Have fun with your art. Don’t be so serious that you forget to find the joy in what you do. There are times to free yourself, forget the rigidity of perfect angles or deep perspectives or creative subtlety. Sometimes, it’s good to simply let go.
Fresh, citrusy aromas wafted through the entire cottage as Noelle iced the cake, a lemon yogurt recipe she had seen last week on Nigella’s food show. She wanted to make something other than the traditional birthday fare. Plus, she knew how much Adam liked lemon-flavored everything. Mr. Darcy meowed in the corner when Noelle finished, reminding her that the cake was a temptation for him. As she licked the tart icing off her finger, she placed it high atop the baker’s rack for both their sakes.
Kneeling to give Mr. Darcy some much-needed attention, Noelle thought back to the string of phone calls yesterday and the good fortune they had brought. Only Jill and Adam were coming. No significant others could make it. Gareth was on call, Laurel would be on yet another business trip in Wales, and Preston—well, she’d never expected him to follow through. As predicted, he claimed to have all-day faculty meetings that prevented him from coming. So, today would be about three old friends celebrating together, just as it should be.
Surely, Laurel couldn’t be too upset at missing tonight’s occasion. Adam’s birthday wasn’t until tomorrow anyway, and his parents planned to meet him and Laurel in London for a fancy dinner that night. Laurel wouldn’t miss a thing.
Recalling the load of laundry she wanted to finish before her guests arrived, Noelle headed upstairs to collect the clothes. But before she reached for the hamper in the corner of her room, her cell rang.
“Hey, it’s Jill. You’re going to kill me.”
“Now, why would I want to do that?”
“Because I’m not coming to your party.” She flew through the words in a rush, as though doing so would make them less potent.
“What?” Noelle plopped on the bed and waited.
“It’s not my fault, honestly. Blame this attention-hungry little creature growing inside me. I just got back from my doctor’s appointment. Apparently, I have something called pre-eclampsia. He says it’s mild, but it sounds dreadful, doesn’t it? Something to do with high blood pressure.”
“Oh, Jill. That’s awful… how are you feeling?”
“That’s the silly part—completely fine. No symptoms at all. But the doctor has ordered bed rest to play it safe. Isn’t that absurd?”
Noelle smiled at Jill’s indignation and pictured her trying to rest. “It’s not absurd. In fact, honestly, I wasn’t sure how you’d do it, being so late in your pregnancy and making the long drive in the first place. Do you need me to come and stay with you? Isn’t Gareth on call tonight?”
“He’s on back-up call, which means there’s a good chance he’ll be at home with me, his beeper attached to him all night. But the tragedy is that I won’t be able to come for your lovely party.”
“Your health and that baby’s health are the only important things. We’ll celebrate another time.” Secretly, Noelle’s heart sank at the thought of being all alone tonight, sorry for herself and gorging on lemon cake. Maybe she could invite Mac over. Or meet Frank at the pub for a pint.
“Adam should be there soon.” Jill said it as though Noelle should’ve already known.
“What do you mean? He’s still coming? I just assumed—”
“I’ve already spoken to him. Said he wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, he doesn’t need to do that. Really. I’m sure he’s got other things to—”
“Nonsense. I won’t have you sitting there all alone in that cottage for your birthday. If you even think about canceling Adam, I’ll drive down there myself. To hell with doctor’s orders.”
“Okay, okay,” Noelle said through a smile. Jill would have made good on her threat. “Point made. Well, take extra good care of yourself tonight. Make Gareth wait on you hand and foot.”
“Oh, I already have done. He’s making me toast and jam downstairs as I speak. I’m the luckiest girl.”
“You are. I’ll call you tomorrow, see how you are.”
“All right. Good-bye, darling. And the happiest of birthdays.”
She hung up and realized the day wouldn’t be a complete wash after all. Adam was coming.
Ordinarily when a car pulled up at the cottage, Noelle heard the faint rubbery squeak of tires or the slam of a door from almost anywhere inside her house. But this afternoon, nothing signaled Adam’s arrival except the first knock at her front door. Caught off guard, she paused at the hall mirror for inspection: hair in a casual ponytail with side-swept bangs, makeup thankfully not smudged everywhere.
When she opened the door, he stood in a white shirt and dark green tie, shaking out his umbrella. He tipped it against the doorframe and smiled. “Oh—hey. It’s a ghastly humid mess out here.”
“Hi! I know. It’s been this way all morning.” She glanced behind him at the road. “Where’s your car?”
“The whole street’s blocked off. Had to park pretty far away. That bloody festival. I forgot all about it.” Adam brushed past her on his way in, patting his feet on the doormat. “So,” he said, facing her squarely. “Happy birthday to you! I come bearing gifts. I swung by the townhouse and picked up Jill’s present, too.” He paused. “Actually, they’re not with me. They’re in my car. Guess we can get them later. Mmm… I smell lemon.”
“That’s for tonight. My present for you. Well, one of them.”
