Chapter 16 Cole

I wasn't wrong.

We spend many more nights together.

And face all sorts of obstacles.

Obstacles such as our clothes getting in the way of touching each other's bare skin.

Obstacles like realizing that no amount of kisses is enough.

As it turns out, it's fun to face "obstacles" with Noah.

Many of our nights are spent together, as I begin to make staying over at his house a habit. On nights when I work late at the Spruce Fitness Zone (and Nadine doesn't try finagling me out of my shift to do something pageant-related), I feel like a curfew-breaking kid sneaking into his boyfriend's bedroom while trying not to wake up the parents. Mrs. Reed always acts surprised to see my face in the morning, then insists on making us a hearty breakfast that most likely will have one or two faces on it. Then there are other nights when Noah and I feel entirely alone and able to enjoy each other with no sense of the world around us, free from the pressures of being caught, seen, or otherwise nosed into by the general Spruce population. Even the handful of nights when I do take him out, we grow smarter about which places to go to, dodging the ones with the most onlookers.

But those safe places steadily decrease as the days roll by.

I wonder if soon, we'll have nowhere safe left to go.

The articles keep coming out, too, one by one. I only imagine how strange it must feel for Noah to write and edit them, knowing full well that he's been made a willing participant in adding fuel to the very fire we keep evading each night we spend together. "You don't have to worry," I tell him on one such night when we find a secluded spot at Spruce Park: a bench hidden away by a thicket of trees and a rosebush with a view of the sunset. He just expressed feeling like he's making our situation worse. "It's just your job. If it gets people excited, then you're doing it right. And hey, the more people talk, the more tickets will get sold to the event, Nadine will be mega happy, and isn't that a win for all of us?"

Not an hour after those words fly past my na?ve little lips, an article springs up in Brookfield about the "hot n' hunky bachelors from Spruce, Texas stirrin' up a steam storm in hopeful hearts".

It's soon followed by a similar article in Fairview.

And then a feature in the Houston Chronicle.

That's about when the random phone calls start coming in. It doesn't matter what hour it is—morning, noon, or night. I'm at the auto shop with my car when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number and assume it's a telemarketer. Then it rings again with a different number. And again. I eventually silence it and stuff it in my pocket—only for my thigh to then enjoy a never-ending series of unwelcome vibrations. I can barely pay attention to Joel as he tells me what they're doing to fix the dent in my car. "Oh, by the way," I remember to tell him, "your wife Mindy has a real knack for makeup! She made me look halfway decent," I then tease, as I ignore the buzzing in my pocket. Joel just gives me a funny look, says, "Mindy's got more talent in her thumb than I got in both of my hands, and I can only pray one of our kids adopts any of it." He gives me a reassuring pat on the back. "I'll have your car fixed up in no time. Lucky you, the dent didn't affect the paint and isn't all that bad. I'll throw in a little discount for you, partly ‘cause this'll be easy, and also ‘cause Mindy will have my ass if I don't. Have you seen her when she gets mad? She's worse than the kids." He clears his throat and leans in to add, "Don't tell her I said that."

It's a day later that I'm venting to Noah, as my phone persists in dinging relentlessly with texts, social media notifications, and random phone calls. "I don't get it. It's not like I'm some overnight country rock star. Should I just shut the thing off?" I ask, staring at my phone like it has grown a full face and become sentient. It's the fifteenth call I've gotten this evening alone. "Or do you think I should start actually answering any of these?"

"Whether you answer or not, they'll keep coming."

"How did they even get my number?" I wonder out loud as I stare at my ringing phone. "I did take a call yesterday, as I thought it might be Joel at the shop, but it was just a random man asking if I was ‘that hot Mr. Perfect guy'. His voice was, like … scary deep."

We're in Noah's room cuddled under a blanket on his bed. It's eight o'clock. Jimmy had let me leave early even though my shift was until ten. "You need rest, man," he had told me with a pat on my back. "I've got the feelin' my mama's puttin' you through it. I sure hope you don't regret agreein' to be one of her sexy bachelor fellas." I tried to assure him it was no big deal, but on my way out of the gym, I was quickly approached by nine different people asking me about the pageant, my part in it, and whether or not it's true that I'm going to marry whoever bids highest on me. Where did that crazy-ass rumor come from?

