Page 75 of The Fate Factor

“Realistic. Naturey… is that a word? But, like, also fun.” Cara nods her head like she’s figuring it out as she goes. “Something uniquely Portland. That’s all I have so far, which is exactly why I need a designer. I’d be thrilled to talk with you if you’re interested.”

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff waiting for Noel’s answer. It’s not entirely selfish, this would be a great thing for her, but also, a job is a very practical reason for her to stick around longer. There’s nothing Noel loves more than being practical.

Her eyes dart to mine as if she’s heard my thoughts—I’m not convinced she can’t—then she turns to Cara. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I’m staying at my grandmother’s house.”

“Long enough to design it, though,” I say. “Right?”

She chews her lip, and I bump her with my shoulder. “Well, yes. I mean I could design it from anywhere.”

“But you said you’ve always had more inspiration here.”

Cara grabs her purse from the blanket and digs her card out, handing it to Noel. She punches me lightly in the bicep. “Jamie Bishop, you little match maker. Noel, please text me, will you?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Noel slips the business card into her purse, hiding her grin between her teeth. I don’t miss it, though, and I’m clinging to it hard.

twenty-two

Noel

“DoyoureallythinkI can do it?” Jamie and I are standing in line for another drink alone after leaving Em and Cara to their date. The card she gave me is practically buzzing in my cross-body purse at my hip.

He looks down at me with an amused smile while his fingers flirt with the hem of my sweater. “Why wouldn’t you be able to, Noe?”

I bite my lip. “I’ve done murals before in school. But this is a bigger job than anything I’ve done. More complex.”

“I bet the last one you did in school was bigger than the one you did before that.”

“Yesss.”

“That’s how it works, right? Opportunities keep getting bigger the more of them we take.” The line moves forward, and his hand presses to my back, moving me with it. “I think you should stay here and paint your flowers.”

“Move to the beach and become an artist? That’s a little pie in the sky, don’t you think?” I laugh a little, but really I’m asking. Of course I know what he’ll say. He’s bold even when he has no reason to be. What I used to call reckless. Not anymore.

“You’re already an artist, so I don’t see why it would be.” The cashier waves him over, holding out my rum hot cocoa and Jamie’s bottled water. “We’re going to keep talking about this,” he says, letting his hand trail over my hip as he passes me.

He’s been touching me all night, his hand on my thigh as we drove here, then firmly clasped in mine when we walked up to Em and Cara. There’s no tentativeness anymore, no wondering if fate is going to take a hard left. It’s arrived.

“So tell me what scares you about it?”

My eyes snap to his, sure I accidentally said that out loud, until I realize he’s picking up our previous conversation. He hands me my cocoa and I flip the lid, blowing on it a few times before taking a sip. It takes me that long to articulate it. “I think I’m worried I’ll like it too much.”

He snorts. “So the worst case scenario is you accept the job and end up happier than you were before?”

That I fall in love with something I can’t keep? Yes.That is the worst case scenario.

I look up from my cocoa to find Jamie’s eyes on mine, his full attention on whatever I’m about to say. His face slips so easily from amused to intense, and it has this funny way of pulling me with him, straight into confessions I usually hold a lot closer to my chest. “I think…” I say carefully. “I think I’m still learning how to want things. When I was growing up, everything wasruled by the things my mother wanted. I just got used to going with the flow, being happy with whatever was left.”

His nose scrunches and his lip curls up. It’s an expression somewhere between confusion and distaste. “What’s she like? Your mom.”

I blow out a breath. “She’s… difficult to explain. If you met her, you’d probably love her.”

“Why’s that?” he asks in a tone that sounds more like “I doubt it.”

I chew my lip, considering how to describe a lifetime with Elena Kasey. “Have you ever shown up to a party late, and found everyone around you is already having the time of their lives while you’re still sober? And you get the immediate feeling you need to keep your wits about you because someone—someone—needs to be responsible. But you’re also so tired because you need a break too, and why should it be you all the time?

“That’s what life with my mother is like. She’s always having the time of her life, and ever since I was a kid, I’ve been making sure she has a glass of water or a ride home. Metaphorically, I mean. It’s usually a lot more expensive than an Uber.”

“Sounds like you were a very good kid,” he says, taking my hand and starting toward the water edge.

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