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Chapter Twenty-Four
Hattie
Our family goes to the fall festival every year to show our support for the high school, but if any of us had any delusions about skipping this year, there was no way West was going to let that happen. Not when his band, The Mavericks, is playing on the mainstage after lunch.
West is like the rest of my brothers, which is to say obnoxious, and kind-hearted, and a self-appointed amateur wrestler, but he’s also got this musical side that the rest of us don’t have.
He plays guitar and sings. Really well.
It’s something he’s always done, even from a young age, and my parents were wise enough to support his artistic itch.
Just as long as he got his chores done.
The Mavericks is, according to him, “just something to do to pass the time,” but he and Mallory and the other members of the band don’t treat it that way at all. It matters to them. A lot.
So naturally, it matters to us a lot too.
I hold Noble’s hand on the drive into town because I know that once we’re out in public I have to go back to pretending we’re just friends.
I have a lot of practice keeping my face neutral around Noble. Did it for years when I was younger and honed it for the past week or so. Unfortunately, it might be a little more difficult after last night. We’ve definitely crossed the bridge into new territory.
We park near the farmers’ market pavilion, get out, and walk toward the entrance. As we walk, he says, “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“None of these people have any clue we made out last night,” he says.
I bump my shoulder into his, a little shocked he’s talking about it out here in front of God and everybody.
Then he says, “And none of these people know I really want to do it again.”
I bite back a smile and try to shush him. “We should probably keep it that way, you lunatic.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me into an alley just before we hit the main stretch of downtown Silverwood. I’m caught between his body and the brick wall of the back of From Scratch, a bakery with the best sourdough I’ve ever had.
“It smells like bread,” I whisper.
“It does.” He presses a hand on the wall behind me and here, in real life, it’s every bit as sexy as it is when they do that in the movies.
“Someone could see us,” I say, looking back and forth, up and down the alley, voice quiet.
“Yeah. Someone could.” He leans in and kisses me, and for the briefest moment, I don’t even care. Boone and West and Hudson and Rowena and both of my parents could all pop around the corner at this exact moment, and it wouldn’t bother me one bit.
My hands land on his chest, and after a few delicious, stolen kisses, he inches back and looks at me. “Sorry about that. You were saying something about bread?”
I give him a tiny push, and we go back to walking like nothing happened, but my head is spinning right along with my stomach and my lips are blazing.
Will it ever feel ordinary to be kissed by Noble Kane?
Gosh, I hope not.
As we walk, I dig around in my bag for the wristbands my mom bought, handing one over to Noble as we reach the main entrance. “Thanks to my momma, we’re in for the whole day. Maybe we can ride the Ferris wheel.”
He holds it up. “Thank you, Melinda.”
The woman at the ticket table waves us through, and we meet up with my family sitting at a picnic table by a food truck that sells coffee and donuts.
“You’re late,” my mom says.