Noah gently slips his arm around my back, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I'm worried about you."

"Me?" I chuckle and toss my phone to the side. It lands on the pillow, still ringing. "Don't be. There's nothing to worry about. It's just a bunch of men who are either excited about the upcoming event or … uh … horny, I guess. Time's flying by. I can't believe it's already just a couple of weeks away."

"Less than," points out Noah. The phone stops ringing. He lets out a sigh. "It's only going to get worse, you know."

"I think you're right. I might have to set my phone on fire." I bring my hand to Noah's face, his expression creased with anxiety. "We're gonna face all of these things together, remember?"

"I know."

"It'll all be over with soon, and we can be ourselves again."

My phone dings with another text message.

I shove it under the pillow and lean back heavily with hands behind my head, as if to smother it. "Soon," I repeat with a grin.

Noah smiles uncertainly at me, then gently rests his head on my chest and closes his eyes. I bring an arm around him, hugging him close, and the pair of us drift to sleep just like that, not even bothering to turn off the desk lamp. I've gotten used to Noah's odd yet fascinating talent of falling asleep with lights on in the room.

The next few days, I discover I have been given off completely from the gym. I'm told that it's because there was a shift in the scheduling, but I have a creeping suspicion it's for my own safety. People are starting to show up in town who have never been here before. The Spur Inn is booked solid for the week before the event, which begs the question if the owner was smart enough to jack up the prices.

"Dude, I didn't sign up for this shit," says Anthony as he sucks every last molecule of meat off a barbecue rib, chewing angrily. "I got, like, fuckin' eleven texts in the middle of the damned night. Don't these assholes know I gotta sleep?"

"I just silence mine most of the time," I respond.

"I need it on for work. Never know when a job will call. Fuck."

We're out at Gary Strong's ranch, Nadine's brother-in-law, for a cowboy-themed photo shoot—to really sell the whole "southern bachelor" thing. It's inside the big ranch house that we're being served delicious food courtesy of Nadine's, a Fairview restaurant that is also, of course, owned by and named after the Strongs.

I shake my head. "You just have to find a way to stay strong. The event is coming up soon, it will be chaos for a night, and then we can return to being boring people no one cares about."

"Speak for yourself," he grunts, his mouth full. "I ain't borin'."

I glance at Dean across the room. He's enjoying his meal in the company of Tyrone and Omar, his nephew and nephew's husband respectively, whose house is nearby and who paid a visit to "see what all of this hullabaloo is about". If I knew any better, I would say Dean brought them here to act as a buffer between him and Anthony, the both of whom seem determined to remain mortal enemies. I really wish they would just get over it. Don't we have enough to deal with? Harassing phone calls? Ten to thirty texts a night? Social media accounts blowing up?

"I got a titty pic an hour ago," says Anthony.

I lift an eyebrow at him. "Huh?"

He frowns. "Wasn't a good one, though."

I chuckle. "Nice."

"What?" Anthony snorts, tickled by my reaction. "That funny to you for some reason? Don't worry, it didn't do anything for me. Not a good pic."

"There's a such thing as a bad titty pic?"

"I dunno. Is there such a thing as a bad dick pic?" he retorts.

"I'm not getting any dick pics, thankfully." I sip my sweet tea. "Just texts and calls I'm avidly ignoring. I changed all of my social media accounts to private. My message request inbox has been filling up for weeks. No point in looking at it."

"That's funny," he grunts.

I don't ask what he means by that. When I peer back over my shoulder the other way, I spot Noah talking to Tamika and some other friend from the newspaper. Though they seem to be deep in conversation, Noah's eyes flick to mine right away, as if sensing me, and he returns a sweet smile. I'm comforted instantly by the sight, the way his little eyes lighten up, assuring me everything is going to turn out fine.

Despite all of the obstacles and strangeness, Noah and I have maintained an impressive connection with each other. It's like we tuned into the same frequency on some imaginary radio, locked into each other, understanding our feelings and worries without exchanging so much as a word—even from across rooms.

