcolm. I go to church. I help out around town. I was … hell, I was even almost a vet and a vet. The animal kind and the military kind."

"And you didn't make it into either the military or vet school, right?" says Malcolm with a lift of his eyebrow. Anthony sputters. "Hey, I'm not judging. I am the self-named bad boy of my own family with an overachiever sister whose similar love for animals got her a cushy life on the other side of the country." He stops in front of the pavilion and faces Anthony. "But if you want to help us sell a lot of tickets to this thing and make some serious dough for Spruce, go with the ‘bad boy' thing. Think of it like a role you're playing. You will have ladies licking food out of your palms."

Anthony's face wrinkles up, likely imagining puppies instead of ladies. "The fuck …?" he mutters under his breath—again.

"And besides, it's important we sell tickets, because I expect our lovely venue here to be sold out with a waiting list." Malcolm makes another dramatic tap on his tablet. The world may never know what he's tapping on or what purpose that tablet serves, but he holds it like some precious artifact imbued with otherworldly powers. "And as you can see, we have a lot of room."

Dean, Anthony, and I all gaze beyond Malcolm at the pavilion and its enormous empty space where countless tables and chairs will be set out, beyond which rests its huge stage, where so many eyes will be affixed and hungry for entertainment.

Malcolm faces us. "Hey, don't be scared. When you're up on that stage, the audience will look like dark, abyssal nothingness. And that dark, abyssal nothingness will be cheering you on. You'll feel right at home, and every single second spent up there will be the biggest stroke your ego has ever felt." He hugs the tablet to his chest and smiles at us. "Any questions? Or shall we move on?"

The ringing silence from the three of us is his answer.

And so we move on.

The truth is, the backstage of the pavilion is quite interesting and well-kept, and I find myself more inspired than scared by the idea. While Malcolm might exude a constant air of command over the three of us, I know that it's his way of instilling confidence in us that this event will be well-managed and efficiently run, and that we have nothing to worry about. "Even if you mess up," he says at one point with a laugh, "really, an audience like this will be the most forgiving crowd you have ever faced. They want to love you. Never forget that."

After exploring the pavilion, the rest of our time is spent in a sunroom at the back of the house while Malcolm helps us through a discussion of how the event will run and what will be expected of us. He even gets us a jumpstart on brainstorming some ideas for our talents, which seems to give Dean and I the biggest trouble, as neither of us know many performable things we're good at doing.

Anthony, on the other hand: "I've got a sick double backflip I can show off if you get me a trampoline. Or, or—wait—I could do, like, a flying thing where you can have me up on wires and … and fly me in from the side or something, like …" He changes his mind suddenly and lifts his hands. "Y'know what? What if I do a magic trick? I can make the other bachelors … disappear. It'll be a funny gag thing, like I'm tryin' to win, and I want to be the only one. It'll be so funny! Then the host or whoever can egg me on, and I can make the bachelors reappear, too. It'll be a whole thing!"

Dean lets out the tiniest of sighs. "Or we can stick to more … practical endeavors. Juggling. Playing the piccolo."

"Whatever, you don't even have a talent," grumbles Anthony.

"You seem mighty talented at making a fool of yourself. Tell me, would it be out of the realm of possibility for you to dress up as a clown while riding a unicycle?"

"You callin' me a clown?"

"I see nothing wrong with that," says Dean innocently. "I like clowns. Do you like clowns, Cole? Do you like clowns, Malcolm?"

"I'm not a damned clown," grunts Anthony, scowling.

"They're skilled at making children laugh," insists Dean. "Not a talent to be taken lightly, you know …"

Malcolm and I stare blankly at each other as the two of them go back and forth. Malcolm attempts to intercept their less-than-constructive exchange, only for it to steer right back into the two bachelors insulting one another.

By the fifth time the two of them start going at it, even I've had enough. "Guys, seriously," I cut in, interrupting something Anthony is saying. "We can't keep playing around like this. We've got an important event that's less than four weeks away. Sounds like a lot of time, but it really isn't. The town will be counting on us. I know you guys don't get along, that much is obvious, but can't we just set aside our differences and—"

"You always take the old man's side," growls Anthony.

Dean quirks an eyebrow. "We're back to the ‘old man' thing?"

