Page 74 of The Fate Factor

I slide my hand into hers. “We met at intramural soccer when we were freshman at SMCC.”

Em nods. “He sucks at soccer, by the way. He’s too tall to run right.”

Noel tips her head to look up at me like she’s doing the math on that. “First of all,” I say, glaring at Em. “I only played soccer to keep in shape for hockey. It was a commitment to get this good.”

“Please remember you’re talking to the woman whose porch you bled all over after a hockey game.” Noel pats my cheek playfully, then lets her thumb trace the last of the bruise around my eye.

“I took a bad hit because I’m such a fierce competitor,” I say, leaning into her palm. “I like to mix it up on the ice. It’s dangerous.”

Em snorts. “You’re a big, dangerous teddy bear, Jamie.”

“That’s right. I heard you got your brain jostled,” Cara says. “Em said you’re defying all of your doctor’s orders and being a general idiot about it.”

Noel’s eyes go wide like she can’t decide whether to laugh or press for a specific list of my defiances. “Noel’s been taking care of me,” I say.

They’re both looking at Noel now.

“Are you a nurse?” Cara asks.

“I am not. And he hasn’t listened to me once.”

A connection fires in my brain. “Actually, Noel’s an artist, Cara.”

Cara lights up at that like I thought she might.

The two of us are in a networking group together which is how she and Em met. People often underestimate Cara because she wears bright, bohemian clothes and as a former theater kid, has a tendency to break into song. She’s sharp, though, and extremely ambitious. And she’s been talking non-stop about a project she wants to begin by year’s end.

“What kind of art?” she asks Noel.

“I’m a graphic designer.”

“She’s a painter.”

Noel flicks a look at me, half chastising, half curious. “Mostly watercolor, but not exclusively.”

“Botanicals,” I add, repeating Noe’s fancy word for plants.

Cara presses her hands together. “Well, that’s some fucking serendipity.”

I nudge Noel. “Are you taking any commissions?”

“Why? Do you want me to paint your portrait?”

Em barks a laugh. “Oh, I like this one.”

Me too, I think.Me fucking too. “Now that you mention it. Cara, what do you think? My face could sell a lot of coffee.”

“Before the black eye, maybe.”

“Ouch.”

Cara turns to Noel. “You know the old fish shacks on outer Commercial Street?”

“I do.”

“I turned them into a coffee and breakfast stand—The Cara Bean. This summer was our first season, and it was amazing. It’s the perfect location to grab commuters from the bridge on theirway in and out of town. I’ve been looking for someone to design a mural for the sides of the shacks while we’re off season.”

“Oh.” Understanding breaks on Noel’s face. “What kind of mural?”

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