When we're back outside after our meal for our second round of exploiting the Southern thirst, I find myself in a one-on-one shoot with Noah and his camera. I lean back against the wooden fence of a horse enclosure, cowboy hat on, tight plaid shirt half unbuttoned to the middle of my chest, dusty jeans tighter than sin, and my skin slick with sweat—which was sprayed on out of a water bottle courtesy of Mindy four minutes ago.

Noah lowers the camera. "I think you could be more … um …" He makes a gesture with his hand. "Can you turn a little to the …"

"Like this?" I turn ever so slightly to my side.

"Um, not quite. More like …" He makes another gesture.

I turn the other way. "Like this?"

Noah gnaws on his lip, unsure. Then he glances over his shoulder, noticing how Nadine isn't really paying attention. She's talking with the other bachelors and her brother-in-law Gary, who are all on the other side of the path, practically ignoring us. I guess she has decided to trust Noah to his own creative devices, I have to assume, considering he did so well with the first photo shoot.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

After a second, Noah appears to have a stroke of confidence, his back straightening. He walks right up to me. "Your shirt is a bit too … um …" He gives the front of it a tug to open it further, then looks at me.

I smirk back. "Better?"

The look in his eyes right now is one I have come to know and recognize so well.

I'd be lying if I said it isn't doing something to me.

He lets his camera hang around his neck, then brings both of his hands to my waist. "If you can just … turn a little to the …"

He gently coaxes me to twist the other way.

The way his fingers glide sensitively across the tight denim of my jeans, running over my hips, then grazing my ass, does not go unnoticed. My heart gives a little jump of excitement as his fingers move. He knows what he's doing.

"There," he decides softly. "Better."

"You sure I don't require …" I lift an eyebrow. "… any more … adjustments …?"

He gently runs a hand down my shirt, as if to smooth out the wrinkled fabric. "This shirt looks good on you."

"Maybe I need another adjustment … a little bit … lower …"

He meets my eyes. "Cole …"

"What?" I ask innocently, my halo practically shining in the sunlight over our heads.

He peels his gaze from mine, running his hand down my shirt again. With as tight as this shirt and these jeans are, anywhere he touches feels like his fingertips are on my bare skin.

"If you're requiring any adjustments in your more sensitive areas," he says, "I'm afraid that's something I am unable to do for you without infringing upon at least three workplace regulations."

I lower my voice. "You know how sexy I find it when you go full nerd on me, right?"

He calmly adjusts his glasses and lifts his chin. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Now remain precisely in this position while I configure my camera for optimal exposure, adjusting the aperture and fine-tuning the ISO in preparation to capture the photons that reflect your unmatched aesthetics."

I suppress a smile. "Can you still photograph me if your full nerd has given me full wood?"

"Workplace regulations," he responds rather strictly, then cracks a smile. "And I can photograph you in any state."

"In … any … state?"

"You should exercise more restraint, Cole. The horses behind you are listening, and do you really want to be responsible for corrupting their innocent little ears?"

"Oh, there's nothing innocent about a horse."

"How do you know?"

"Just a hunch. And you know how I am with my hunches. This one behind me? He doesn't look like he's up to any good."

He takes a step toward me, frowning and nearly pressing our bodies together. "The only naughty stud here is you."

"Says the photographer who can't keep his hands off of me."

"No more nerd talk for you." He lifts his camera and gives it a wiggle. "I have important work to do, and you are distracting me. Now stay in that pose, please stop debating the innate innocence of horses, and allow me to do my job." He steps back, then adopts a coy smirk. "We can … talk about other stuff … later."

"Promise?"

He gets into position, winks at me, then lifts his camera and starts snapping more photos. Something about the playful way in which Noah interacts with me makes me feel so special. The two of us truly have something no one else can touch. When he's around me, it doesn't matter how many phone calls or unwanted texts I get a day. Nothing matters but Noah's playful smile, his adorable eyes and the way they connect to mine … and his skillful hands.

I hope he has plans with those hands tonight.

That's when my eyes catch Anthony's across the wide dirt path separating us. I can't say exactly how long he's been paying attention, but I notice the expression on his face. His eyebrows are pulled tightly together like he's straining to figure something out by utilizing every last brain cell he's got. Considering what he might be thinking, I sure hope there aren't that many brain cells at work in that empty head of his.

