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Ainsley opened the door, and Clarke was right there, Fox behind him. I exchanged a nod with Fox, who stared at me with frustration in every line of him, then turned on his heel and left, and Clarke came in and sat next to Ainsley, reaching for his hand, and holding it tight.
“Are you okay?” he asked Ainsley, and Ainsley nodded.
“Mr. Sheridan will help me,” he said, and Clarke glanced at me with a fierce and determined expression. They were expecting me to fix everything, and the weight of that was so heavy I couldn’t breathe. Then everything eased as I glanced at their joined hands. It was Ainsley finding out who he was; it was both of them falling in young love at fourteen; it was on me to fix whatever I could.
“Okay, if you’re okay…” I pressed record on my memo app, “start from the beginning.”
ChapterTwenty-Four
Noah
Sittingat a table in the quiet of the diner before opening hours, scattered notes and flyers surrounded me, I was brainstorming ideas for the Pride event at the upcoming Spring Rains Festival. I had another meeting with the organizers at ten, and caught up in Fox, and in all the feelings I was catching for Chris, I’d fallen behind and still lacked inspiration. The festival was a big deal in town, and this year, it felt significant that I do something in Lily’s name.
But what?
I rummaged deeper in the box that someone had left for me—I liked to think it was Lily before she passed—and pulled out even more leaflets from festivals dating back to the seventies with Lily’s notes offering me an inspiring journey through evolving tastes and trends that went from seventies Jell-O Salad, right through to the cupcakes of the first decade of the 2Ks, and on to what she’d done the two or three years before she passed. For these past years, she’d veered away from tradition, focusing on a selection of desserts that featured cupcakes in Pride colors, but she’d also included croissants.
I found one from the nineties and the design of it caught my eye. Set out to mimic a PC screen, it had the Lily’s Diner wording and featured lemon cheesecake as the main offering, and it was familiar. The next one—for the first year of the new decade—was covered in notes in any white space, and on the back. The penmanship was Aunt Lily’s, but was faded, only as I peered at the pale writing between customers, it soon became obvious that it was a recipe for a lemon cheesecake, and that there was a separate message at the bottom that said,Noah, taste test, 150 percent.
I rocked back. That was me! I’d said that.
Hell, it was a vivid memory of saying the cheesecake was a hundred and fifty percent amazing. She’d smiled down at me, and god, thatNoahwas just an innocent kid who’d visited for the festival with Dad—the last time I’d really done anything with Dad. I recalled lemon cheesecake and being so blown away I wanted to know how to make it. That was my first attempt at cooking something, even if it was mostly crushing and mixing and not much baking at all. I’d watched Lily make a hundred tiny cheesecakes, each decorated with dark chocolate shavings; and felt so much pride as they lined up on a serving dish.
I remember.
Lost in thought, I barely heard the bell above the door chime as Maggie and Rachel walked in chattering nineteen to the dozen about anything and everything, each weighed down with a box of something. I glanced at the clock—how was it ten already?
“Morning, Noah!” Maggie greeted me with a bright smile and Rachel, shyer, waved her hello.
I stood, shaking their hands. “Thanks for coming by. I wanted to run some ideas by you.”
Maggie, ever the practical one, got straight to the point. “What are you thinking?”
I reached for a leaflet from the table, feeling a surge of pride. “I want to honor my Aunt Lily and what she did for the queer residents of Whisper Ridge.” I held my breath, but all they did was nod, serious and focused on what I was saying. “I want to do a take on lemon cheesecake.” They didn’t seem overly impressed with something as boring as a cheesecake, but then I’d always known that would be a hard sell. “But also, croissants, both savory and sweet varieties.”
Their eyes lit up. “Lily’s croissants were legendary!” exclaimed Maggie.
I nodded, feeling a wave of nostalgia that was more about the lemon cheesecake than the croissants. “Yeah, I want to bring that back. Add my twist to it, oh, and the cheesecake.” Becausethatwas what I would focus on.”
Maggie leaned in. “That sounds wonderful, Noah. It’s a lovely way to remember Lily. She was a big part of this town,” she added to Rachel, who smiled and nodded as she made notes.
Feeling encouraged, I offered to make them lunch. As I prepared salads for them, with added bacon of course, we chatted about the festival, exchanging ideas and stories. They seemed interested in my plans for the diner’s stall, and their excitement was infectious.
When I served lunch, both women were full of praise. “This is amazing, Noah!” Maggie said between bites.
Rachel nodded. “I can’t wait to try those croissants at the festival.”
The door opening interrupted our conversation, and an older man walked in, then came to the counter, exchanging hellos with Maggie and Rachel, who were just about to leave. He had a quiet, introspective air about him, and I could tell he was nervous.
“Morning,” I offered, and reached back for a menu. “If you want to take a seat…”
“Actually,” he said, sitting at the counter extending his hand, which I shook. “My name is Merle Lebron.”
“Hi, Merle. What can I get you?”
“A job!” he exclaimed and went scarlet. “I mean, I thought you might be looking for some help around here?”
I extended my hand. “Noah. Yes, I am. Can I get you something?”