She shut the door and stood with her hands in her jeans pockets. She had decided to dress down, since Jill wouldn’t be coming. She could change before dinner later on. Plus, she didn’t want Adam to think she’d dressed up just for his sake.
“I saw the vicar yesterday,” she said. “He gushes about you. Especially since the renovations are going so well. Adam this and Adam that. I think he’s your biggest fan.”
“I’m just relieved the project is going according to schedule. I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
She never tired of hearing him say British things like “shhedule.” Mr. Darcy emerged from the kitchen, padding cautiously down the hall to investigate the ruckus. “Make that your second biggest fan,” said Noelle.
“There’s my big boy.” Adam scooped Mr. Darcy up. “You’re getting quite chunky. What’s your mum been feeding you?” Mr. Darcy purred his response and scrunched his eyes tight as Adam tickled under his chin. When Adam bent down to let Mr. Darcy free, the unmistakable wail of a bagpipe filtered through the cracked-open window in the sitting room. “Have you been down to the festival yet?” he asked.
“I haven’t had time.”
“Seems fun, from what I saw on my way over here.” He dusted the cat hair off his sleeves. “Do we have time to go before dinner?”
Yesterday, Noelle had made reservations for three at Chatsworth Manor, the restaurant and hotel on the edge of the village. “I thought it was a ‘bloody’ festival?”
“Well, that was only when it made parking a nightmare. But it might be fun. Shall we go?”
She started to agree but put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for a festival?”
Adam looked down at his attire and frowned. He removed the tie and handed it to her, undid two buttons, rolled up his sleeves, and untucked his shirt all the way, leaving long tree branches of cotton wrinkles. “Better?”
“Perfect.”
As if by design, the exact moment they reached the edge of the festival, the rain weakened into sprinkles then a gentle mist. Adam and Noelle folded up their umbrellas and took in the sights. Storey Road had been blocked off, a festive party in full swing with Scottish and Celtic music playing intermittently and decorations of colorful streamers dangling around the streetlights and booths. Local vendors had set up stalls along the sides of the street—Julia and Mr. Bentley, selling their baked goods and pastries; Mrs. Mulberry, peddling knickknacks and antique jewelry; Mrs. Wickham, displaying her flowers. None of them had allowed the rain to dampen the day. Makeshift coverings, just removed, had served as shelter until the rain cleared away.
Adam and Noelle made their way toward the bustle of activity, avoiding puddles as they walked. Hyperactive children played hide-and-seek, meandering between the festivalgoers who strolled from stall to stall. The farmer, Mr. Elton, had even brought his two Shetland ponies for the children to ride, setting up a miniature corral at the edge of the first vendor. The line of impatient children to ride grew long, and parents attempted to distract them with candy and balloons.
Noelle and Adam stopped to sample Julia’s just-baked apple tart then filtered through a rack of vintage clothing at Mrs. Bennett’s stall. Mrs. Pickering summoned them over to her booth, insisting on hugging Adam’s neck. She stepped back and clasped her hands together, looking from Adam to Noelle and back to Adam again. Her peach lipstick matched her peach blouse, and her salt-and-pepper hair was twisted into a tight bun.
“Don’t you two look well together? Such a lovely couple you are.”
“Mrs. Pickering…” Noelle lowered her head in embarrassment, wishing she had listened to her better judgment and avoided the stall altogether. “We’re good friends. I’ve told you.” She glanced at Adam for help, but his snickering made it impossible to respond.
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m an old woman living vicariously through the lives of you young folks. Since Mr. Pickering passed five years ago…” Her voice cracked and faded away. Noelle placed a hand on top of hers, patting gently. Mrs. Pickering squeezed it and winked at her, whispering, “You do look well together, you know.”
Noelle rolled her eyes and smiled then dragged Adam, nearly doubled over with laughter, in the opposite direction. “What’s so funny?”
“You. The look on your face. I’ve never seen quite that shade of crimson before.”
“You weren’t very helpful.” She slapped at his arm. “You left me hanging! Maybe you should’ve mentioned Laurel. That would have shut her up.” She said Laurel’s name almost to test his reaction.
He changed the subject instead. “Look what I see.” Adam placed his arm firmly around her shoulders and marched her over to a booth across the street, where a group of children stood in line for popcorn and peanuts. “Okay, what’ll it be?” Adam dug around for his wallet.
“Peanuts, I guess. But you’re allergic, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. You remembered that?”
“You’d be surprised what I remember.”
Adam tried to pay for the snacks, but Noelle insisted on going Dutch treat for the entire evening. “If you don’t want to think of it as Dutch,” she reasoned, “think of it this way—I’m paying for yours, and you’re paying for mine. Happy birthday to each other.”
“Can’t argue with that weird logic.”
They munched on their buttery caramel popcorns while walking near the stalls. Adam pointed at the next booth, where a man sat surrounded by drawings of caricatures. “You have to do this.”
“I have to? Why?”
“Because! Because it’s your birthday. And because, just for tonight, we have nothing in the world to worry about but having a good time.”