The afternoon gives way to the evening, and soon, we're out of sunlight and saying our goodbyes. I make sure to thank Tamika for some advice she gave me on my "talent", as I was having some doubts earlier and shared them during our lunch break. Nadine heads into the house with Gary and a few of the others, including Burton and his dad, to finish up some business stuff.

"Oh, it's okay," Noah tells Tamika when we're gathered by the cars, going our separate ways. His words are drowned out by the coughing of Anthony's loud, rumbly truck nearby. "I don't need a ride. Cole's gonna take me."

"Cole, did you say?" Tamika calls out over the noise.

"Cole," confirms Noah with a nod, then throws his thumb in my direction. I smile at Tamika. "He's giving me a ride."

"That's nice of him." She gives me a sweet and appraising look before pursing her lips in thought. "You two have gotten awfully close over the last several weeks. Practically best buddies."

"You can say that," I agree, throwing an arm over Noah's back and hugging him close. He stares at me, surprised. "Ever since I saved this guy's life, we're—" Anthony's truck makes a booming noise that causes us all to jump, followed by him cursing loudly. "—inseparable," I finish awkwardly.

Tamika's eyes dance back and forth between us, a twinkle of delight in them. "Get home safely, boys. I'll see you at the dress run in a couple days. Oh, and please don't forget to answer those questions I sent you. Tomorrow's our last push before the thing!"

"Fuckin' shit piece a' junk!" shouts Anthony from his driver's seat as he attempts to start his truck again, the noise persisting.

"I'll gladly wade through the noise of sex offers and marriage proposals cramming my inbox to fish out those questions you sent me and will answer them pronto," I assure her with a wink and a saluting gesture.

Tamika chuckles, then peers at Anthony's truck with concern. "Should someone … uh … help him?"

I wait a moment, watching, then shrug. "I think he'll be fine."

After another loud noise that sounds like metal grinding in a food processor, the truck wheezes and goes quiet, hissing smoke out of its exhaust. "Motherfucker!" shouts Anthony with a smack of his steering wheel that sets off the horn, which then startles him.

Noah and I exchange a look.

"Do we dare …?" I quietly asks Noah.

Noah winces, then peers over his shoulder at Anthony, who seems to have given up all hope and has dropped his head onto the steering wheel, the horn blaring ceaselessly.

That is how, five minutes later, I am on the road heading back into Spruce with Noah in the passenger seat next to me.

And Anthony in the back, who won't shut up. "I can't afford for my damned truck to sit on some ranch halfway out of town. I got jobs to get to tomorrow, shit to do. I feel like a goat kicked dirt into my engine or somethin' just to be an asshole. Goats are all a bunch of assholes. And y'know what else? I think the—"

Noah and I keep looking at each other as Anthony rambles on.

Does he regret us taking Anthony back into town yet?

It only gets worse. The second downtown Spruce is in sight, Anthony's suddenly a hungry baby that needs feeding. "Hey, guys, aren't you starved? We haven't eaten since noon. Pull into Biggie's and let's get some burgers. My stomach's speakin' languages."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," says Noah. "It'll be busy around this time. Dinner rush. And with all of the extra people in town, and you're both bachelors, which is the reason they're even here, they might—"

"Big deal! You scared of a few people?" He smacks me on the arm. "C'mon, Cole. Let's go to Biggie's. I'm hungry. Hangry."

Noah's stomach growls right on cue. He stares down at it, as if astonished that it betrayed him, then looks over at me.

I grimace. "Maybe we can swing by for just a quick bite."

"I guess," agrees Noah unenthusiastically.

We should have heeded his warning. Biggie's is packed from one end to the other. It's nearly an hour before the three of us finally get a table squeezed right into the heart of the chaos. I nearly spill my drink when someone passes by and knocks into my elbow. Noah looks like he's huddling over his food as if to protect it from being stolen. Anthony, despite being the one whose idea it was to come here, won't stop complaining about getting his chair shoved by every passerby. We can barely even hear each other talk over the noise of the busy diner.

It's while we've all got our hands messy with stuffing burgers into our faces that our unnoticed onlookers become brave. "Hey, you're two of the bachelors, aren't you?" asks a young woman who approaches our table with her friend, both of them brunettes with big boobs and long straight hair. Just the airy sound of her voice suggests instantly what she and her friend want.

