Chapter 21 Noah

A spotlight shines on me at once.

I squint against the harsh assault of light, blinded.

The reality of the number that just flew from my lips hits me like a tidal wave.

What did I just do?

I shouldn't have let this go on for so long. I was so foolish and trapped in a mind loop of doubts and crippling anxieties yesterday morning. It was a complete and utter impulse that drove me out of that cozy room with my backpack, where I'd been so comfortable with my head on Cole's chest, listening to the music of his heart.

The impulse being: Cole is about to realize he's better off with a guy who's more his caliber. Cole deserves to see what else is out there. Cole is being rightfully given the opportunity to find the best of the best for a partner, and I refused to be the person who would hold him back.

That was the greatest gift I could give him: removing myself from the picture completely.

"Why in the heck am I takin' you home?" chirped my mother the second she showed up in front of the McPherson estate.

"Just drive," I begged her, hugging my backpack to my chest as I sat in the passenger seat, and though doubt twisted her face, she obliged, taking me away from the sprawling mansion.

We were halfway back to town when she started talking. "You have got to start explainin' yourself, Noah."

"Can I not, though?"

"After your father dropped you off last night, I thought you'd be stayin' through the weekend to support your new pal Cole!"

"Mom, he's not just—" I froze and clenched my eyes shut. It suddenly seemed impossible to tell her the truth. I choked up and fought back tears, refusing to let them out.

That's when my mom said: "Sweetheart, you think it ain't as obvious as hair on a horse? I know you aren't just pals."

I opened my eyes and stared ahead at the windshield.

"I know," she repeated. "Your dad does, too. We were sure of it. It's not exactly subtle, what you two are. I know what love looks like. And goodness, do I know what young love looks like. Y'know that was your daddy and I, right?"

"Me and your daddy," I corrected her in a mumble.

"I know, it's why I said it the wrong way, to get you to speak." She paused. "Oop, there ya go, back to bein' quiet." She sighed. "I don't want to smother and suffocate you like I do to get answers outta you. If you need your space, okay, I'll just bring you home n' leave ya be, bake you somethin'. But I just need to know that you are okay and don't have nothin' big you really need to get out."

Nothing big. Just the only person I ever loved slipping away. Because I'm pushing him away. Because I know in the end, he will thank me when he finds his real match at that auction tomorrow and isn't stuck with the weird boy from his childhood dreams.

Nothing big at all.

At home, my mom was merciful enough to leave me be. I went straight to my room and curled up on my bed without so much as a change of clothes.

Honestly, I probably cried, too.

But that was simply a normal human reaction to holding so much stress inside of me. It was wise to cry, actually. Crying isn't always about sadness. It can be a natural response to stress, as it releases oxytocin and endorphins into the body, easing emotional and physical pain and flushing stress hormones from the system.

Or so I read one day while trapped in a rabbit hole.

I realized I hadn't ventured into any rabbit holes in weeks.

Ever since Cole crashed into me at the festival, in fact.

Maybe I hadn't had time to. This past month had been filled with such exhilarating new experiences. Cole had kept me busy seeing what life could be like outside the confines of my mind. I'm not even sure whether he realizes the effect he has had on me.

I promised myself to be forever grateful for that.

I told myself I wouldn't forget the gifts he'd given me, none of which were the kind you could hold with your hands.

They were gifts you keep in your heart.

Gifts that enrich the mind.

Well, perhaps except for the popcorn bucket sitting on my desk, a souvenir from a certain movie we never finished.

I guessed Cole and I would become another unfinished movie.

Would it really be such a bad thing if Cole's next movie is a total blockbuster hit?

Then I heard the doorbell. It was Cole. I stood at the door to my bedroom as I listened to my mom talk to him. I heard him ask about me. My mom glanced over her shoulder and caught my eye. She seemed to take the hint, because she told him I needed time to rest, that I was overworked, and that my supervisor was a jerk.

None of those facts were inaccurate, technically.

I watched from my window as Cole returned to his car. Then he stopped at the mailbox and peered back at me, as if sensing I was watching him leave.

I fought an instinct to duck under the windowsill, not wanting to be seen. Then I dared myself to stand right there and keep my eyes on him anyway. The blinds were enough to shield his view of me, I was sure, not to mention the glare of the sun off the glass.

But I couldn't be completely sure.

There was a chance he could see my shape through the glass.

He lifted his hand, as if waving hello to me.

My heart did a somersault. My eyes grew.

Could he really see me, despite the glare? Was I not as hidden as I thought I was?

