“You know, Peyton. It’s okay to take credit for something you deserve.”
“I can only show the guys what I see and give them suggestions on how to make a change. I can’t physically go out there and play the game. That’s on the players, the team.”
Logan chuckles. I’m not sure what he finds funny about the whole situation. The last time I checked, football is a team sport, and you need eleven players doing their job, in hopes to score.
“Westbury tells me that you can throw the ball.”
I scoff. Noah exaggerates everything when it comes to me. Lately, it’s been my cooking. Sure, I can make the basics, but anything major and I’m calling for delivery. When he invited everyone to our house in California for Thanksgiving dinner, I wanted to maim him. Cooking for two is one thing, cooking for twenty when everyone is expecting the perfect meal, is a whole other game changer. I’m not embarrassed to say it. I’ve paid someone to cater our holiday dinner. Plus, I don’t have time, even if I wanted to take on the task of feeding everyone.
“Maybe in high school, but my days of throwing the spiral are done with bare feet in the sand and Noah on the receiving end. I’m not looking to make a career under the pads.”
“No, I think you’re doing pretty well with what you have going on now. Let’s talk about your upcoming wedding.”
A sense of dread washes over me. Not because I’m worried about what Logan might think, but because I haven’t done any planning. Elle and Paige picked out their own dresses. Noah ordered our invitations, but they’re still in boxes because we don’t have a guest list. My dress has been ready for at least a month and is still at the shop waiting for me to pick it up. The groomsmen don’t have their suits. I ordered the flowers months ago and have honestly forgotten what they look like. We have nothing planned for a reception, nor have we booked the church for the actual ceremony. We haven’t secured a minister or talked about our vows. My wedding is supposed to be in five weeks and I’m the most disorganized bride to ever walk the planet. I’m surprised Noah hasn’t called the whole thing off.
“What do you want to know?” Probably where his invite is.
Logan leans forward and sets a small envelope down on the table with my Aunt Josie’s name on it. “What’s this?” I ask, turning it over and pulling out an RSVP card.
“I’m letting you know I’ll be there.”
“Um… I don’t understand.”
Logan looks at me oddly.
“What I mean is, I didn’t send this out. How did you get it?”
He shrugs and stands, preparing to leave my office. “It came in the mail. See you after Thanksgiving.” Logan leaves me in my office, holding this card with his name and the number of people attending. I flip it over, hoping for some more information, but there isn’t anything.
The
entire flight to California, Noah ignored me. He pretended to sleep or acted so enthralled with the book he’s reading that he couldn’t be bothered to answer any of the questions I have about the reservation card Logan gave me earlier. I tried asking Elle, my mom, and Josie, but they all acted like they had no idea what’s going on. Clearly, someone is up to something and whoever it is, needs to spill the beans.
Not far from our house is a private airfield. After we bought the house, Noah made friends with the guy, promised him some tickets to a few games in exchange for us being able to land the jet there. It’s such a convenience, not having to deal with traffic, and once we land, we’re home within minutes.
Noah pulls our SUV up to the curb, avoiding the garage. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, why?”
“Why aren’t you pulling into the garage?”
“The door has been sticking. I’m not sure if Hank has fixed it yet.” Hank, being the man we hired to manage the property while we’re in Portland for the season. He makes sure everything’s in working order, that the shrubs stay nice and trimmed, mows what little lawn we have, and the pool is clean and functioning. He’ll stay on, even after we move here in February.
“Huh.” I get out of the car, grab my bag and head toward the front door. I love this house and it’s cute New England charm. When I reach the top of the stairs, I run my finger along the wood shingle. Who knew something like a cedar shingle would give a house so much character.
Inside, I go directly to our master bedroom. Noah and I haven’t been able to spend much time here, but in a few months, all that will change. Unpacking quickly, I begin to wonder where Noah is. I call out for him, and nothing.
“Odd,” I say to myself as I walk through the house. It’s a bit chilly today, the glass walls are closed to keep the heat in, but the view is still as spectacular as ever. “Noah?” This time I yell, and he hollers back that he’s downstairs. Of course, he is. He has a man cave down there.
I have to turn the lights on in the hallway, and again in the great room. As soon as they come on, my eyes barely have time to adjust before a cacophony of voices scream “Surprise!”
“Holy shit.” I hold my hand over my chest to try and squash the rapid beating. “What is this?”
Noah comes toward me with a big smile on his face. “It’s your bridal shower.”
“My what?” That’s when everything starts to come into focus. The room is decorated with white and silver bridal décor, there’s a table full of presents, a cake and heaps of food, and the people that are here: my mom, sister, grandma, Yvie, Noah’s family, and my sorority sisters.
Noah leans down and whispers into my ear, “Every bride deserves a party. Enjoy it.”