Anthony, surprisingly, makes a face at them. "Yeah, and can't you see we're eating?"

The woman seems undeterred by his rudeness—or else didn't catch his tone in all the noise of the place. "I'm Jessie. This is my friend Veronica. We're staying at the—what's it called?—the Spurs Inn down the road. We're here all week."

"Spur Inn," Noah quietly corrects her, "singular."

"You got any plans tonight, stud?" asks Jessie, ignoring Noah. "We were hopin' someone might show us around town. There isn't much to do around here."

If Anthony's face could wrinkle up any more, he'd turn inside-out. "D'you not hear me? I'm eating. And I'm not a tour guide." He scoffs, finding that funny, crumbs fluttering from his full mouth.

It's only now that our new friends Jessie and Veronica appear to consider whether Anthony is worth the pursuit at all. When the two ladies glance at me, I give them an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, it's been a long day for him. If you're looking for something to do, I might recommend Tumbleweeds, which is a great restaurant and bar within walking distance to where you're staying, or there's the Spruce Cinema 5, if you like movies, and my personal favorite, the Strong Fitness Zone, though I might be a little biased, since I work there, but you can get a great workout, or just—"

"Movies and dumbbells ain't the kind of entertainment these ladies are lookin' for," says Anthony with his mouth full. "Take a hint, Cole."

Jessie turns her back on Anthony. "Thank you, Cole, for your polite recommendations. I think we might catch a movie tonight. We're … sorry for bothering you guys. Veronica?" She nudges her friend, who looks slightly less forgiving, judging from the look she is giving Anthony right now, and the two of them leave.

Anthony snorts. "These fuckin' women, am I right?"

I frown. "Anthony, we have to be more respectful, even if they intrude a little into our lives. This is a fundraiser, remember? We want these women to actually bid on you. Not to mention that we are all representing Spruce, and we don't want to be … um …"

"Dicks," finishes Noah for me, not caring to be tactful.

Instead of being insulted, Anthony finds that funny. "So? I've been called worse than a dick. I don't care. I'm just tryin' to enjoy my burger here, and that's that. Why should I change who I am for these weirdos in town? Why should …" He changes his tone as he looks at us. "Why should you guys change how you act?"

Noah and I exchange a look. "How … we act?" I mumble.

"C'mon, guys, who do you think you're foolin'?" He snorts. "I can see it written all-the-fuck-over y'all's faces. The way you guys look at each other. All your secret things. Whatever it was you two were doin' during the photo shoot. I saw it."

I continue to stare at him, the last bite of my burger hanging in my grip. Noah is similarly without words.

Anthony shakes his head, appearing not to push the issue any further. "Whatever, you guys can do whatever the heck you want, don't matter to me. I'm just gonna finish this tasty burger and … and keep bein' me." He looks away.

Honestly, I'm surprised.

Is the thick-as-cement Anthony Myers actually telling us that he knows we're a thing? And if someone like Anthony is able to see it so clearly and thinks it's so obvious, then who else does? The whole production team behind this pageant? Anyone else in town who has seen us out and about over the past several weeks?

Are we really fooling ourselves?

Apparently Anthony can't get enough of us. He grows clingy after we wrap up our meal at Biggie's, complaining again about his "old bitch of a truck", then asks us what we're doing tonight. I tell Anthony I'll be happy to drop him home, but then he complains about how his "jerk-off dad" won't "get off his ass about this and that", and it becomes increasingly clear that he doesn't want to go home. Noah suggests he just hangs out with us a little longer. "It's a mathematical certainty he'll get bored and beg to go home," Noah whispers to me while we stand on the curb outside Biggie's Bites, Anthony fiddling on his phone and muttering to himself nearby.

And that's how the three of us end up in my backyard.

On a blanket I had set out intended for just me, Noah, and my cuddly dog Porridge, with the romantic idea that Noah and I might enjoy stargazing with my dog.

Oh, how so quickly plans like to fly out of windows lately.

