When in Rome(59)

He laughs. “No.”

“And you call yourself a reader. You should be ashamed. Do you only have these boring nonfiction books?” I slide a book about ancient philosophers from the shelf, knowing this one will help put me to sleep.

“Put that one back. You’ll hate it. Grab the thick one down there near the bottom.”

“Bossy.” I do as I’m told and slide out what looks to be a fantasy novel of some sort. At least it’s fiction.

I take my treasure with me to the most perfect chair in the world and settle in. I groan loudly and purposely when I get comfy and Noah gives me side-eye from behind his book, but he doesn’t say anything. I grin to myself and turn to page one.

I continue to flip pages over the next hour, but I’m not reading. I don’t even look at the book. I’m soaking into my pores every detail of Noah’s room. The way it smells just like his bodywash. The way the chair’s butter-soft leather feels against my skin. The soft scratching sound of Noah turning the pages in his book. I etch his handsome, manly profile into my memory. I note the way his face softens when he reads. He smiles every now and then, and if it’s because he can sense I’m staring at him or because his war book is funny, I’ll never know.

Just beyond Noah, there’s a picture on his dresser of a boy, three girls, and a mom and dad. My heart squeezes and twists and before I know it, I’m wiping a rogue tear from my cheek. He’s so good—this man. I can’t imagine how I’ll be able to walk away.

How did you do it, Audrey?





Chapter 24


    Amelia


The house smells like popcorn and Pop-Tarts. I don’t know how to cook many things, so when Annie called earlier suggesting we have an Audrey Hepburn introductory movie night tonight, I turned to the only things in Noah’s pantry that I could make without fear of setting the house on fire. Even the popcorn was touch-and-go there for a minute.

“You have everything you need?” Noah asks me, lingering by the front door with his keys in hand.

He and I have steered clear of each other today. Something happened yesterday that has set us on a trajectory that neither of us can afford to follow. First, there’s this ridiculous sexual chemistry between us that, at times, feels like desire is going to set my skin on literal fire. Second, we have an emotional connection. Friendship. Those two combined feel absolutely lethal.

So without acknowledging it, we took a step back. I hung out at his house this afternoon and read more of the fantasy book he let me borrow, and even though he’s supposed to have Mondays off, he went into the shop and worked for most of the afternoon. Now, he’s going to James’s house while the Walker sisters and I take over his house.

“Yep!” I say, mimicking a normal person who isn’t nervous to spend an evening with other women having a girls’ night. But I am. I don’t want a repeat of Hank’s. I’m determined to show them that I’m completely normal. N.O.R.M.A.L. Or at least, trick them into thinking I am.

Noah sees right through me. He can feel my nervous energy from a mile away. My foot is tapping. I’m blinking too much. I’m a bottle rocket about to take off.

He tilts his head slightly, those green eyes zero in on me, and when he lifts his brow invitingly, that’s all it takes for me to spill my guts.

“Okayyyyy. No! I’m so nervous! I don’t think I can do this. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a girls’ movie night? High school, Noah! HIGH SCHOOL! We were still talking about Backstreet Boys and layering our Hollister polo shirts!”

His moody mouth grins, and he takes a step toward where I’m standing on the threshold of the entryway. “You’ll be fine.” He takes another step. Closer, closer, closer. This is why we’ve avoided each other. This keeps happening when we’re in the same vicinity, and I think we’re both incapable of stopping it. Our bodies are on a wavelength our minds are not privy to.

I have to tilt my chin higher and higher as he gets closer. I love that he’s taller than me. “You don’t have any better advice for me?”

“Nope.”

“No tips for how to get your sisters to love me?”

He shrugs. “Don’t get water rings on the coffee table.”

“That will make them love me?”

He’s so close now our chests are nearly touching. “You’ll be fine.”

“Noah?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?” I ask quietly. Like someone else might overhear our secret.

“Hell if I know. I think I was going to hug you.”

I bite my lips against a smile. “Was?”

“Well, now I’m here and I don’t feel like it’s a good idea anymore.”

I nod, unable to keep the smile from my mouth. He doesn’t have to explain. We both feel it like a change in pressure before a storm. There’s no wondering if he likes me or not—I know he does. He wants me, and I want him, but we can’t let that happen. Because for whatever reason, he’s not interested in anything romantic with me. Smart. A relationship with me would complicate his life beyond what he even realizes.

“Might still do it anyway,” he says, either hesitation or nerves touching his voice.

Honesty bleeds between us. “I want you to.”