I sigh at Anthony. "Hey, if I'm on any side, it's the side of this pageant we're doing. And if we want it to go well, we have to—"

"I don't have to do anything. And you're totally on his side." Anthony scoffs and crosses his arms. "I'm the one with all the cool ideas. Dean is just too much of a snob to appreciate them."

"Really?" barks Dean, losing his patience. "You want Malcolm and his team to construct a—what is it?—some kind of rope and pulley contraption to make you fly across the pavilion like you're Spider-Man? Do you know how expensive that is, young man? Not to mention the liability. You want to use up all the money we're trying to fundraise here just so you ‘look cool'?"

"My ideas are bad-ass! Not my fault you don't recognize them. Nadine even told me I was needed for my unique perspective."

"What perspective is that?" asks Dean. "One from a gutter?"

Anthony rises to his feet so fast, I can't help but stand up also, alarmed. "No one looks down on me, you got that?" he shouts.

"Everyone in this room is looking down on you without any help from me," states Dean. "Everyone in town, too. Even Nadine, who pities you so much, she had to invite you on as a bachelor to give your life direction." Dean crosses his arms and leans back.

The words appear to sting Anthony.

Deeply.

Dean experiences a moment of misgiving when he looks up to find Anthony's face frozen, and his eyes reflect immediate regret. He parts his lips to say something.

Anthony mutters, "Whatever," before Dean can speak, then looks at Malcolm. "We done here? Good." He departs the sunroom. We listen as his heavy footsteps take him across the house until the distant sound of the front door shutting brings us to silence.

Dean sighs. "Shit," he mutters to himself, rubbing his eyes.

Malcolm shrugs. "To be fair, I think we are done for the day. I might have … overloaded you guys a bit. Can you blame me? I like getting things done and organized early. Less to stress about later. Anyway." He offers me and Dean a smile. "Thanks for today."

Dean nods distractedly, mutters a nearly inaudible thank-you, then rises from the couch and sees himself out. I watch him leave, worried whether there was more I could've done in the heat of the moment to diffuse things. Then I wonder if I am taking Dean's side, judging Anthony. Not that Anthony makes it easy not to judge him; he's a drunk, anger-filled train wreck half of the day.

"I read the article earlier," says Malcolm.

I look up. "Article?"

"The story they ran. Including your bold heroic feats at the festival." He nods appraisingly. "You are quite the town hero right now, Mr. Harding. Very impressive."

"Oh, right. The article." I smile back. "Thanks."

"Quite eye-opening, how fleeting life can be. You're here one minute, buried under a pile of picture frames the next. Did the Noah guy press charges, by the way?" asks Malcolm, squinting. "It wasn't clear whether the picture-frame people are in trouble. I'm just curious. For closure's sake."

"Uh, no, as far as I understand. They were very apologetic. We are both okay, Noah and I, so …"

"Noah and I? Hmm." Malcolm hugs his tablet, leans forward, and studies my face. "I'm sensing something there."

I have to laugh. "What?"

"The way you said it. And maybe a hint or two in the article. I try to read between the lines." He tilts his head. "Are you guys—?"

"No," I answer too quickly, probably due to my convo with TJ earlier. "No," I repeat more calmly. "We just reconnected at the festival. Haven't seen much of each other since high school."

"Hmm, I see." Malcolm's lips go flat as he gazes off toward the window, peering at the distant pavilion. "I guess I'm just trying to read too much into it. Hopeful eyes. Guilty conscience. Are you not seeing anyone at all?" he then asks, turning back to me.

It isn't an easy thing to continually wipe away something that very much exists. "Nope." I immediately redirect. "How are you and Samuel doing? Hope Nadine actually leaves you enough time a day to spend with your man."

"Oh, we're doing fine, even with my busy schedule. It helps to have a place on the Strong ranch to stay, so I'm not on top of poor Samuel all the time. Besides, we're still getting used to each other, you know? We're still learning things. It's not always easy. I have discovered recently that I can be … a bit much when I'm stressed. And Samuel has discovered that he snores—a fact which has led me to invest in earplugs." He grimaces. "Is this TMI?"

"Not at all." I chuckle. "Actually, it's cute, the two of you."

"Then why does sharing this make me feel guilty? I want you to be happy with someone, too, Cole. You deserve it. A hell of a lot more than I do."

