When in Rome(41)

“We’ll see,” I say, attempting to sound harsh and noncommittal even though we both know I’m going to do it. I read the list again. “Exciting, huh? What’s your definition of exciting?”

“Susan would say anything that could potentially break a bone, make me smile, or generally get my heart rate up at all.”

“Well, that takes sex with me off the table.” I wince the moment it’s out of my mouth. Her jaw drops. “I’m sorry…I meant it as a joke but my delivery is always too dry and—”

“Don’t be sorry!” Her face lights up with joy. “You joked! Mr. Classic Man just made a dirty joke and now I have to write it in my journal as the best day of my life.”

“I thought I was Mr. Hospitality?”

She pokes my cheek. “What other jokes do you have in there?”

I throw my body dramatically to the side like her strength knocked me over. “Geez, don’t be so rough.”

She’s shaking her head now, a wide smile on her mouth, eyes brimming with delight. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

I right myself and clear my throat. It’s time to get serious and quit playing around. Playing around leads to flirting. And flirting leads to trouble. “Back to your Susan. Did you tell her you’re staying in town longer?”

“Yes. And it did not go well.”

“Did she give you crap about it?”

She fills her chest with air and her lips flap animatedly when she lets it out. I love this side of her. The messy, not-so-put-together woman. It suits her. “She was livid. Tried to convince me that I was being reckless and selfish by not telling her where I am and bailing on business engagements that I didn’t even agree to!” Her voice rises on the last part, and I sort of love seeing this fire in her.

“And then she pried it out of me that I was staying with a single man…and in an attempt to make you sound harmless, I told her you’re a pie shop owner, and then I might have accidentally talked you up quite a bit and now she’s convinced I’m about to throw away my entire career for a guy.”

I lift a brow. “You talked me up? What’d you say?”

Her cheeks flush and she dodges the question with a roll of her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I still can’t believe I’m here and going head-to-head with Susan like this. I haven’t…I haven’t done anything for myself in years.” She pauses and I don’t rush to fill the silence. “Susan wasn’t completely wrong, though. Leaving town without a bodyguard or having anyone from my team make sure I had safe accommodations waiting for me was reckless.” A soft smile tugs at her lips. Like she wants to feel proud but isn’t sure whether she’s supposed to or not.

I look down at the notepad in my hand and then pick up the pen. “What are you doing?” she asks as I mark off Do Something Exciting from her list.

“Congrats. You already accomplished one thing from your list all on your own.”

Amelia stares at that crossed-off item and looks as if she wants to clutch it to her cheek like she did my hand last night. Her eyes are filled with emotion, and I can tell she’s breathing deeper to keep from tearing up. Nope. No tears, please. I’m not good at those.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I lightly tap my knuckle against her knee and regret the contact instantly. “Not that you need my approval, but I think getting away was the right choice. Your Susan sounds like a real killjoy.”

Amelia laughs and lays her head to the side on the couch cushion. My eyes trace the long exposed line of her throat and when I make it to her face again, Amelia is staring right at me. “Oh, she is. That woman doesn’t let me do anything. But…she’s good at her job. And is the one to thank for my career reaching the height it’s at now. Plus, in her weird way, she’s been there for me more than my own mom has lately.”

“But you’re not happy,” I say as half question, half statement. Everything in me screams that I don’t care if she’s happy or not. I don’t even want her in my house or taking up space on my couch or forcing me to be kind to her with her big puppy dog eyes and sunshine personality. But damn it, if I don’t care, then why am I asking? Why am I already brainstorming ideas of other places I can take her while she’s here? Who she should meet. What would make her smile. What could potentially make her look at me with warmth in her eyes. I’m so mad at myself right now I could kick the wall.

“Sometimes I’m happy.” She keeps her eyes down to where she’s resumed picking her nail polish off and placing the chips in a neat little pile. “Or at least I used to be. I think.”

She turns her face away, and I can tell she’s ready for this conversation to be over. I understand that feeling perfectly well, so I won’t push it. She can talk to me when she’s ready. Or never if she doesn’t want to. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m just here to be a safe place for her to hide away for a little while, because it’s what my grandma would have me do.

Her eye snags on something in my kitchen and I watch as a soft smile curls on her full lips. “The flowers I gave you. You put them in a vase.”

I’m pudding in her hands. Spineless, melted, wobbly, pointless pudding.

“One of my mom’s old vases, actually. My dad gave it to her.” I’m not able to look away from her soft smile, and I’m so angry that I can’t keep the facts of my life hidden from her like I want. I usually don’t like talking about my parents. Or anything that makes me feel in general. I’m not big on sharing my emotions with people. But for some reason, when Amelia’s blue eyes slip to me, I feel stripped. I want to tell her everything.