I lifted my hand, too, as if to wave hello back.

Or maybe I was waving goodbye.

Then he got into his car. My phone buzzed with a message. And then he left at last. I dropped my hand as his car drove away. I left my bedroom and flew out the front door and stood at the foot of my driveway, watching as his car vanished around the bend of the street. I stood there with the wind in my hair, tossing it every direction it pleased, still wearing my clothes from last night, wondering if Cole's car might circle back.

It was only then I wondered for the first time if I was wrong.

Was I making a huge mistake?

Maybe I was letting go of my only chance at true happiness, of the only person in the whole world who would see me for what I really am, who accepted me without any need to edit myself.

Like a perfectly written first draft. No errors and no revisions required. Sent straight to publish, ready to print as is.

I spent that night in my bedroom, ignoring all calls and texts. My mom brought me a plate of dinner and set it on my nightstand. "You've got to eat, baby," she said so quietly, I barely caught it. "I love you so much, my … my sweet, sweet boy." She stroked my hair, as I was turned away, cuddled up with a pillow on the bed. After she left, I sat up and nibbled on what I could manage. I was quite hungry, truth be told, and despite my emotional condition, it was rather illogical to starve myself.

Cole sent another text before he went to sleep. I didn't get the text until three in the morning when I woke up needing to pee. So it was with a full bladder and crusties in my eyes that I sat on the edge of my bed reading his text. I began to type a reply, wishing to set him straight on where my mind was at, to at last "release" him from the obligation of me, and to bid him good luck on the event. After typing a full reply, I stared at the words, rereading them, then frowned. I feared any correspondence at this point would be kicking open the door I was trying to shut. And if he woke up to this on the day of the event, who's to say how it would affect him? It was perhaps in that very moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, glow of the phone on my face, that I realized how selfish I'd been.

There was such a better way I could have handled all of this.

I didn't have to disappear on him like that, ghosting him like a cruel villain, and ending what we had without warning.

Except, worst of all, I didn't even properly end it.

I just left Cole holding a pile of confusions and frustrations.

How was this helping anything at all?

I deleted the message I had written out, set my phone back on the nightstand, then went to the bathroom. Afterwards, I stood in the kitchen and drank a glass of milk, staring into the darkness with my thoughts. I wandered up to the door of the guestroom and peered in at my father's train town. I came up to the edge of Windville to inspect the little people, the buildings and tiny plastic trees, and the caboose of the train with "I'm happy in this town!" painted across its back in tiny cursive letters. I stared at the town for what felt like half the night, thinking about Cole, about my dad, about this past month and all the events that have transpired since the moment Burton pushed me out of the Spruce Press building with the mission of finding a story at the festival.

Little did I realize I'd become the story.

Or at least a part of it.

Now Cole can carry it on from here, I thought to myself with the train tracks in front of my face, then returned to my room and put myself back to sleep.

There's no telling how much sleep I actually got before I woke up in the afternoon to the sight of my mother standing over my bed with her hands on her hips.

"No," she said. "This simply won't do."

I sat straight up, rubbing my eyes. "What?"

"I spoke with Dad. I spoke with your dear grandpoppy on the phone. I spoke with God. I spoke with my batch of Cute Tutes I just pulled outta the oven. I spoke with myself … and I even spoke with you while you were sleepin' and snorin' away."

"I don't snore."

"And all of us agreed. Including your sleeping body." She sat on the bed next to me. "Cole is the best dang thing to ever happen to us, and what in ever lovin' heavens are you doin' to my future son-in-law and our happy family we could have together?"

I gaped at her. "S-Son-in-law?"

"He fits in with us so well here. And he adores you, Noah. What else can you possibly need? Why did I have to send that beautiful young man away yesterday? Do y'know how much that hurt me?"

"Mom." I sighed as I reached for my glasses on the nightstand and fumbled to put them on. "It's more complicated than that."

"No, it ain't. You just need to quit overthinkin'. Who was it that said them words?" She drummed her fingers along her chin. I just then noticed she was still wearing her oven mitt. "Tommy … somethin'-‘r-other … friend of the family. He'd said: ‘Quiet people have the loudest minds' …"

I frowned. "You think my mind is loud?"

"I think you talk yourself outta everything. I'm tellin' you, you need to get out of your own way and accept the joy and happiness that is literally droppin' himself on your doorstep. Sweetheart." It was then her voice went soft. "Is somethin' wrong with him?"

"No." I let out a huff of frustration. "There's … literally nothing wrong with Cole Harding."

