When in Rome(36)

She steps a little closer and takes my hand like she did that morning in her inn. She grins and her wrinkles multiply. “Go have your break, darlin’. And even better, have it with a good man who’ll treat you right.” She nods over my shoulder to The Pie Shop.

“Mabel, I can’t stay. Noah said I have to leave his place on Monday.”

“Oh, you’re staying all right.”

The confidence on this woman.

I give her a hopeful smile. “Does this mean you’ll let me rent a room at your inn? I can even help out with chores to make it worthwhile for you.”

“Nope. We’re full up, told ya that already.” I’ve never seen a woman enjoy telling a lie more. “But you’ll stay in town. Mark my words.”

“I can’t help but feel like your hope is misplaced. Noah doesn’t even want me around him.”

She grunts a laugh. “Bullshit. I’ve known that boy since he was a baby. I can read him like a book, and I’d bet my entire living he’s grumpy because he wants you around too much.” I don’t disagree, but I do turn my eyes to the shop window. “And I saw him staring at your backside when you weren’t looking.”

I whip my head back to Mabel. “He did not.”

Her smile widens. “No, he didn’t. But now I know by the rosy hue in your cheeks that you wish he did.” She raises and lowers her eyebrows and begins trundling away, passing The Pie Shop entirely. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” she says softly to herself. And when I glance down at my flowers and back, she’s gone, just like a mischievous ghost sent to taunt the town. In all likelihood she just dipped into the market, but I like the ghost theory better.





Chapter 14


    Amelia


Just as predicted, I walk through the door of The Pie Shop and the little bell ringing over my head alerts Noah to my presence. The sudden force of his gaze threatens to level me when he looks up from the counter where he’s writing in a little notepad. A classic little notepad for the classic man. His eyes lock with mine and BOOM, grumpy face. It’s good he doesn’t smile. I wouldn’t be able to stay standing if he did. But this…this I can make do with.

I approach the counter slowly. He’s a lion I’ve just encountered in the wild. “Hiiii,” I say, stepping closer, one little scooting step at a time. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts a brow. I try not to tremble.

When I get close enough, I lay both bouquets on the counter like an offering right next to where his muscular forearms are resting. My eyes get tangled up with the light dusting of masculine hair on them. The hairs are so blond, fine, and unobtrusive you have to be close enough to see them. My mind reminds me unhelpfully that I am close enough to see them, along with the shadow his baseball cap casts over his eyes, nose, and cheekbones. The scruff of his jaw is a little more prominent than it was yesterday, telling me he might not have gone home after sitting by my bedside all night. I don’t want to acknowledge why the thought of Noah worrying about me through the night sends a shiver through my body.

His eyes drop to the bouquets and then back up to my face. “Flowers?”

“For you,” I say, scooting the bouquet I made for him closer before clasping my hands behind my back and rocking lightly on my heels. “An apology-slash-thank-you for taking care of me last night.” I tip my shoulder. “And I know you like flowers. Annie told me you buy a bouquet from her several times a week.”

He doesn’t shift even an inch. “Just to be clear, I do it to help her. Not because I’m obsessed with flowers or anything.”

I widen my eyes at that incredible word. “Obsessed,” I say, letting it dissolve pleasantly on my tongue. “Sure you’re not,” I say, nodding and squinting my eyes. Play, play, play.

His eyes narrow. “Are you taunting me?”

“I’m just not sure why you’re ashamed to admit you’re obsessed with flowers.” I press my lips together against a smile.

“I’m not—” He starts to say in an impassioned tone, rising up to his full height and taking the bait before realizing I’m just goading him. He grunts and crosses his arms. Hello, Surly Pose. It’s lovely to see you today. “I like them. I’m not obsessed.”

I mirror his stance, and it’s too much fun. “It’s okay to admit your deep infatuation. I won’t force you to give up your man card.”

The hint of a smirk touches his mouth now. He’s on to me. “I own a pie shop. You think I give a shit about man cards?” He looks over his right shoulder, “Please,” and then back to me.

“If that’s true…then why so hesitant to fess up to your flower obsession? Annie claims you think she’s at risk of bankruptcy, but do you want to know what I think?”

“Pretty sure you’re going to tell me no matter what.”

“I think,” I begin in a fervent courtroom tone, “you very well know just how many people love and support her shop, and that her flower business is doing just fine. I think, good sir, that you use your brotherly care as a disguise for your…” I let the word hang as we stare at each other. “Obsession.”

He leans his palms on the counter, angling himself closer. Something sweet and warm crackles in the air between us. “I think…my obsessions are none of your business.”