"Fuck," moans Anthony, sleepy-eyed, as he pets Porridge. She seems to enjoy him, her head resting on his chest. "I miss my dog so damned much, man, you have no idea what this is doin' to me." Anthony squeezes Porridge and closes his eyes. "My dog was the sweetest dog in the world. Didn't judge anyone. Loved me whether I was a screw-up or not. Cuddled with me just like this." Anthony's eyes fill with tears. "Fuckin' Lyme fuckin' disease bullshit … I'd do anything to … t-to have my dog back … give anything …"

A minute later, Anthony is snoring.

Noah and I, from opposite sides of the blanket, stare at each other over the calmly slumbering bodies of Anthony and Porridge. I watch as a smile of appreciation spills over Noah's face.

"This isn't exactly how I expected tonight to go," I confess.

"I figured," says Noah.

"I also didn't know it'd be so overcast." I frown at the empty night sky. "Was thinking we might stargaze tonight."

Noah peers at me over my dog. "You're so thoughtful."

"I really wanted us to cuddle under the stars."

"We'll be able to see the moon in a little bit," reasons Noah. "Oh, unless it's already gone by." He glances around, confused.

I prop myself up on an elbow, watching him. I think this may be right at the top of my list of experiences I was hoping to share with Noah: stargazing. Of course my dog is an optional part, but I told Noah I made a promise to her several weeks ago that I didn't quite fulfill, and Noah said he knew how important promises were to me and didn't want to be the reason I broke one with my dog.

I thought that was so sweet of him to say.

But it also made me worry whether this is his thing at all. If he would find it romantic or boring. I'm not even sure he likes dogs. He doesn't like rabid raccoons. Then again, I'm not sure who does. Maybe Malcolm's boyfriend Samuel might like raccoons, whether they're rabid or not, considering his whole life is dedicated to the care and treatment of animals, being a vet tech and all. I think my brain might be rambling nervously a little bit. Why am I nervous?

Maybe it's because this is the first time I've invited Noah here since that interview that didn't happen. I've been less-than-subtly avoiding bringing him here for a number of reasons. One of those reasons is asleep in her room right now. The other one is at work.

I should probably take the hint and stop making plans at all.

"I'm having a great time with you tonight, Cole."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"The last few hours were unexpected," he notes, "and we've had our fair share of … odd experiences these past few weeks. But this moment right now, it feels special. I know how much your dog means to you. Apparently this moment means a lot to Anthony, too. I've gotten to spend some time with Porridge twice now."

A relieved smile spreads over my face. "I'm happy to hear it."

"I always wanted a dog." Noah sighs. "But my mom is scared of them. Well, big dogs, not the tiny yappy ones that nip at your ankles, which seems backwards to me. And my dad is too busy to properly care for one, so that would leave all the responsibility to me. Plus the expense." He turns onto his side and rubs Porridge's head, who is so deep in sleep with her head on Anthony's gently rising and falling chest, she doesn't even look up. "I'm beginning to realize the benefits we could've enjoyed … had we been friends back in school."

I smirk at him. "You mean us skipping class to secretly make out in the locker room?"

He wrinkles his face. "With all that musky stench?"

"Make out under the bleachers?"

He squints at me. "With all the anthills and litter?"

"Make out in a bathroom stall?"

That earns me a full-on eye roll from him.

I lean in toward him. "I'd make out with you anywhere, Noah Reed. Anywhere in the world."

He gazes at me, dropping all his disgust and trading it for that hopeful expression he only makes when I capture him by saying anything that has to do with bringing our lips together.

Just like the photo shoot today, when we seemed eager to be pressing each other's buttons in all the right places.

Full ignition. Pistons firing. Engine rumbling to life.

It's like a spell.

Or a car, apparently.

"You'd make out with me over Anthony and your peacefully-sleeping dog's heads?" he asks dryly.

I lean forward even more, bringing my face to his. "With all of this wet dog aroma?" I ask with mock disgust, teasing him.

"Are you calling Anthony a dog, too?"

"Am I?" I lean in more.

Our mouths grow close.

The second our lips touch, my dog abruptly rises from her soft spot on the blanket, knocking both of us in the chin, and trots off, decidedly done with our moment. Noah rubs his face, stunned by the rude interruption, as I massage my chin. "Uh, you okay?" I ask. "Hope she didn't just make you bite your tongue."

