Page 51 of Kiss the Girl
“You bring up a good point about clueless high school boys,” he said. “Might need to paint them a picture, go for bolder moves. To make sure they don’t miss it. I want DeShawn having something to report to Dr. Boone and all.”
“Of course.” I swallowed hard. I was losing control of the situation. It was a bad sign, I knew it, and I didn’t care. “What are you thinking?”
“Something they can’t miss. Maybe this.” He leaned down and brushed his nose against the soft skin below my ear. “Mmm. You smell good,” he said, his voice husky, and I couldn’t tell if it was part of the game.
“Vanilla,” I said. “It’s my deodorant.”
He gave a small laugh and shook his head, his cheek rasping every-so-slightly against the line of my jaw. “Just smells like Grace.”
Suddenly Evie barreled into us, throwing her arms around us both. “Puppy nuzzles!” she shouted.
I blinked down at her, still bemused by the spell Noah’s warmth and words had woven around me. “Excuse me?”
“Puppy nuzzles,” she repeated. “Me too, Unc!”
He let me go with a regretful smile and scooped up Evie to nuzzle against her neck too, shaking his head like a dopey golden retriever and making her giggle. She returned the favor by burying her head in his chest and shaking it hard. It had to be uncomfortable against his sternum, but he only laughed, tossed her once in the air, then set her on her feet and pointed her back toward the workbench. “Better finish those blueprints.”
He turned back to me. “Should we try a couple more moves?”
“Pretty sure you’ve got it.” I stepped out of reach. “Let’s get everything ready so they can get right to work.”
“Good idea.”
The first truckful of boys pulled up, and I launched into action, directing them where to put the frame, sending them to find the right tools in the workshop.
“Lookin’ good,” my dad said, coming out of the house as more boys trickled in. “Nice to see you again, Evie.”
She waved at him. “Hi, Mr. Winters.” They’d gotten to know each other at the hardware store.
“Dad, this is Noah Redmond. He’s the assistant coach and the sucker who signed up to do Christmas Town.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Your sister is doing a great job at Handy’s.”
“She’s a hard worker,” Noah answered with a smile. “She likes the customers more, too. Says they’re nicer when they’re not waiting for food.”
My dad laughed. “I can understand. Should we get this started?”
Noah called the team to order, and we spent the next half hour listening to their ideas for the booth, my dad piping in a couple of times if he thought their imagination was exceeding the limits of physics and plywood. Pretty soon, with the help of paper and a crayon borrowed from Evie, we had a solid sketch of what they wanted to do.
“That looks good, coach,” DeShawn the Spy said. “How do we make it?”
“Easy,” I answered. “You have to build everything so it’s simple to disassemble and transport, but so that it looks like you spent fifty years designing it and building it when it’s all put together.”
“Is that all?” the team captain asked, his voice dry. I liked these kids.
“Dude, I build satellites. Trust me, we got this.” I went into an explanation, pointing to the relevant spots on the frame. “So basically,” I concluded, “you want to do the façade in a series of panels that you can secure from behind with mending braces, and to the Christmas Town shoppers, it will look seamless.”
Instead of seeming intimidated by the idea, the boys looked intrigued. “How do we do that, Miss Grace?” one of them asked.
“It’s all about the plywood,” I said. “Figure out who has the best art skills among you and start drawing out what you want. Don’t worry about making mistakes. We can paint over anything. Right now, it’s time to start figuring out what we need to cut.”
The boys were all Christmas Town veterans, so they knew how extra it could get. Noah and I retreated to the patio, where my dad sat watching.
“You did good, Gracie,” my dad said.
“Thanks, Dad. Time to give them the safety lecture.”
He grinned. “I prefer to think of it as a sermon. Listen up, boys!”
