Girl Online(30)

He stands motionless, with his hands still half covering his face. “Why not?”

“Well, it’s not very wedding-y. I mean, it was beautiful—what I heard of it—but it sounded so sad and I don’t think that’s the right kind of vibe for a wedding, you know? You need to be thinking more along the lines of the theme from Dirty Dancing. That always goes down really well at weddings. Did you guys get Dirty Dancing over here?”

He lowers his hands and stares at me, like he’s trying to work out if I’m an alien from another planet. And now that I can see him properly, I’m so stunned I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a thought bubble bursting from my head saying, WOW! He’s what Elliot would call Rock-God–tastic: all messy dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, faded jeans, and scuffed-up boots.

“Yeah, we got Dirty Dancing over here,” he says, but his voice is a lot softer now, almost like he’s trying not to laugh. “It was actually made in America.”

“Ah, yes, of course it was.” That familiar sinking feeling returns. Even when I’m in New York, I’m a liability. I’m now an international embarrassment waiting to happen. But then a strange feeling comes over me—a strong, determined feeling. I am not going to make a fool of myself on this trip. Even if it means not talking to anyone other than Elliot and Mum and Dad. Even if it means not talking to someone totally Rock-God–tastic—someone totally Rock-God–tastic from New York.

“Well, sorry to bother you, and good luck tomorrow,” I say, my cheeks burning, and I turn to go.





Chapter Sixteen

“I’m not the wedding singer,” he says, before I’ve even taken a step.

I stop in my tracks. “You’re not?”

“No.”

I turn and look at him. He’s grinning at me now—a really cute lopsided grin, featuring several dimples. “So what are you doing here then?”

“I like breaking into hotels and playing really sad songs in their wedding suites,” he says, grinning even more.

“Interesting career choice,” I say.

“It is,” he says, nodding. “But the pay’s lousy.”

What if he’s a craz?y person? my inner voice whispers. A New York craz?y person. What if he’s broken into the hotel suite? What if I have to make a citizen’s arrest? Do they even have citizen’s arrests over here? Aaargh! What am I going to do?

He doesn’t look like a crazy person, though. Now that he’s smiling, he looks like a very nice person, but still . . .

“Why the frown?” he says.

“I was just thinking.”

“What?”

“You’re not—crazy—are you?”

He laughs really loud. “No. Well, yes, but only in a good way. I’ve found that life’s a whole lot better if you get a little crazy sometimes.”

I nod. That definitely makes sense to me.

“What’s your name?” he asks, picking up the guitar and placing it back on its stand.

“Penny.”

“Penny.” It sounds really good said in his voice. “I’m Noah. And I’m guessing from the accent that you’re British, right?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet. And you’re a photographer?”

“Yes—well—an amateur photographer, but one day I hope to be professional. My mum’s doing the styling for the wedding here, that’s why they’ve asked me to take some behind-the-scenes pictures. So, why are you here really?”

“Really?” He tilts his head to one side, still grinning.

I nod.

“My grandma’s working on the wedding too.”

“Your grandma?”

“Yes, Sadie Lee. She’s doing the catering.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve met her.” I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not a craz?y person. I’ve met his grandma. I love his grandma. I won’t have to make a citizen’s arrest.

“I gave her a lift here this morning and she said I could hang out for a bit if I stayed out of everyone’s way,” Noah continues. “So I came through here and saw the guitar and I couldn’t resist playing it.”

“Are you a musician then?”

He gives me a funny little smile. “No, not really—it’s just something I do in my spare time. Are you hungry?”

“What? Oh, yes, a bit.”

He jumps down from the stage. The closer he gets, the cuter he gets. His eyes are as dark brown as Sadie Lee’s and just like hers they seem to twinkle when he smiles. It makes me feel all strange and light, like I’m made of feathers and could drift away at any minute.

“Let’s go get some food from Sadie Lee. But first”—he stares right at me—“can you please say ‘tomato’?”

“What?”

“?‘Tomato.’ Please, can you say it for me?”

I grin and shake my head; he is definitely crazy, but good crazy. “OK then, tomato.”

“Ha!” He claps his hands together with glee. “Tom-ah-to,” he mimics. “I love the way you Brits say that. Come on.” And with that, he strides off in the direction of the kitchen.

The kitchen now smells amazing, with one counter lined with trays of tiny jam tarts and fairy cakes ready to go into the oven and one lined with trays that have just come out. Sadie Lee is over by the huge sink, rinsing out a mixing bowl.