"Somethin' wrong with you, then?"

I took a minute to gather myself. I grew quiet. "You … haven't even seen the competition out there. These guys who will be going tonight to bid on a date with Cole … They are hot. They're stunning. They're studly and handsome and about a dozen other adjectives I could easily stuff an article full of."

My mom made a noise right then that was halfway between a laugh and a fart. "Honey, darlin', you have got to learn a serious and fundamental life lesson right now before I lose my dang mind. As cute as you are, and as gorgeous as I think you are despite what you say about these other boys that'll be there, it ain't your looks that's got Cole hooked on you. When you go to take your showers, or when you're not in the room … me and him talk, y'know."

"He and I," I groaned, "and please, spare me. You don't—"

"Do you think it's my gorgeous looks that made your dad fall for me? I wasn't any more of a colorful peacock when I was seventeen than I am right now, y'know."

"It's male peacocks that are the colorful ones," I mumbled.

"Your daddy fell for me because I burned a batch of cookies in home ec class." She chuckled. "I felt like I'd made the whole school stink to high heaven. Your daddy, sweet, sweet Elmer, he was in my class, and while all the girls had a laugh about how bad a baker I was, he stood there in front of everyone, took one of my burned cookies, and would you believe it? He ate the whole dang thing!"

I made a face at her. "Gross."

"I found it to be darling. And brave. He encouraged me. I knew that with his support, I'd do better next time. That's what a good match does for each other, y'know? They make each other better. They hold each other right up. They fight for one another. Oh, my Elmer, he even stood by my side as I made my next batch."

"How did those come out?"

"Burned them, too," she said quickly. "Anyway, fast-forward all these years, your darlin' father has still been my number-one supporter, and that is all I have ever wanted for you. Cole may find a bunch of pretty boys at Cissy's big gladiator-fightin' arena …"

"Gladiator-fighting—?"

"… but who are you to decide what Cole wants? He's made it more than clear what it is he wants. You, Noah Lawrence Reed. It's you whose burnt batch of cookies he wants to eat. And maybe if you'd take off your glasses and look …"

"Literally can't see without them."

"… you'd realize he's not interested in anyone who shows up at that event tonight. He doesn't need to see what else is out there. He's got the perfect man right here at home, and he's been carin' for you since you two were children playin' out in the yard!"

She'd lost me there. "Mom, you can't possibly know that. We were kids who could barely stand each other."

"You were kids who played every day in the yard."

"And I barely remember any of it. In fact, I had to be told what had happened to Cole and why you and his mom had a falling out. Yes," I then said, answering the stunned look on her face, "I had that fateful talk with Cole's mom you've been wanting me to have. She even fixed me a glass of water with melon and ice cubes she grabbed using her tiny pair of hot pink tongs."

Despite all the bewilderment on her face, my mother gasped in slow motion. "Oh my gosh, she still has them cute little tongs?"

"And she told me about the bloody incident with Cole getting hurt, something I don't even remember." I hugged a pillow to my stomach and buried the bottom half of my face in it. "At least I don't think I do," I added in a mumble.

My mother looked away right then, as if the mere mention of Cole's mom sent her mind astray down a path of woeful memories.

Suddenly, she said, "Well goodness, you just made my point."

"What point?"

"About Cole carin' for you since y'all were boys." She turned to me. Her voice was small. "How else do you think he got hurt?"

I lifted my face from the pillow, staring at her questioningly.

"You two were playin' around on that old rusty jungle gym in his backyard," she said. "Your foot got stuck. When he climbed up to free you, he fell and scraped his face, probably on a nail or some jagged edge of somethin'. Then he climbed right back up to free you again, even though he was already hurt and bleedin'. You told me all about it on the way to the hospital."

My mind fled my skull at her words.

I was grasping with phantom fingertips at a ghost of a hint of a fraction of a recollection of such a memory.

A jungle gym. My foot twisting uncomfortably.

A boy coming to my rescue.

Then falling.

"That …" I could barely say the words as the memory tried to surface, as if through murky waters. "That was … was Cole …?"

"You didn't usually play on that rusty old thing," she went on. "And if you did, you certainly never climbed up on it. Somethin' must've been guidin' you that day to be adventurous. Maybe it was even sweet Cole, tryin' to pull you outta your shell." She shook her head and brought a mitted hand to her cheek. "You probably just thought it was somethin' that happened to you on the playground at school, but no … it was the backyard of a house just down the street. I doubt that jungle gym is even up anymore. New owners probably tore it down." She peered at me, then pulled off a mitt and placed her hand on my arm. "I don't wanna tell you what to do, Noah, I really don't. So I'll just leave it at this: Cole's been your guardian angel since I can remember."