"All good," Noah assures me, still rubbing.

There's noise at the side gate, indicating the arrival of my dad from his night job—and likely the reason Porridge got to her feet. He stops by the back door to pet her, scratching behind her ears in the spot that make her wag her tail the hardest. Then his tired eyes discover the unexpected trio of us on the blanket, and a look of confusion twists his face. "The hell's going on back here?"

I stiffen up, alarmed.

This is exactly what I was afraid of: Noah meeting my dad in a less-than-pleasant mood. Seeing what my family is really like. A sneak-peek of the aforementioned curse I am stuck with for life.

"I'm just spending time with … with friends," I reply.

My dad looks over Noah and Anthony with cold, faraway eyes. "Friends," he mutters disdainfully, as if he doesn't trust the word.

As if summoned, Anthony jerks his head up, coming out of his sleep like someone just splashed a bucket of water on him. "Shit, man, did I doze off …?" He wipes tears out of his eyes, appearing surprised by them, then turns and notices my dad. "Oh, hey. Hi."

My dad doesn't return the greeting. He just stares.

Like he does every time my mom raises her voice.

Or even when I butt in to give my two cents.

He just stares.

Every cell of blood in my body boils at his rudeness. Would it really kill him to just return the tiniest speck of hospitality to our two guests?

"Had a bad day?" asks Anthony blithely, oblivious to the fact that this is how my dad always acts, regardless of his day. "It's all good, sir, you don't gotta mind us one bit. We're just relaxin' with Porridge back here."

My dad stares at him, then eyes me. "Your mom asleep?"

"Mom and Nan, both," I confirm.

He irritably wipes at a spot on his nose. "One less headache to deal with. Wrap this up," he says, then adds, "whatever this is." He turns to the door to let himself in.

That's when Anthony sits up. "You seem off. Got somethin' on your mind, sir?"

"Anthony," I mutter warningly.

My dad turns, an indignant look on his face. "Excuse me?"

"Not tryin' to start nothin'. You just remind me of my dad." Anthony lets out an obnoxious yawn, stretches, then shrugs. "And if somethin' is on your mind, sir, I think it'd do you and everyone around you so much better if you'd just, y'know, let it out. Talk it out. I mean, shit, what's the worst that can happen?"

"Anthony," I say even louder.

"And when I say you remind me of my dad, that ain't a good thing." Anthony rises to his feet and slumps tiredly over the grass. "My dad is the damned textbook definition of ‘bottling shit up'. He's gonna keel over one of these days, and no matter what I tell him, he just won't listen. Probably ‘cause I'm his son and all he hears when I talk is a child who don't know better. But maybe you'll hear me." Anthony slaps a hand onto my dad's shoulder, which effectively seems to turn my dad into stone. "Man to man, I'm just sayin' … if you love your son, if you love your wife, you gotta speak up, say what's eatin' at you. You can't expect everyone around you to read your mind and, like, magically see what pain you're in. That's somethin' the reverend told me, really hit me big, right here," he says, patting his heart. "Reverend Trey. Been seein' him a lot lately, ever since I started goin' back to church. Y'know, I always thought counseling was a bunch of stupid hypnosis bullshit for money, but Reverend Trey, he made me see my own shit, and he worked a damned miracle on my parents who weren't a stellar example of a happy marriage. Now they take walks every day and talk. Y'know, like I'm tellin' you to do. Talk." Anthony gets way too close to my dad's face. "I know that dark pit, man, the dark pit you think you're in. Once you fall in there, man, everything looks dark, even the good stuff in your life, even your loved ones. Don't accept it. Don't get used to it. Fight it like a soldier." He presses a hand to my dad's chest and rubs it. "The problems won't solve themselves, sir, that's all I'm sayin'. You got the answer right in here."

The feeling inside me right now, it's a little bit like watching a nightmare unfold before my glassy eyes. All of the things Anthony so brazenly says to my father. The way he says them without fear, having no idea what's going on in my family, giving his unsolicited advice to my cold and dismal father who takes advice from no one.

My dad brushes Anthony's hands off his shoulder and chest, glaring at him with a mixture of confusion and contempt. Then he turns his harsh eyes onto me, as if I'm at fault for all of this.

