Page 94 of Best Friends for Never

In fact, I don’t know what I would have done without him there tonight. When Matilda screamed, Axel jumped—as expected—and sliced his hand on the knife he was using to cut the garlic bread. Blood started gushing immediately, but he didn’t care. His only focus was his daughter, which is why he went running through the house, trailing blood everywhere, and scooped her up in his arms.

They both landed at the local clinic for stitches—Axel with ten on his hand and Matilda with four on her chin, which she’d busted open on the coffee table.

Somewhere in the mix of all the mess, dinner was forgotten and burned, sending the fire alarm blaring, which freaked the girls out even more, which freakedmeout.

But not Noel. He was calm. Completely collected. He didn’t bat an eye or scream like I did when Axel started bleeding everywhere or when the triplets were screaming their heads off. He tossed me a towel, told me to keep pressure on Axel’s hand, then scooped up the crying Miranda and Mavis like it was an everyday occurrence for him and helped keep them calm while Mary tended to Matilda and I took care of Axel.

Even while Mary and Axel headed to the doctor, Noel stayed behind with me to watch Miranda and Mavis, despite it being so late and our evening ruined. He cleaned up the messy kitchen and the vase Axel broke in his panic to get to the girls while I fed them mac and cheese and got them ready for bed.

He was our savior, and I shouldn’t be surprised by it.

He saved me from falling into a pit of despair when my dad left, then saved me again every time Axel bullied me, or anytime anything bad ever happened.

And he’s about to save me again, this time from starving.

On cue, my stomach growls, and he laughs.

“Hang on,” he says, pulling us to a stop. Then he turns and crouches in front of me. “Up.”

I grin, thinking back on the countless times we’ve done this before, and hop onto his back like it hasn’t been forever since I’ve done it.

He stands, juggling me until I am in a comfortable position for him, and I hang on tightly to his back as he speed-walks us back to Gran’s. I giggle the whole way, unable to contain my childlike excitement.

Or maybe it’s just because I’m tired and the deliriousness is beginning to set in.

Noel’s shoes crunch up the short gravel drive to Gran’s house, and he drops me back on my feet before walking right inside.

See? Nobody locks their doors around here.

He pushes the door open and motions for me to follow him. We take our shoes off, then tiptoe into the kitchen I helped Gran remodel last year whenever I had some free time. It was a fun project and one that was long overdue. Plus, it meant spending more time with one of my favorite people. I couldn’t pass that up.

“What do you want?” Noel asks quietly, pulling open the fridge as I settle into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Pancakes. No, wait. Omelets. No—”

“Focus, Peter,” Noel interrupts with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Everything just soundsso good.”

“Fine. How about I pick, then? You grab us some glasses for mimosas. I’m pretty sure Gran has some champagne tucked away in the back of the fridge. No telling how good it is, but booze is booze, right?”

“You want orange juice? I can’t promise it’s organic or freshly pressed,” I tease him.

He rolls his eyes, turns back to the fridge, and begins pulling ingredients out, setting them on the counter. I go to the cabinet where I know Gran keeps her glasses and pull two down, then fill them up about halfway with the orange juice Noel left out for me. He’s already at the stove, cracking open eggs and dropping them into a skillet while another warms up.

“Score!” I snatch the bottle of booze off the counter and peel at the wrapper around the top. “The champagne isn’t open yet. Do you think she’ll be mad if we drink it all?”

“I most certainly will.”

My heart leaps into my throat for the second time tonight, and I whirl around to find Noel’s grandmother standing in the doorway, a pink robe wrapped tightly around her and a flyswatter in one hand.

“Shit. Did we wake you?” Noel asks as if he’s unsurprised to find her there.

“No. I’m just up for my nightly fly hunt.” She rolls her eyes at his redundant question.Of coursewe woke her up, and she was coming at us with a flyswatter, just in case we were burglars.

Noel winces. “Sorry. We’ll be quieter. Go back to bed.”

She ignores him, tosses her weapon onto one of the chairs, and shoves her grandson away from the stove.

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