I stared at her, feeling like a balloon floating in a storm.

I felt like I was still trying to bring pieces together to form a puzzle I had not even realized existed.

The boy … in the playground that wasn't a playground … was Cole …?

"For all we know, he's been lookin' out for ya ever since," she said with half a laugh. "I find it very hard to believe you two didn't run into each other all the time during your school years. The town's only so big, Noah. If I knew better, I'd put money down that he was keepin' an eye on you in school, too."

I tried to give that notion an honest consideration, thinking of any stray memory that might arise from my school days.

Times when I noticed Cole.

Or he noticed me.

"She still has them tiny pink tongs?" she asked as an aside. "Really? Them little … Them cute lil' pink things …?" She smiled to herself, then rose from my bed and went to the door, where she stopped and turned back. "I'll let you be for now. But please give it thought. Relationships like yours and Cole's … they are the envy of everyone in every town and city ever, across the globe. They only come once in a blue moon."

"That … saying is … misleading," I said distractedly, my mind lost in the past. "Blue moons occur as frequently as every two to three years and have nothing to do with it literally being blue."

"Then relationships like yours and Cole's come once in a literal blue moon," she amended, "when the moon is literally blue."

"So they come around … never?"

She gave me an important look. "Exactly."

I stared back, unable to form a counter, struck by the sincerity in her eyes.

Then she left me to sit there on my bed with my thoughts. It was unusual of me to let my mother's words affect me so deeply, but I couldn't help thinking about cookies burning in a classroom, about the sweetness of my dad as a teenager, to eat and enjoy the entirety of one of her charred disasters.

The character one must have, to stand up against mockery and laughter for the sake of someone else's dignity, to show such valor for another person, to display such compassion …

Traits I recently found myself admiring in Cole.

I suddenly imagined Cole doing the exact same thing for me, tasting a cookie I had burned beyond recognition.

What if Cole was keeping an eye on me all of those years?

Secretly watching my back?

There was one time I lost my math book. I was devastated. But then in my next math class a day later, I found a math book sitting there on my desk waiting for me—except it wasn't the one I had lost. It was a totally new copy. I always wondered where it came from. I decided it was the teacher who got me a new one.

Even though she denied it.

And didn't know I was missing my book in the first place.

Could that have been him?

"No," I decided right then, thinking aloud. "You're reaching too far for an explanation. That's why they call it ‘farfetched'."

With that, I cuddled back up in bed and hugged my pillow to my chest, closing my eyes.

It was barely five minutes later that I found myself thinking about all the times in school I had finally gotten to the front of the snack bar at lunch, after having let so many people go ahead of me (or rather: not stopping them from pushing and cutting in front of me with their friends, as if I wasn't even there), then hearing they were out of the treat I specifically wanted.

Only to discover that the lunch lady was asked to set one aside specifically for me. And it was paid for already.

And she was told not to mention who did it.

Every time I asked, every time it happened, she kept her lips sealed. I always wondered who was behind the kind gestures.

It's ridiculous to think that it could possibly have been Cole all those times. The notion never even crossed my mind. Not once.

"No," I decided, muffled by my pillow. "It wasn't Cole. It was the snack bar lady herself. She took pity on me. That's it. Now stop remembering these things and put it all behind you," I instructed myself, then shut my eyes.

Ten seconds later, they snapped back open as I remembered my birthday junior year. I was certain everyone had forgotten it—only to open my locker after my last class of the day and discover a note falling out of it. I picked it up. "Happy Birthday, Noah!" it read, with tons of different-colored happy face stickers covering it. I thought it was the sweet and thoughtful girl with curly hair whose locker was near mine, but she knew nothing about it.

Could that have been—? "No," I mumbled to myself, shutting up the mere idea. "That wasn't him either."

But each time I said it out loud, I believed it less.

Because I also remembered another time when I missed a day of school, then found notes stuffed in my locker from my classes.

And another time when I thought I left a notebook behind in my Spanish class, only to find it returned to my locker somehow.

Another time when I forgot my umbrella on a rainy day, then discovered one hooked to my locker after PE.

Another time when I fell asleep in the library studying, only to wake up with a mystery blanket gently placed over my back.