Then he says, "Wrap this up. Tell your friends to go home. I'm going inside to …" He swallows, appears frustrated, then lets out a sigh and seems to change his mind, saying instead, "It's late, Cole," before slipping into the house with Porridge, whose tail still wags expectantly. The door gently shuts behind them.

Anthony frowns, then shakes his head and faces me. "Guess I better head out. Sorry if I overstepped. I just …" He comes back to the blanket to gather his phone off the ground. "I just can't keep quiet when I see someone like that, bottling it all in … like my own dad does. Reverend Trey taught me to notice it. Now I do. It ain't healthy. Someone's gotta give it to your dad straight, right?"

I don't know what I'm going to face now with my dad when I go inside, thanks to Anthony and his ever-running mouth. I can't help but stand here, unsure what to say, what to do, how to feel.

So I say nothing, do nothing, and feel nothing.

"Don't worry," says Anthony after I'm silent for too long. "I'll see myself out. I don't live far. Can use the fresh air. See you at the, uh, final rehearsal thing or whatever." He heads for the side gate, has trouble with it for a second, then finally lets himself out.

I glance at the windows of the living room as Anthony's words circle around inside my head. I wonder whether he was way off about my dad—or told him exactly what he needed to hear.

Suddenly I'm confused all over again.

Should I have thanked Anthony?

The touch of Noah's hand on my shoulder brings me back. I turn and wrap him in my arms immediately. He squeezes me, too, holding me without saying anything for some time.

I let out a little sigh. "Well, I guess I couldn't hide it from you forever. My curse. The thing no one in Spruce really knows about."

"Your dad …?" asks Noah sensitively.

"Both my parents. They hate each other. I live in a house full of hate. It's why …" I let out a sad little chuckle. "It's why I haven't invited you over here since that day you interviewed me. Well, the day you almost interviewed me," I amend, "before I kissed you and scared you away."

I hear Noah chuckle. "You didn't scare me away."

"I'm sorry I've been hiding this side of my life from you. I just didn't want you to see it so soon. I did warn you I'm not the perfect guy everyone wants to believe."

"No one is," says Noah. "And that's fine. Isn't that the point? That we're all flawed?" He rubs my back. "I like to see all of you, not just the shiny parts. I like the rough stuff, too. It's what makes photography so compelling, like when I try to capture everything into a photo. Not just the beauty. I want to see the spot of dirt on your jeans. Or the wrinkle in your shirt. Or the few out-of-place strands of hair. It's what creates real beauty in a photograph. It's what our hearts connect to after our eyes are satisfied."

I close my eyes as we embrace each other in my backyard, his heart beating against me, my heart beating against him. I feel his warmth like I feel my own.

In a moment like this when I'm at my weakest, Noah makes me feel strong.

I finally take a breath, then allow myself to smile. "Despite what my dad said … you're not going anywhere."

He pulls away. "What?"

"I want you to stay the night with me. First time in my room." I run a hand through his hair. "I think you should stay the night and keep me company. I can sneak you out in the morning."

I watch the gears turn in his eyes. His body tightens up.

I predicted this is how he'd react.

He's always so afraid to go against the grain.

I think I'm starting to find all of his adorable idiosyncrasies at fault for why my heart keeps leaping every time I witness them.

For why my heart keeps falling deeper and deeper for him.

For why I can't stand any minute of the day I'm not with him.

"Oh, look!" he exclaims, his eyes catching something. "I think they're coming out now!"

I turn, looking up. Sure enough, the dark clouds have spread and thinned like a velvet curtain, revealing a shiny glittering of stars across the sky. I hold Noah in my arms, chin nuzzled in his neck, as we gaze up at the stars together, feeling warm in each other's embrace.

Maybe someday soon I'll have the bravery to say my thoughts out loud. To tell Noah that I'm losing my mind over him. To look him in his sweet little eyes and tell him how I feel. That I'm a mess in his presence. And I'm a mess when he's far away. That I think of nothing and no one but him. That under a spread of stars, there is no one else in the universe that shines as brightly as he does, no one else I'd rather be holding in my arms right now.

Noah Reed, I'm fucking falling in love with you.