When in Rome(9)

I’d probably close up the shop for the day and go fishing instead of sending myself right into the belly of the beast (aka the town square) if this wasn’t a delivery morning. But James, a friend of mine who owns a local farm and provides all my fresh ingredients, will be dropping off several crates full of produce, eggs, and milk, and I need to be there to receive it.

If you would’ve told me I’d be living in this town at the age of thirty-two and running a pie shop (creatively named The Pie Shop) that my grandma left to me, I’d have thought you were out of your damn mind. Especially after moving everything I owned to New York with Merritt, planning out our life together there and trying to drop roots into a place where I only felt like a piece of driftwood in the ocean for an entire year. But here I am—back home and living a life I never saw coming, and loving the hell out of it.

Well, for the most part. I could do without all these nosy people kicking up dust around my life all day.

And here we go. Pass obstacle number one: Phil’s Hardware. As I approach, I can see that Phil and his business partner, Todd, are standing outside pretending to sweep and clean the front glass even though they hire Phil’s grandson to do exactly those two jobs after school.

They pause when I get close, frantically murmuring something under their breath I can’t hear, and then act as if they’re surprised to see me even though I walk by here at this exact time each day.

“Whew! It’s a hot one we’re having today, isn’t it, Noah?”

“Same temperature as yesterday, Phil,” I say, before taking a sip of my coffee. I don’t stop walking.

Phil blinks a hundred times and looks around for some conversational genius to strike him that will snag my attention. He can’t come up with anything so Todd tries his hand. “Maybe the heat will bring in some new customers for you? Some out-of-towners, perhaps?”

“Heat usually make you crave pie, Todd? Might want to see the doc about that. Seems odd to me.” I keep walking and raise a hand over my shoulder after I’ve passed them in lieu of a parting greeting. They’re lucky I didn’t throw up the bird instead.

Now, obstacle number two: Harriet’s Market. I pull my hat a little lower over my eyes because if there’s anyone I really don’t want to see today, it’s Harriet. That woman is ruthless. I pass under her blue-and-white-striped awning and think I’m in the clear until her shop door chimes. I wince and consider speed walking away, but it’s too late. I’m caught.

She cuts right to the chase. “Noah Walker, don’t think I didn’t hear you had a woman staying over last night.” I have no choice but to take a fortifying breath and turn around to face Harriet. Her hands are perched on her slender hips, a severe glare on her face, adding new frown lines to the ones already present. The cheery yellow sundress she’s wearing doesn’t match her personality. Harriet keeps her salt-and-pepper hair tied back into a tight bun. It’s not that Harriet is grumpy because she doesn’t like people—it’s that she’s nearly 100 percent certain she’s better than most people. Who knows, maybe she is.

“In my day, young men and women weren’t so intimate before they were married. It left a little something to the imagination. Something to be desired.” She tilts her head down so she can purse her lips and raise her brows. “Now who is this woman you spent the night with and do you plan on marrying her?”

That escalated quickly.

“Uh—no, ma’am. And I didn’t spend the night with her. Her car broke down in my yard, so I offered up my guest bedroom to her.” Not that it’s any of your business is what I’d tell her if I wasn’t chickenshit and scared to death of this woman. I like to spar with Mabel, but I hide from Harriet.

She wags her finger in my direction. “Then you keep your hands to yourself. If you don’t intend to walk her down the aisle, then don’t go dipping your toes in her pond.”

I grimace. Not entirely sure if that’s supposed to be an innuendo or not but grossed-out all the same.

“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in her…pond.”

Yep. That felt as disgusting to say as I thought it would. Wonderful. Now I need to find a way to boil my brain today. This is also why I have to go outside the city limits if I want to spend any time with a woman. Which, let’s be honest, I haven’t done in a long time. I’m not really the one-night-stand sort of guy, because, like Rae Rose pointed out last night, one-nighters are always sort of awkward. I find the whole situation around them uncomfortable. I like to have an emotional connection with a woman before I sleep with her and it’s damn inconvenient.

All that to say, I don’t take any women back to my place because someone’s always out with binoculars prowling for gossip in this town. Harriet will find out and send the Nazarene preacher over to knock on my door and remind me that lust is one of the seven deadly sins. Except Pastor Barton loves pie and will eat no less than three pieces while sermonizing. It’ll take a whole afternoon.

Harriet nods, her scowl still deeply marring the space between her brows. “Well, good. Keep it that way.”

Great, glad that’s over.

“I’ll have your peach pie ready at closing for you.” It’s Wednesday so I know she’ll be by to pick it up on her way to her knitting group. I lift my coffee in silent cheers and then keep walking.