And another time when I …

And another when …

And also …

I pulled my pillow over my face. It couldn't be true. Yet over and over my mind raced, and like a stack of folders on a desk in my mind, the memories tipped over and made a mess everywhere. Every unanswered question. Every seeming coincidence. All of my so-called strokes of luck and last-minute saves.

Could it really be true? Could he be the sole piece that solved every single unfinished puzzle in my childhood memory?

A perfect friend I never knew was there. A perfect companion.

My guardian angel watching over me.

It was you, Cole … It was you all along.

"We've got to go," I told my parents.

They were in the middle of peacefully eating dinner. "What?" asked my mom calmly. "Go where?" asked my similarly calm dad, a bite of spaghetti perfectly coiled around his fork. "I thought you were asleep."

"I'm awake now." I turned to my mom and gave her a pointed look. "Wide awake."

She seemed to sense the change in me. At once, she dropped her fork and stood up. "Get ready, Noah. Quickly. Elmer, put away the food and grab the keys. We've got an event to attend."

He peered at each of us, clueless, blinking.

He was still blinking cluelessly as he drove us there. My mom kept urging him to go faster, but the country roads leading to the McPhersons' were not well-lit, and the sun had long since fallen. "Better we get there in one piece than no piece at all," said my dad as he steered the way—though he did begin to drive faster.

By the time we arrived at the pavilion, the event was already well underway. The ticket guy, however, became an unplanned obstacle. He stood there and insisted that it didn't matter who I claimed I was—a newspaper guy, friend of one of the bachelors, or Superman. Without a ticket to the event, I would not be allowed inside. And besides, they were sold out and already turned away a dozen others on account of "complying with fire codes". I pleaded with him for all of three minutes (which is an unforgivably long time when you're in a hurry, by the way) before someone took notice of the situation: TJ himself. He strolled up to the entrance, apologized for the confusion, showed the ticket guy something on his phone, then brought me and my parents straight through.

"Goodness, I think Cole was a hair away from sending a search party out for you yesterday," he teased as we made our way in. I thanked him graciously, and he said, "Hey, you and your parents can sit at my table. It's in the middle, close-up, great view. My own parents aren't even using their seats, busy backstage or mingling, I can't keep up. Nadine was around here too someplace, but since Malcolm's at home sick, she's been running around with this sort of plastic, crazed smile on her face. I think she's trying to assure everyone everything is running perfectly, despite all the mess-ups so far. Hey, don't worry," he said when I made a face. "It's all still good. Cole's in one piece. That's all that matters, right?" He let out a chuckle. "So are you here to do what I think you're here to do?"

I was so consumed by my nerves, I couldn't even answer.

My eyes were glued to the stage as I wound through the tables and took my seat next to TJ. I felt like I was holding my breath. I recognized that they were in the middle of the interview section where the bachelors answered questions that Frankie asked them.

I arrived just in time.

Cole was next.

"So tell me," said Frankie as he came up next to Cole and placed a hand cheerfully on his shoulder. "Our lovely Mr. Picture Perfect. My question for you is a rather simple one. Tell me, what does ‘perfection' mean to you?"

Cole literally glowed on that stage in a white suit jacket with a stylish shirt underneath, giving him a pop idol vibe with a pinch of something indescribably cool and edgy. He looked like the cover model on a trendy magazine—the obvious work of local designer Lance Goodwin, whose work the paper had covered a number of times before. When Cole faced the crowd, he beamed with a kind of confidence that left me breathless.

"I think perfection is so relative," answered Cole thoughtfully. "One person's perfect is another person's nightmare. You know, people seem to think Spruce is a picture perfect paradise tucked away in the heart of Texas, but it wasn't always perfect. Just as recently as ten or fifteen years ago, I had friends who dealt with bullying, or with others who don't understand gay people. We had to work on ourselves to make Spruce what it is. People must work together to create that perfection. It's a project, you know what I mean? A collaborative effort that requires compromise, empathy, and resilience. People are like towns, too. We've gotta work to be good not only to ourselves, but to everyone in our lives. No matter what disappoints us about the world around us, or makes us mad, or gets us down, we've gotta do our part in putting good out there somehow. It's not the result that I call perfection. It's the effort. It's trying. It's the work … that's what perfection means to me. It's a well-intended overall good that's greater than the sum of all those efforts." He shrugged. "And if saving the world around you sounds like too much work for now, well, just a perfect cup of coffee in the morning can do you just as good, and I can recommend a barista or two in the area."

The audience around me exploded into laughter and cheers of celebration for his answer.

I was too lost staring up at him on the stage to even applaud.

