I slumped back, keeping a tight grip on that pillow. "Why does it sound so easy when you explain it?"
"Because I'm old and smart and happily married to an incredibly stubborn man. It's the trifecta of good relationship advice."
Curling into my side, I grinned at her. "You're humble too. Don't forget that."
"It's a terrible burden to bear," Paige announced gravely. She clapped her hands. "Okay. So now that we understand the man, what do we do about it?"
Unfortunately, I knew the answer to this. "We don't rush into anything."
Her face fell. "We don't?"
I shook my head. "I've gone headfirst into so many situations without paying attention to anything other than my feelings. Noah is a perfect example. Twice now, when it comes to him, I've let my feelings override common sense. I agree with you, I think Noah does care for me, and I think we could have something amazing." I swallowed. "But it's not my responsibility to make him understand that. Or to prove to him that I'm worth a spot in his life. I know that I'm worth it. I know he's worth more than what he does on the field. But I think"—I breathed unsteadily—"I need him to climb through my window this time. Do something that feels risky and crazy for me. I deserve that."
Paige surged forward on the couch and flung her arms around me. I was engulfed by almost six feet of gorgeous, overwhelming, maternal-influence love.
"You deserve that times a million," she gushed.
I patted her back with a laugh.
"Can we eat carbs now?" I asked.
Paige disentangled herself from me and held out a hand to help me up. "Yes. Let's go brainstorm your other issue over garlic bread."
I grinned. "Oh, I already have an idea for that. I won't be unemployed for long."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noah
"This is not what I had in mind when you asked for my help, Griffin," Marty said. His head was resting on his arms, his whole body slumped in exhaustion. Or maybe it was irritation, I couldn't really tell. Didn't really care either because once the plan starting formulating in my head, I dialed in like a ravenous dog onto a medium rare chunk of prime rib.
I crossed my arms and pointed at the massive screen I had mounted above the fireplace of my family room. "Back it up about forty seconds and look." I swept an arm out. "We need to cut right there.” I rolled my eyes when Marty groaned. "If you watch carefully, you can see what I'm talking about right there."
"If you make me watch this clip one more time," he growled.
I glanced over my shoulder. "You'll what? Glare at me to death?" My hands snapped together in a sharp clap, and Marty jumped. "Do I need to mark it up on the diagram again?"
"No," Rick and Marty answered.
The diagram had been an immense source of joy for me over the past forty-eight hours. It laid on my dining room table, spiral bound with laminated pages so I could mark on it with dry erase markers. My own playbook because I could understand that structure for how to move forward.
Offensive Campaign: M Ward
The title needed work, but what was found inside the pages was nothing short of genius. I'd never fancied myself a filmmaker, but over the past two days, the three of us had honed, hacked, edited, tweaked, and cut my relationship with Molly down to a short film that was fucking Oscar-worthy, if you asked me.
Rick and Marty just didn't appreciate my approach at directing, which looked a bit more like my attempt to channel my inner Bill Belichick. I was ruthless, making them loop the same thirty-second scene over and over and over until we caught just the right cut of the moment that Molly tipped me over when we were doing yoga.
The only reason they hadn't tied me up and stuffed a gag in my mouth was because I'd agreed to let them film the entire thing once she was here. A camera guy from their office came over after Marty and I had our parking lot brainstorm, then cleared everything with Rick.
The parking lot brainstorm was full of excitement and optimism and hope.
Now, they were actively plotting my demise with every request I made to play back another chunk of the footage.
"Okay," I said, "let's move back to South Dakota. I think we can give that more impact."
"No," Rick mumbled.
My eyebrows lifted. "Sorry?"
"No, no, no." He stood from the couch and pressed two fists into his back as he stretched with a groan. "You are the Hitler of romantic gestures, and if she doesn't love this exactly as it is, then holy shit, Griffin, we can't help you."