When in Rome(50)

“Thank you. And for that, I think you’re as sweet as maple syrup.” He groans and rolls his eyes when he realizes I’m teasing him again, and he begins walking away from me, one booted foot at a time. I continue, “Not quite powdered sugar, of course, but don’t worry! If you try hard enough, you’ll achieve my highest level of sweetness!”

He stops walking abruptly and then falls in step behind me, softly poking my back. I frown over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the off switch.” Now I stop walking and he passes right by me, an easy grin plastered on his mouth like he didn’t just play again, continuing to shatter all my preconceived notions about Grumpy Pie Shop Owner. “Come on, chatterbox.” He signals with his arm for me to catch up. “We’re starting at the diner, where we don’t have to eat sand-pancakes.”



* * *



—

“What should I get?” I ask Noah, looking over the top of the laminated, and slightly sticky, diner menu.

“Whatever the hell you want.”

I get it. He needs more coffee. I’ve been around him enough now to know that he requires a steady stream of the stuff to maintain a less-than-murderous attitude. And he takes it black, no sugar, no cream. Just like his personality. Noah is a no-frills guy.

“I think I’ll get the—” I’m interrupted by my phone buzzing on the table. It must have just grabbed a random bar of service because it is buzzing its heart out with incoming text messages. I shouldn’t have brought it with me, but it felt wrong leaving it behind when I’m so used to having it on me at all times. Now I regret it. Noah stares at the poor little thing with lifted eyebrows.

“Whoa. Someone really wants to get ahold of you.”

And just like that, the happy feelings I’ve had floating around me all day vanish. Reality always finds me. I pick up my phone and swipe it open even though I already know what I’ll see.

Susan: Please tell me you are still maintaining your nutritional plan while you’re gone? Just because you’re away doesn’t mean it’s a true vacation. Your stage costumes are already finalized.

Susan: Pie is not on the nutritional plan btw.

Susan: And speaking of, neither are pie shop owners. Keep your head on straight while you’re away. You’re too good for a man like that.

Susan: Surprise, surprise, your mom emailed me this morning from your Malibu house asking where the key to your Land Rover is. Also, I extended your offer to have her join you for the first few dates of the tour but she said she has too much going on.



I set down my phone and look up. Noah is studying me. I muster up a smile and resume my menu-reading. “Okay…what was I saying? Oh yeah. I think I’m going to get an order of the French toast, too. Is it good?”

When he doesn’t answer, I glance up again. A frown is etched between his eyes. Strong jaw working. He shakes his head lightly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Fake it.” He gestures toward where I just put my phone. “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever it is you just read?”

Ugh. Here he goes again! Why is it the one person who can only be temporary in my life is the one who wants to understand me? Be there for me without me having to ask for it?

“I think I’ll respond to that question with the same answer you gave me before you left last night. Nope.” I overly pronounce each letter, reveling in my ability to squash the voice chanting polite, polite, polite in my head. Not with Noah. Never with Noah.

His mouth tilts in a grin. “Fair enough.”

A moment later, a young waitress comes to the table. “Hi y’all. What can I get for you?” Other than smiling extrawide at me, she doesn’t treat me any different than Noah. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the freedom the people in this town give me. I want to package it up and take it back to the real world with me.

“I’ll have an order of pancakes and French toast,” I say, “and he needs more coffee ASAP. Gets really grumpy if I don’t keep a steady supply dripping through his veins.”

Noah scowls at me but the waitress tilts back her head full of pretty red hair with a delighted laugh. “She’s right on the money! Glad you finally found yourself a woman who knows how to handle you, Noah.”

Noah hurries to say, “She’s not my woman.”

I give her a polite smile. “I’m making a sign to carry around the rest of the day with those exact words just so he’ll quit getting his panties in a wad about it.” This earns me another frown from Noah. But here’s the thing, the frown is laced with a smile. I don’t know how he does it, but the man can smile and frown at the same time.

“Well, I’ll admit,” says the waitress, turning to me while taking her pencil and settling it behind her ear. “I was surprised when I heard the rumor that you two were an item given his history and general dislike for women since then.”

I raise a brow. “His history?”

“I’ll have eggs and a biscuit, Jeanine,” Noah barks across the table. Jeanine pays him no attention.

“Girl, yes. He was head over heels for that fancy New Yorker for years, you know?”

My eyes widen. “No. I had no idea.” I look at Noah, trying to picture this old-fashioned man who hates Wi-Fi and doesn’t own a cell phone and drives a burnt orange pickup truck with a pants-suited New York elitist on his arm. Another paradox.