I think I was still trying to picture him as my silent guardian, watching me from other tables in the cafeteria, noticing me in the hallway walking by, paying attention, taking mental notes, feeling concern and secretly caring for me all of those years.

Seeing Cole up on that stage, shining like an angel, I suddenly realized it wasn't so farfetched anymore.

Not farfetched at all.

All of those acts of kindness fit him perfectly.

"Do you want me to take you backstage?" asked TJ. "After this part? When they're between acts?"

"No," I said, feeling nervous at the idea. "I'll see him after the whole thing. He needs to stay focused on the show."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Thanks, TJ."

"It wouldn't be a big deal. I mean, I literally live here, and my parents own this place, and … well, that's fine." He patted me on the shoulder reassuringly. "But if you change your mind, I will be right here ready to shove security guards aside for you. Okay, just kidding." Then he went for a sip of his brightly-colored and tasty-looking beverage with an umbrella poking out of it.

I watched the show carry on to the talent portion. I was very moved when Dean King played the piano, getting the audience up on their feet as he made music with his fingers on those keys. It felt like he had a dozen hands, the way his song filled the pavilion. When he took his bow, the audience roared around me with such passion, it was obvious they had fallen in love with him over the course of the night. Nearby, I could see Tyrone King cheering on his uncle, his husband and their daughter next to him whistling. It was an especially impressive performance by Dean that deserved all of the praise it was receiving.

Anthony's act, in contrast, was a series of awkward mishaps. The audience, as forgiving as they proved to be, stayed with him every step of the way, even shouting out encouragements to keep his spirits up, but the individual words of comfort seemed to fly over Anthony's head, as he continued to look uncomfortable and miserable and ready to just disappear from everyone's sight.

The audience's words of comfort weren't the only thing that flew over his head; I watched in fear as a misthrown toy hammer came back down from a great height and knocked him right in the nose. He staggered for a second, totally thrown off and blinking the confusion out of his eyes.

It wasn't as much the actual mistake that caused me worry.

It was the blood that dripped from his forehead afterwards.

"Thanks," he muttered at the audience when he finished, barely audible even through the amplification of the microphone. He didn't seem to hear the one or two people shouting at him that he was bleeding—nor the laughter from those who likely thought it was all part of the act.

I knew it wasn't.

And I knew Cole was about to see it.

Maybe I should take up TJ on that offer to slip backstage.

But as soon as I had the thought, Cole sauntered out from the wings, seeming completely relaxed and ready to perform, which caught me by surprise. I supposed it was just pure luck that Cole hadn't seen or noticed Anthony's wound.

When the speaker malfunctioned soon after his music began, leaving the stage silent and awkward, it came to me as no surprise that Cole would be brave enough to sing the song with no backing music at all. I was in an immediate trance along with the audience, all of us following him on this brave, daring adventure, navigating through the emotional lyrics of the song with no music. Each and every note rang out with sweeping passion. His voice drew me in like a dream, and until the last piece of melody left his lips, I was not once let go or abandoned.

It was just us again in that restaurant when we shared crepes on our first date.

His eyes upon me.

My eyes upon his—and a forkful of crepe in my mouth.

Even the amazed roar of the audience around me when the song ended could not break the spell Cole had cast over me with the beauty of that song.

"Goodness, I did not know that boy could sing so beautifully like that!" muttered my mother from behind. "He could join the Spruce Fellowship choir as their leading man!"

"Don't say that around Burton," I mumbled, thinking of his jealous, borderline narcissistic side.

"Oh, I certainly won't," agreed my mom, "but I will put a bug in Reverend Trey's ear, you'd better bet I will."

Soon after that, Frankie announced the start of the auction, which everyone had most eagerly been waiting for all night. Then, to my surprise, Cole was ushered right back onto the stage, despite everyone having expected Dean to go first instead, honoring the usual order.

I was on the edge of my seat, staring at Cole.

And I knew it instantly: he had seen Anthony's wound.

He was not okay.

"TJ …" I said under my breath, watching Cole. "He's … He's …"

"What?" murmured TJ back, distracted.

Frankie carried on blithely with the auction, Cole hooked to his arm, face pale and slick with sweat, his eyes unfocussed.

"Cole isn't right," I said. "He's about to faint."

TJ found that strange and almost laughed. "Huh? What do you mean faint? Why?"

Spotlights snapped on, shining on the two final men left in the bidding war.

I only now realized one of them was Mae's brother.