I reach across the tea table between us and pat Malcolm on the shoulder. "Don't feel bad, alright? What we had was … what? A date? And a rainy wedding rehearsal dinner that went all wrong?"

"I don't think I've drank a drop of alcohol since that day," he admits, wide-eyed. Then he winces. "Okay, maybe a little on New Year's. Oh, wait, and a glass of champagne on Valentine's. Oh, and didn't you meet up with us for something the next weekend?"

"Yep, we did." I shake my head. "We've been busy. Haven't had much time to hang out except for those couple of lunch dates. And even those felt a bit rushed, right?"

Malcolm smiles, sighs, then wrinkles up his face. "Honestly, I probably had more opportunities to invite you out with us. But …" He fidgets with his tablet, fingers drumming along the edge. "I just felt … bad. Like I was forcing you to be our third wheel. Or like I'd be rubbing it in your face that I chose Samuel over you."

"What?" I laugh. "No, not at all, Malcolm. Why would you ever think that?"

"I just hope you find someone, Cole. That's all. That's it."

Literally, the secret is dancing on the tip of my tongue, like a diver at the very end of the springboard, ready to fly into the pool down below. It's practically taunting me. Malcolm is going to be so relieved when he finds out, I just know it.

Would Noah be angry with me if I bent my promise a tiny bit?

Can't Malcolm be a tiny, meager, itsy-bitsy, infinitesimal, little exception?

"And maybe," Malcolm finishes with a lift of a finger, "you'll find your Mr. Picture Perfect during the course of this event." He shrugs. "Though I'm afraid, considering this whole ordeal ends in an auction with who-knows invited from who-knows-where, you will very likely end up as the arm candy to some sugar daddy. The highest bidder. You know how it goes. Is that alright with you?" he asks as he suppresses a chuckle. "Do you mind being someone's pet for a night? Nadine is basically prostituting you guys, and she's your sassy southern pimp."

Watching Malcolm hold back laughter, I can't help but crack. I try not to laugh, but it can't be helped, and suddenly I can't stop. Malcolm busts out, too, and soon, there are tears in our eyes. For a beautiful moment I wish would last longer, all the tension and worry weighing down my soul is gone and far, far away from here.

Malcolm recovers, breathes, then reaches to pat my leg. "You know how highly I think of you. And how much Nadine values you in this big, beautiful debacle. I mean, you realize you literally are the reason for this whole fundraising event, right?"

I wipe the tears out of my eyes with my free hand. "Yeah?"

"None of this would be happening if it wasn't for your split-second decision to race across the street and save Noah from what could have been a terrible disaster. You made yourself a hero. You woke the town up. Gave everyone something to talk about. Can you take a moment and just imagine how many people went home that day feeling more grateful for what they have? Grateful for their lives and families and friends? Wow. After reading the article earlier, even I found myself choked up. And I never get choked up. About anything. Not even the birth of cute baby bunnies, and thanks to Samuel, I've seen that in the flesh."

I smile, grateful. "Nadine may have done us strange by trying to set us up with each other, but I'm happy she did, because I feel lucky to have someone like you rooting for me."

There is surprising warmth in the smile Malcolm gives me. "I am notably pleased we crossed paths, too, Cole," he says with flair, "and I'm confident you'll find your man. That Nadine is more than determined to make it happen."

Okay, I can't stand it anymore.

I can't hold it back.

Noah will understand. I'm certain of it. Maybe he will even be happy to have someone else in town we can confide in.

"Malcolm, I gotta tell you something."

He lifts his eyebrows, his smile still lingering on his lips. "Tell me what?"

I brace myself. Excitement bubbles up from deep within me. I clasp my thighs for some reason, bare my teeth, then finally say it out loud: "I'm already seeing someone."

It's instant. I feel relief beyond measure. I feel giddy to be at last sharing this with a trusted friend. It breathes life into the deep and unquestionable emotion I carry for Noah. It validates it all, just the uttering of that simple fact out loud.

Malcolm's face twists. "What?"

He's confused. That's expected. "It's Noah," I say, now giving the confession a name. "We're actually a thing. A very recent thing. Since last night, actually."

"Uh, last night …?"