“If I pose for this, then you have to pose for one, too. Dutch treat, remember?”
Adam scoffed and said, “Okay, whatever,” then plunked down some pound notes for the artist.
Noelle handed Adam her box of popcorn and umbrella then sat down in the folding chair. “How long will it take?” she asked the artist, an overweight man with a bristly moustache.
“Not but a few minutes, darlin’,” he responded in an Irish brogue.
Noelle folded her hands in her lap and shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable and flattering position. “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she muttered.
Adam stood behind the artist. “Shh. Can’t you see the man is trying to work?”
Noelle stuck out her tongue at him. “Oops. Don’t put that in the portrait, okay?”
The Irishman chuckled and nodded.
Noelle tried to ignore Adam and steadied her focus on the artist. Adam, in her peripheral view, glanced at the canvas then at her. Canvas, her. She hated being on display and wanted to get up and hide somewhere.
After several minutes of wondering when the artist would finally finish, Noelle became restless and looked straight at Adam. He had been staring more at her than at the canvas. Intently. The normal, polite thing to do would’ve been for one of them to look away. But all Noelle could do was stare back.
“All done,” the artist said, sitting back in his chair to assess his work.
Relieved, Noelle stood up and stretched her stiff muscles. Stepping to Adam’s side, she studied the finished product. Her cartoon eyes, enormous and exceptionally blue, gazed out at them through long, exaggerated lashes. She resembled a princess in a children’s fairy tale.
“Beautiful.” Adam handed the artist a hefty tip. The Irishman placed the portrait inside a paper bag and gave it to Noelle.
“Your turn,” Noelle insisted.
“We don’t have time. Besides, look at that line of little kids who want their portraits done.” Indeed, a group of three children waited patiently. “I wouldn’t want to go in front of them.”
She scowled at him. “Fine. You do make a good case. I’ll let you off the hook this time.”
They discarded their popcorn and slowed their pace, taking small steps in the direction of the cottage. At the edge of the festival, where the crowds had worn thin, Noelle stopped without warning, and Adam nearly ran into her. “Wow,” she said. “Look at that.”
She pointed up toward the hill of her cottage. The sun had faded over the horizon, leaving the spectacular glow of burnt oranges and coral pinks filtering through leftover rain clouds. “I wish I had a canvas right now,” she said.
Adam pressed his chest lightly against her back as he extended his arms out in front of her, his hands shaping into L’s as he framed the picture of the sunset for both of them. “The Golden Ratio?” he suggested in her ear.
“Mmm. Definitely.”
He put his hands down but didn’t move away. His chest grazed her back slightly whenever he breathed, putting her Adam Radar into overdrive.
Adam whispered, “On second thought, maybe it’s best to see it this way, not try to capture it on canvas. Just see it for what it is. Beautiful and fleeting.”
Noelle swiveled to face him. “You’re awfully philosophical tonight.”
“You bring it out in me, I guess.”
If they were a couple, this might have been the kiss moment. The sunset, the romance of a carnival, the ease of flirty banter, all just a prelude. But they weren’t a couple. He wasn’t hers to kiss.
Oddly, she hadn’t thought about Preston once tonight, not the entire time. She wondered if Laurel had entered Adam’s thoughts. Or whether this village, like Adam’s Magic Pub, was a time machine that lured them back to teenage days, and teenage feelings, so easily. Too easily.
The cheery twang of Celtic music rose up from a platform near the pub and interrupted Noelle’s fantasy before it began. White lights twinkled above a wooden stage that Joe and some of the construction workers had erected. People gathered in groups, with a few brave souls stepping onto the stage in pairs. The Irish dancing had begun.
“Let’s go!” Noelle grabbed Adam’s hand and tried to lead him toward the music.
He stood firm. “Oh, no. Not me. Dancing is one thing I don’t do.”
“Adam Spencer, it’s my birthday. Are you going to stand there and deny a birthday girl her one wish?”
“Your one birthday wish is to dance?”
“Yes.” They stood, unmoving, wondering who would cave first. Still holding hands.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Adam took off, pulling her toward the stage. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. I have no idea how to do these country dances. I’m going to step all over your feet. It won’t be pretty.”
“You think I know how to Irish dance? I’m a California hippie! We can learn together.”
They set down the portrait and umbrellas at the end of the stage, hoping they’d stay safe, then Adam helped her up the two steps to the stage. Instantly, they were pulled into a pulsating, rhythmical swell of people moving along in a sort of disorganized circle—skipping, clapping, turning, laughing. Even the postman and his wife, usually prim and proper, had been swept away by the music and danced alongside them. Three songs later, Noelle and Adam were finally able to mimic the other pairs’ steps convincingly. Hop left twice, step right, hop right twice, step left.
The infectious jangles of the Irish whistle and fiddle moved the dancers along, and people watching clapped to the beat. Something magical and freeing happened, an energetic wave of people flowing and bouncing in the same direction at the same time. Noelle let go, forgot everything, and danced.