Not only was Cole on the verge of fainting onstage with no one noticing except for a completely helpless me who couldn't do anything about it, but my own nightmare was playing out before my eyes.

It was Cole's turn to be rescued.

He needed to be taken off of that stage.

He needed to be distracted from the nightmare that was quite likely playing out before his own eyes—a nightmare he didn't understand, a nightmare born the day he came to my rescue, the first time, when we were just kids playing in his backyard.

What could I possibly do from down here?

How was I going to help Cole?

"$800 going once …!" called Frankie.

I felt my stomach drop. I pried my phone out of my pocket and thumbed through my apps. I opened my savings account. My phone lagged—loading, loading, loading …

"$800 going twice …!" rang out Frankie's voice over the mic.

All around me, his voice boomed like drums.

Going twice … going twice … going twice …

The number flashed before my eyes.

How much would I need to keep for bills? How much could I afford to part with? How can I possibly quantify how much Cole is worth against my own life savings?

I performed a quick calculation.

Fingers of fear squeezed my throat shut as I parted my lips.

I choked, my voice failing me.

No. I wasn't going to let fear rule me another second. I rose to my feet, startling TJ. Then I stood atop my chair as a gasp issued from my mother behind me, who muttered my name.

And then I proved to be stronger than the fear that squeezed at my throat as the words finally rang out: "$1,367, give or take!"

Seats all around me creaked as people turned to face me.

Surprised gasps.

Questioning murmurs.

Confusion.

Then there was a third spotlight—and it struck me like a big white lightning bolt, causing my face to twist and grimace against it, for a second making me look as if I just ate a lemon whole.

I think that about brings us up to present time.

Me, standing on a chair.

With a spotlight glaring on me like the sun at high noon and rendering me blind.

And a ton of faces and eyes and bodies turned toward me in various states of jaw dropping, wrinkled foreheads, and confusion.

It's like my audition all over again.

A desperate attempt at being brave, defying my fear.

On the tiniest stage imaginable: the seat of a chair.

Except there's no friendly face of Tamika in the audience in front of me like there was at the audition, nor the theatre teacher Ms. Joy. Just a bunch of strangers. And a lot of faces that read quite clearly "who the hell are you?" and "what are you doing invading the true love that is clearing happening with Cole and this really hot guy with a sister whose name we don't know yet is Mae?"

But my attention is on none of them.

It's on Cole, who only now zeroes his eyes onto me.

Seeing me.

Becoming aware that I'm here.

Then I watch a smile of relief spread over his face.

It's more than I deserve, but it makes my heart burst.

I've succeeded, I think to myself, amazed at the power I just proved that I have. I've saved Cole from his own nightmare.

The next thing I know, Frankie makes a performance out of my bid. "Sounds like we've got ourselves a new contender! $1,367!" He gives the audience a funny look, bringing them in. "A bit of an odd number, but we'll roll with it, right?"

"Uh, no we won't," argues Mae's gorgeous brother. Is it weird that I call him that? I mean, I still don't know his name, and it fits him annoyingly well. "That's not even a correct bid."

I gaze at him from across the pavilion. "Why not?"

He doesn't acknowledge me in the least, facing Frankie. "This bozo shows up out of nowhere, puts in a bogus bid just to disrupt the auction, and we're going to just ‘roll with it'?"

"I can assure you, it's not bogus," I speak up. "It's my savings. All of it." I peer down at my phone. "Well … most of it."

Indeed, I valued Cole at higher than any of my material needs.

Such as a vehicle to get around town.

Who even needs a car in a place like Spruce anyway, right?

"He doesn't even have a bidding paddle!" points out my angry and gorgeous enemy.

TJ quickly slaps his own paddle into my palm. "He does now."

I look down at the paddle, then at TJ. "You sure?" I mumble at him under my breath, and upon TJ urgently gesturing at me to put it up, I quickly right myself and lift the paddle. "I do, yes, I do!"

"This is horse shit," mutters my opponent, crossing his fine, muscular arms across his broad, impressive chest—okay, I'll stop.

"I think there's an easy way to solve this," announces Frankie, then he turns to Cole. "Let's defer to our bachelor, shall we? Cole, my man … do you accept this new gentleman's bid?"

Cole's entire demeanor has calmed.

His eyes are locked upon mine.

The shine in his smile persists like a trophy on a shelf.

"Yes," he says simply.

"Then that settles it!" Frankie gives Cole a hearty slap on the back as he faces the audience. "$1,367 stands as the current bid!"

