When in Rome(84)

I pull out the shop key and unlock the door, going about my morning business as usual. I flick on the lights. Pull the barstools off the table. Head into the back to turn on the ovens. And then when I realize Amelia isn’t with me anymore, I look to the front of the shop and find her standing in the middle of the room, looking completely shaken. Her eyes are a little dazed and I can feel the emotions swarming around her.

“Amelia?” I ask cautiously.

“I don’t want to go back,” she says, her eyes snapping to me. “I’m going to live here now. No more celebrity life for me. Cancel the tour. I’m done with music.”





Chapter 33


    Amelia


Noah approaches me until we’re an arm’s length apart. He stops and crosses his arms, shoulders stretching the fabric of his T-shirt and looking as stern as a rock. Surly Pose.

Truth is, I don’t intend to quit and he knows it. I can’t cancel the tour even if I wanted to. Contracts have me bound at the ankles. But I am feeling. Feeling so much and so strongly about everything that I can’t quite handle it. I love being here with Noah. I love walking through this town and feeling the heartbeat of its personality. I can’t believe I have to leave it. And because I can’t fall into tears right now, and there’s nothing I can do about my quickly approaching real life, I have to fight with Noah. Because I know he’ll let me, and it’ll help.

His eyes narrow lightly as he scans my soul. “Say it again,” he says in a steely tone that has shivers running over my skin. “I need to watch your face as you say it.”

I take a moment to summon my best lying skills so I can pass this test. I need him to think I’m serious. Fight with me, Noah. Distract me from these feelings. I tilt my chin up. “I said, I’m quitting music.” Unfortunately, I think the last word ratted me out. My voice shook. Also, it probably doesn’t help that this morning as I lay in bed with Noah, I sang to him the few verses I’ve been working on the last few days and told him how excited I was about them.

Something sparks in Noah’s green eyes. He knows I’m a little liar now because he’s come to recognize my tells.

“You can’t quit. I won’t allow it,” he says sharply—argumentatively—and he’s onto my game but is putting a fresh spin on it. A hot spin, judging by the way the corner of his moody mouth twitches ever so slightly. You want to play, I’ll play, says his grumpy-handsome face.

“I can if I want.” I’m defiant as I take a step toward him. With anyone else I’m grace and poise—I’m Audrey. Polite, polite, polite. But with Noah, I speak my mind. I’m not afraid to look silly. To fight and argue and get messy. I cast an explorative glance around The Pie Shop. “In fact, I think I’ll just work here…with you.”

“I’m not hiring.” He pauses. “Besides, I’ve seen your baking skills.”

“That’s only because you refuse to teach me. I can learn, though.”

Noah steps forward, the gap between us slowly disappearing and searing heat crackling between us. “No. I won’t let you work here.”

“Ha!” I raise my chin. “I’m Rae Rose. I’ve built a musical empire and a cult following that would risk their lives if I asked them to. I’d like to see you try to stop me from doing anything.” I wish I was actually this confident.

“If you quit, I won’t talk to you again.”

This makes me smile. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can hold out?”

He grunts an affirmative response, but his actions are telling a different story. His hands are somehow on my waist and he’s been slowly backing me up until I’m close enough for him to lift me up onto the counter. Memories of last night dash through my mind and my pulse sledgehammers against my ribs.

“Easy.” He’s cocky with that hat casting a dark shadow over his eyes. Brooding and commanding. I rip it off—splashing his face in light and then running my hand through his messy hair. It’s tossed and perfect. On the brink of needing a haircut, but not quite there yet.

“So let’s just say I quit and I’m living here. I’m at your sisters’ house making pancakes while you’re over there. You see me reach for the salt instead of the sugar and raise it over the mixing bowl. You still don’t say anything to me?”

His mouth tilts sardonically. Amateur hour, his eyes say. “I don’t eat your pancakes anyways so it doesn’t affect me.” First of all, rude. Second, I never want to stop playing with Noah.

“Fine. I’ll up the stakes then.” My hands glide up his chest and clasp at his neck, pulling him between my legs, lightly toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. His fingertips press firmly into my hips. “I’m crossing the street, and I don’t see an oncoming car. You still don’t say anything?”

His eyes hover down at my lips. “Not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

“And I’m trying not to be the reason you give up your dreams.” Bam. Truth falls between us and ruins the game.

There’s a moment of silence, where only the tension in our bodies is speaking, where our fingertips say words that our mouths never will. My hold around his neck tightens. He slides his hands all the way around to hug my hips up close to his.