When in Rome(37)

“Aha!” I hold up a finger toward his face. “So you admit it?! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you heard it from his own mouth!”

To my complete shock, Noah hooks his finger around mine, lowering them both slowly down onto the counter. Too many sensations mingle in that small touch, and when he doesn’t immediately remove his finger from mine after they’re finally resting on the counter, my heart gives out. I flatline. Someone get the stretcher.

A grin hovers on the side of his mouth—a lovely addition to the dark shadow his hat casts over his eyes. “I like the way they make my house smell.”

I can’t say anything. I’m frozen in this moment with Noah softly gazing at me, the skin of his hand against mine, and memories of his hungry kiss swimming in my mind. I never want it to end. “And your mom loved flowers, right?”

Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could have been worse to say in this moment. A silence so menacing drops between us that it practically takes on a physical form. It would be a man gnarled with scars and slapping a baseball bat against his enormous calloused hand. I should run screaming in the opposite direction. Instead, I watch, holding my breath as Noah’s brows pinch together and he rises to his full height again, removing his hand from mine. He doesn’t acknowledge what I said, and maybe that’s for the best since I didn’t mean for it to come out. He turns away and disappears into the kitchen without another word.

I mentally punch myself for acting like I was close enough to him to bring up his painful past like that. Like I had any right to call attention to it, let alone know that his mom loved flowers and isn’t around anymore. How vulnerable he must feel now.

Great job, Big Mouth. Real cool. Can’t you just be normal for like a second and not ruin it?

I should leave. In fact, I will.

But after picking up the bouquet of flowers Annie gave me, I decide that now I have two things to apologize for and set the flowers back down next to the other bouquet. After I cross the shop and open the front door, Noah calls out to me while reemerging from the back. “You’re leaving?”

I freeze and look back at him. He’s holding two plates with a slice of pie on each one. “I thought…I thought you were mad and it was better if I left.”

He rolls his eyes with a little hint of a smile before gesturing toward the slices of pie. “I was just getting you a slice of pie. If you’re interested, that is?” He moves around the counter and out into the main portion of the shop, setting the plates down on the two-seater table near the window. One plate is uncovered and the other has plastic wrap over it.

“Something you need to know about me,” he begins in a softer tone than I’ve heard him use yet. “I’m not talkative.” I give a mock gasp of surprise, which makes him grin. “And I don’t like talking about personal stuff when I’m not prepared for it. Sometimes I need a minute to process when I’m caught off guard. But if I’m actually mad, I’ll tell you. I don’t believe in the silent treatment when it comes to stuff like that.”

I’m still standing halfway out the door because I can’t move. I’m overloaded with how incredible and heartfelt that speech was. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man articulate his emotions so well to me before. I didn’t even realize that was something I should expect or hope for. It’s clear that there’s so much more to Noah than his Surly Pose and burnt orange truck. He’s obsessed with flowers. Is protective. Feels deeply, but prefers to keep it to himself.

And damn if I don’t find all that sexy as hell.

He lifts his eyebrows when I don’t respond. “So. You in or out, pop star? If you’re in, turn that Open sign around and lock the door on your way back in. It’s my lunch break.”

I laugh and step away from the door, letting it fall shut behind me before flipping the sign and the lock. “With your accent, it sort of makes it sound like you just called me a Pop-Tart.”

“No, definitely not.” He takes his seat and then flashes me a grin. “I actually like Pop-Tarts.”

I laugh and throw a pepper packet from the table at his head. It bounces off his cheek and hits the floor. Noah tsks while leaning over to retrieve it. “Bringing up my family history and littering in my pie shop. And to think this is how I’m rewarded for keeping your ass safe last night.”

“I already bought you flowers for that. My debt is paid in full.” I sit down opposite him, realizing belatedly that this tiny table makes it so our legs are pressing up against each other. I would move mine, but he’s not moving his. So there they stay.

I clear my throat. “So is this my farewell pie?” Looking up, I see his confused expression. “I assumed you asked me to come here today because I’ve been a pain in your ass and you want me out of your house tonight instead of Monday morning.” It physically hurts to think of leaving this town the day after tomorrow. It’s too soon.

Noah chuckles. Actually chuckles. It’s so deep and rumbly I imagine pressing my palm to his chest and feeling the laugh while hearing it. The complete experience. “You’re definitely a pain in my ass. But I’m not kicking you out. In fact, just the opposite.” Noah nervously licks his lips. “Do you remember anything you said last night?”

I didn’t until he asked. But at his questioning, my memories hit me in bursts.