The gorgeous man scowls, his eyes shining like pretty gems in the spotlight. Yes, even when he scowls, he's gorgeous. Sorry, I said I'd stop; it's just easier to oppose him when I describe him this way.

"$1,367 going once …" calls out Frankie.

I let out a breath. I can't believe I put nearly half my savings on the line. My parents probably didn't expect me to do this. They might even think this is all theatre. Wait until I tell them that I really did put my money on the line in order to—

"$1,500," states the gorgeous man.

I swallow my tongue as I stare at him, my eyes widened.

Cole's, too.

The whole audience crackles with gasps and murmurs as faces turn in every direction, shocked.

"$1,500!" confirms Frankie. "An … unexpected counter …!"

I grip the paddle tighter.

I guess I can cash in all my vacation days at the paper, too. Do I even have any to cash in? Can I pretend?

"$1,600," I state, lifting the paddle.

"$1,700," he fires back, scowling beautifully.

Okay, I guess I can go without food for a month, too. "$1,8—"

"$2,000," my gorgeous adversary cuts me off, determined.

It's now that I see his sister Mae express genuine concern, tugging on the sleeve of her brother's shirt. She hisses something at him about money, but he shrugs her off, his bull horns locked on mine. He is determined to win at all costs.

To be fair, I already told myself the day I graduated that going to college was never in the picture for me, even though some of the money I was saving was intended to go toward tuition.

I can say goodbye to that dream for good.

I can do that for Cole.

"Three—" I choke as the paddle quivers in my shaky hand. My face clenches up. "Th-Three—" Then I lift the paddle. "$3,000!"

The gorgeous man's jaw drops.

His breath escapes his strong and manly lungs like I literally just punched him in his muscular chest.

He did not think I would dare.

Neither did I.

But I did. I totally dared.

As I gaze up at the stage amid the audience excitedly talking and gawking at me—the strange person no one knows who shows up out of nowhere to steal away the auction—I find Cole's eyes lost on mine, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

I might have shocked him speechless, too.

Frankie, ever the showman, takes in the reactions from the crowd, then gazes out at me. He appears to have an idea. "Say … I think you're starting to look mighty familiar to me." He knows me. He literally knows who I am. He's just playing to the audience. "I'd say … You don't happen to be Noah Reed, do you? The young man whose life Cole Harding saved at the Spruce Spring Crafts Festival a few weeks ago that inspired this whole pageant?"

Mae's brother pauses, his pretty eyes flickering with surprise, then he peers at me with a whole new show of incomprehension, awaiting my answer.

The tiny whispers and gawking seems to confirm that others in the audience recognize me somehow. Maybe from a tiny photo or two in one of our several articles. Or from other publications I don't even know about in neighboring towns and cities.

I lower the paddle, then nod. "Yes. That's … That's me. Noah Reed. The guy Cole saved."

A ripple of surprise rushes over the audience around me, once again astonishing me at the power I hold in my little words.

"Incredible," sings Frankie with faux amazement. "And it all comes full circle, leading to this very point in time. What a … What a momentous occasion, am I right, guys?" he asks the audience with a stunned laugh. "I'm nearly in tears up here! Hey." He turns to Cole and, with a cute and charming smile, wags his finger at him. "You hinted earlier tonight that there was more to this story, didn't you? Mr. Doesn't-Think-He's-A-Hero?"

Cole's smile has never left his face. "Yeah, I did."

Frankie playfully taps a finger to his chin. "And am I right in assuming … that Noah here … is the ‘more' to your story …?"

Cole's smile deepens. "Yes."

"Should I just go ahead and call it?" Frankie asks Cole before facing the audience to ask them. "Well? Should I call it, guys?"

The audience shouts their approval all around me while Mae's gorgeous brother scowls in my direction, eyes narrowed bitterly.

"$3,000 going once … $3,000 going twice …" Frankie claps his hands together and makes a funny noise for a gavel. "Ga-dong-ong! It's a done deal! Official! Noah Reed, mi nuevo amigo, you are going on a date with your muy guapo hero Cole Harding! Everyone, give these handsome men a round of applause!"

Around me, a happy storm of cheers, screams, and whistling.

But Cole doesn't head backstage as directed. He hops off of the stage, winds his way through the labyrinth of tables, and rushes straight up to me. He scoops me straight off the chair I was ever so carefully balanced on, sets me on the ground before him, and puts his lips on mine.

The roar of the crowd that follows is miles away. I hear little of it. All I know is Cole and this three-thousand-dollar kiss.

I would've paid a million.