"Yep! Since last night. Noah and I. Though it feels more like we've been in a relationship secretly for years, ever since the days of our crazy high school past. Well, a one-sided one, I guess."

"One-sided …?"

"We spent a lot of time together as kids, too. It's sweet when you think about it. Our parents used to be best friends. We have a bit of history together, yet it took all this time for us to finally …" I bring my hands together, symbolizing us meeting. "And now I'm over the damned moon, Malcolm. I have no way to describe to you how I'm feeling other than …" I let out a happy sigh. "… elated."

When I'm finished waxing poetically about Noah, I notice that Malcolm has barely said a word, his face reflecting nothing.

It suddenly occurs to me that this information might not be a good thing for Malcolm, who has been sweating buckets over this whole event, and who might see my surprise secret relationship with Noah as a terrible obstacle.

Maybe I shouldn't have told him.

This was a huge mistake.

Then Malcolm gasps with such force, it's like he's trying to suck his face into his face. "Cole! This is the greatest news ever!"

I blink. "It is?"

"I'm so happy for you!" He glances over his shoulder, as if to check whether someone lurks there, then leans forward. "But we have got to keep this between just us, alright?"

"Oh, I know."

"Nadine will lose her shit if she finds out. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure she will be happy and relieved that you've found a guy. But she'll probably freak out first. Just between us, the mayor thing is a bigger deal than she anticipated, and she has these days where she calls me over and just … cries over wine with me. It is a side of her I never dreamed I'd see. Right now would be … the very wrong time to tell her that her leading bachelor isn't actually a bachelor." Malcolm reconsiders. "Though, to be fair, a bachelor by definition is just a guy who isn't married. By that definition, even I'm a bachelor. Samuel would of course vehemently disagree and thrust a ring right on my finger if he heard that. Y'know what? I'm talking entirely too much. Tell me everything." Malcolm comes even closer. "Spill all the tea, every last drop."

With that, I tell him how it came to be. Running into Noah at the festival. Talking to him at the Strongs'. Our failed attempt at an interview the next morning. The photo shoot and the dinner. Our secret rendezvous at his house last night—minus the intimate details, of course. Malcolm is there to drink up every bit of it.

"I'm so happy for you," he sighs when I finish. "Really, this is the best thing ever. I feel so relieved. By the way, how does Noah feel about you and the you-getting-auctioned-off-like-a-piece-of-art thing that's about to happen?"

"Noah's the one who wanted me to keep us a secret until this is all over with. He seems to be okay with it."

"It wouldn't be the worst thing to admit that you're seeing someone. Celebrities get ‘auctioned off' in fundraising events all of the time," Malcolm points out. "People know it's just an innocent night out. You're not marrying the highest bidder or anything."

"Don't say that around Nadine. She'll think it's an idea."

"Touché," he mumbles.

"Still, I have to respect Noah's wishes and keep this secret."

"Do you think he'll mind that you told me? Oh, this is fun," he realizes suddenly. "Keeping a secret about Mr. Picture Perfect that no one in town knows. How scandalous. Cole, I am literally getting goosebumps. Look."

I chuckle. "No, I don't think he'll mind."

"Do you see the goosebumps?"

"Yes, I do," I answer with another chuckle, "and I'm glad that my predicament is making your skin go bumpy. I think the bigger deal with Noah is all the attention it'd get him if people find out. I can handle the spotlight a lot better than he can."

"Hmm, I see. But you know, that might not be avoidable, even after the event. There will be follow-up stories. Interviews. There's no telling if other publications might catch wind and want to do their own thing on you or the other guys. Who knows? What if all of Texas wants in? It can blow up a lot bigger than you realize."

My smile slowly fades. "You … You really think so?"

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out and gives it a look. "Sorry, I gotta take this. I'll keep your secret, don't worry." He gives me an apologetic wince. "But you may want to warn Noah. You might be just a few weeks away—or less—from becoming a local celeb."

I stare back at him, out of breath.

"It's been great catching up," says Malcolm with a warm smile, then points at his phone. I nod, understanding. He brings it to his ear and saunters off as he talks. "Is this the Queen? Queen Nadine? Oh yes, ma'am, you bet I just finished up with the boys here at the McPhersons'. I'm on my way to your place, and yes, I will take you up on that offer of tequila you haven't made yet."