When in Rome(8)

Noah’s eyes bounce to my lifted hands and for a fraction of a second, I see him soften. “Thank you. But no.” And then we fall into silence again.

I’ve done hundreds of press events over the past ten years, interacted with thousands and thousands of fans during meet and greets. Was live on Jimmy Fallon just last month where I sang an ad-libbed song in front of a studio audience without a moment’s hesitation. And yet, standing in front of Noah Walker, I’m not at all sure what to say. But I don’t feel like being polite. Or gracious. That thrill pulses harder.

I hover somewhere between the door and the bed so I don’t get in his way, watching as he silently retrieves a pillow and slides a pillowcase onto it. This is all so normal, and domestic, and it feels wildly out of place to be sharing it with a stranger who doesn’t like me.

I glance around the room and then over my shoulder and register the closed door across the hall. Suddenly, a thought strikes me. Is Noah married? Maybe that’s why he’s being so prickly and standoffish? He doesn’t want me to get any funny ideas. He’s seen a movie, or the covers of tabloids, and assumes all of us famous types are amorous home-wreckers.

I clear my throat, trying to find the right segue to let him know I won’t be trying to jump his bones tonight. “So, uh—Noah. Do you have a…special someone?”

His eyes dart in my direction and now he looks considerably agitated. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

I do a hypothetical spit take. “What? No! I just…” I have zero amounts of Normal left inside me to give tonight. I was trying to put him at ease, and somehow, I’ve managed to make it worse as well as apparent that I don’t know what to do with my hands. I wave them back and forth like a T. rex trying to land a plane. “No. I just wanted to make sure before I spend the night here that I’m not…stepping on anyone’s toes.” I grimace. It’s getting worse. “Gahhh, I don’t mean stepping on their toes because I’m spending the night with you. I know I’m going to be sleeping in here alone. I’m not really into one-night stands anyways because they’re always so awkward…”

Oh nooooo. I’m saying too much. I officially entered sex into a conversation for the second time tonight with a stranger who doesn’t like me. I’m absolutely floundering, and I never flounder.

Noah sets the freshly cased pillow onto the bed and finally turns to face me. Wordlessly, he walks closer. I have to tip my chin up, up, up to see him. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either. He’s the Unreadable Man. “I am single, but I’m also not on the market.”

He continues to stand there as my face turns hot as lava and melts right off my cheekbones. That was the softest, most polite letdown I’ve ever received in my entire life, and I wasn’t even asking him out.

Thank goodness none of this matters. I’ll leave tomorrow morning, find the B and B, and Wilderness Ken will never have to be annoyed with me again.

But then why is he still standing in front of me like this? Why do I feel an instant connection to him? There’s something inside me, tugging me closer to him, begging me to raise my hand to his chest and run my hand over his soft cotton tee. He’s not moving. I’m not moving.

Noah’s expression suddenly turns awkward and he gestures toward the doorway that I didn’t realize I had sunk back into. “I can’t get through with you standing there.”

Oh.

OH!

Polite, polite, polite. “Yes! So sorry! I’ll just…move.” His solemn expression does not crack as I step aside and gesture dramatically toward his exit.

“Drinking glasses are in the cupboard beside the sink in the kitchen if you need water. Bathroom is at the end of the hall. I’m headed to bed. Feel free to lock your door, I know I will.”

“Smart move. Wouldn’t want to let the Pillow Bandit strike,” I say, feeling that thrill surge once again after saying exactly what I want—untethered and without filter.

Maybe…just maybe this adventure wasn’t a mistake after all.





Chapter 4


    Noah


I throw on my sunglasses and baseball hat and hold my coffee like a shield. I’m going to need the added protection for my walk from the communal town parking lot to the shop. It’s only about a five-minute walk down Main Street, but that’s plenty of time to run into every single one of those damn townsfolk. Doesn’t matter that Rae Rose has only been in my house for nine hours. That’s eight more hours than necessary for Mabel to have called every person she knows and started the most incredible game of telephone anyone has ever seen. At least this means business will be booming today. Everyone is going to want a pie with a heavy side of gossip.

That’s the problem with living in the hometown you grew up in. They remember the time you sang “Mary, Did You Know?” in the church choir wearing an ugly-ass sweater vest at age seven, and when the sheriff got called on you and your high school girlfriend for fogging up the windows of your truck by the lake. And they sure as hell never forget when your fiancée broke your heart. So when a woman is rumored to have slept in your house—a pretty one no less—there’s no way they’re going to let me have any peace. These people forget absolutely nothing and they couldn’t be more invested in my romantic life if it were a daytime TV show.