When in Rome(18)
She smiles sweetly and raises her weathered hand over the counter to pat mine. I look down, a little shocked. No one touches me. Well, that’s not completely true. If I find myself in the middle of a fan mob, everyone tugs, snatches, and gropes at me…but strangers never affectionately touch my hand like a grandmother would. The gesture is so kind and sweet it feels like bubble wrap around my heart. Again, I miss my mom.
“I don’t need your money. I’m filthy rich. My sweet husband—may he rest in peace—had a fantastic life insurance policy. You’ll stay at Noah’s and I don’t want to hear another word about it.” She turns her sharp brown eyes to Noah and lifts her eyebrows as if she’s daring him to talk back.
Something like a growl sounds from his throat and he rolls his eyes before his large form storms out the door. Well, then. I look at Mabel and smile awkwardly. She winks, and whispers, “Hold your own, darlin’.” I get one more affectionate, fortifying pat on my hand before she releases it and gestures for me to go out after him.
Outside, I find Noah barreling toward his burnt orange pickup truck looking as stern and grumpy as a bull. I should be scared to approach him, but I feel like I understand him enough now to see that he’s all bark and no bite. Hold your own, darlin’. To be honest, I feel oddly safe with him. Safer than wandering around by myself, at least.
He gets in his classic Chevy truck and slams the door behind him. I approach the passenger side slowly and peer through the window. Noah drapes his hand over the steering wheel and keeps his eyes facing forward, refusing to look at me. But then, in contrast to his grumpy, hostile exterior, he unlocks the door so I can slide in beside him. Minus the sweet scent of pancakes, his truck smells overwhelmingly like him. I run my fingers gently back and forth over the smooth leather bench, while I get up the nerve to say something to him.
“Hi,” I venture, in an apologetic tone. “How’s your day going?”
His mouth twitches and he cuts his woodsy eyes to me. “I’m being an ass and I know it.”
“Okay, well, they say the first step is admitting.” This earns me a genuine grin from his full lips to the soft crinkles beside his eyes. Oh, it looks so good on him. And I see why he doesn’t do it often—it’s disorienting. I want to poke his cheek right where that grin dimples, and only just manage to refrain. I’ve never felt this light with anyone before. There’s not a single star in his eyes when he looks at me, and it almost makes me feel normal. If I’m not careful, I could become addicted to this.
“Why don’t you like me?” I ask, not out of hurt, but genuine curiosity.
His eyes drop to the steering wheel. At first, I think he’s not going to answer me. The silence stretches on so long before he finally speaks. “It’s not you.” His eyes slide up to mine, and now I’m submerged in a dense green forest.
I wait a minute for him to expound, but I’m learning that expounding is not Noah’s specialty. I throw him a bone. “Listen, I know you didn’t sign up for this. You definitely didn’t ask for a spoiled pop star to crash your life and stay in your guest room. So…” I don’t want to say it, but I have to. It’s the right thing to do. “Just say the word and I’ll call my manager and have her send someone. I can be out of your hair by the afternoon,” I say, trying not to look too disappointed as I offer up my least favorite option.
“But you don’t want to do that?”
I choose my words carefully. “I…was just hoping for some time away.” I try to keep it short because I haven’t forgotten how he reacted this morning when I started to tell him about my life.
His eyes stay focused on me. He’s reading me, looking for something and then finding an answer. He drags in a deep breath and stares out his front windshield. Three beats go by before he lets that breath out in one big gust. “All right. Tell you what, you can stay at my place through the weekend. But Monday morning you have to find somewhere else to go.”
“Really?” My voice belongs to a three-year-old who was just offered a brownie before bedtime. Never in my life have I felt so desperate for something. So happy at a prospect. I clear my throat. “I mean…are you sure?”
He fights a grin. “Yeah. Just…I can’t be your tour guide while you’re here. I work a full-time job, so you’ll have to fend for yourself. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say with a firm nod. “I’ll make myself scarce. Seriously, I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You won’t even know I’m around.”
He starts the truck and puts it in reverse, mumbling, “I highly doubt that,” over his shoulder as he backs his truck out of the space.
Chapter 8
Amelia
Now to do the thing that sounds less appealing than poking my eye out. I stare down at my cell phone and open Susan’s contact info. I don’t have any missed calls or texts from her because I still don’t have service (a small mercy). Even though I want to drop off the grid more than anything, I know that I can’t be that irresponsible. At this moment, I’m officially ten minutes late for my Vogue interview and I’m sure that Susan is wearing a hole through the floor wherever she is and seconds away from calling in the SWAT team.
I didn’t mean to go this long without checking in with her, but I got caught up in the pancakes and the trip into town, and for once, I forgot about Susan or my responsibilities. They’ve caught up to me now, though, and my hand is trembling.