Page 30 of The Fate Factor

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and text her back.

Jamie: No plans. Kind of sidelined at the moment.

Noel: I’m downtown. Do you want to start being friends today?

Hell yes, I do. I roll out of bed, my first two steps an exaggerated limp before I adjust to the pain in my knee. I knowI said I would play the good patient today, but I’m not missing a chance to see her.

I text her back on my way to the bathroom.

Jamie: Have you eaten breakfast? If you pick me up, I can come back with you and get my car out of your driveway.

Noel: Be there in ten.

She agrees much more quickly than I anticipated, and a jolt of panic has me moving faster than I should. I haven’t shaved in two days—lifting my right arm is unbearably painful—and I’m growing a full neck beard.

I glance at my closet while I brush my teeth lefty. I managed to put on real clothes last night for the launch, but it was exhausting and I had to take a few breaks. I don’t have time for that today. I probably shouldn’t show up looking like a mess, though.

I settle on my nicest pair of black joggers and a green Fortune tee I’ve been told looks good with my eyes. Skipping the product, I pull my hat on my head, shove my feet in sneakers, and make it downstairs to the front door just in time. Noel’s walking into the parking lot, her hair in a ponytail tied with a ribbon and a blue dress swinging around her knees.

I’m stopped short at the sight of her through the glass. Sundresses are my kryptonite on a regular day. Noel in a sundress makes me want to put my fist in my mouth and bite. Her skin is sun-kissed, and her sandals are the kind that lace up around her ankle and tie in a bow. I picture pulling the knot loose, then doing the same with the ribbon in her hair. Unwrapping her like a fucking present. And then I picture punching myself in the face because this is not appropriate or helpful.

Get it together, Bishop. This is basically a business meeting.

The fact that Noel is beautiful is not a new revelation for me, but I’ve been trying to ignore it for several reasons. One, this is too important for distraction. If it takes a hundred reminders that I need Noel’s help more than I need to let my mind wander intowhat ifterritory, I’ll do it a hundred and one.

And two, Noel’s incredibly sweet. Kind. Cute as hell. And I speak fluent pick-up line. It’s never going to happen.

Noel’s the kind of woman you fall for, and even if mixing business with pleasure wasn’t a terrible idea in and of itself, mixingaffectionwith pleasure is an even worse one. Her reading on the roof showed me that too.

She puts a hand above her eyes to block the sun, and I push out to meet her. “Hi, friend.”

This gets me a little smile, and okay. This is good. She seems way less stressed about being around me than she did last night. “My car is a few blocks away,” she says. “We can grab it after we eat?”

“Great. I know a good place, unless you had somewhere in mind.”

“Anywhere is good.” When she turns, her skirt flares around her thighs and I have to look to the sky for strength. If only getting it together was a little easier for me.

I take Noel to my favorite greasy diner on Commercial Street. It’s a closet-sized nook nestled between a fish market and a marine supplies store, but it’s New England famous.

A couple of weeks ago it would have been impossible to get in here on a Saturday morning, let alone have a choice of where to sit, but after Labor Day rolls around, the townies get our favorite spots back.

The waitress appears at the host stand in a T-shirt that’s a little too neon for my lingering concussion. “Hi, Fran.”

“Jamie Bishop.” She gives me a look like she wants to roll up a newspaper and smack me on the head with it. “How’s your mother?”

I grin. “Beaming with pride, last I saw her.”

“Hmph.” Fran’s worked here since the Stone Age, and she has a long memory that includes the late nights my buddies and I came in for two A.M. bacon and eggs. We weren’t always well behaved.

Noel, on the other hand, in her pretty dress and ponytail, looks like a good girl whose reputation I’m about to tarnish. The look on Fran’s face says she’s thinking the same thing, despite it being the better part of a decade since I’ve made trouble for her.

Don’t worry, I want to tell her.I’m not planning on touching this one.

“Sit wherever you want,” she says, glaring at me over Noel’s head.

Noel flashes those big eyes at me, and I gesture to a booth, following behind and gingerly sliding in across from her the same way we sat last night. Hopefully this time I can keep her a little longer. Hopefully this time she doesn’t pass out.

“How areyou feeling?” she asks when she catches me wince as my back hits the wooden booth, and I‘m back to thinking about her in flannel pjs, waiting with me at the ER even though she could have easily ditched me at the door.Sweet. Kind. Beautiful.

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