Page 47 of When in Rome

“Oh…ha! I guess I do need glasses after all.”

And that’s the last I hear before Noah and I escape into the alley. His fingers are still intertwined with mine, and I’m having to take three steps to his one. We quietly zigzag around dumpsters and trash cans toward the parking lot. When we run out of the alleyway, Noah gestures for me to wait as he walks out into the parking lot and surveys the area. Something about his face right now looks lethal. Like he’s Jason Bourne and navigates situations like this on the regular. When he makes it to his truck, his green eyes lock with mine and he gives me a subtle nod telling me the coast is clear. I stay low, running hunched over so the row of cars and trucks protects me, until I’m at Noah’s truck. We both jump in at the same time and when our doors shut, I let out a breath and sink down against the bench seat. He does the same.

It’s quiet in here and safe. Just like Noah.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” I say, rotating my head toward him.

He’s staring at me. Not smiling. Not frowning.

Noah doesn’t respond, but he lifts his hand to gently brush his fingers across the edge of my new fringe bangs. I had forgotten about my haircut. I still haven’t even seen it, but I’m really hoping it looks like the picture of Zoey Deschanel I showed to Heather as inspiration, and not like one of the photos that magazine articles use to convince readers to never cut their own bangs.

“I chickened out on a full haircut,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious. “But I’ve wanted bangs for a long time and Susan alwaystalked me out of them saying they wouldn’t look right with my face shape.” I want to close my eyes against the feel of his calloused fingers touching my skin. My voice shakes as I continue to babble. “I really hope she was wrong. But I guess it’s too late now. They’ll grow back, though. And if they look bad, I can pin them back.”

His hand falls away, and I look up into his evergreen eyes. His jaw flexes and he turns forward, gripping his steering wheel with one hand and turning the key with the other. “Dammit,” he whispers and then looks at me one more time. “You look very pretty.”

I feel a smile in my soul before it reaches my lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is forme.”

And that’s all he says before backing up and driving us both home in stunned silence.

Chapter 22

Noah

I’m putting myself on a diet. It’s going to be tough, but I’m cutting out all Amelias. Today got out of hand. I think I touched that woman at least a million different times, and each time I told myself to walk away and go do something different, I ended up closer to her somehow. We even made dinner together tonight. DINNER. Well, I guess I made dinner and Amelia helped by sprinkling salt and pepper into the soup when I asked her to. We had chicken soup. Like a little old couple who’s been married for thirty years, we sat on the couch side by side and watchedJeopardy!because that was all that was on my basic channels at the time, slurping our soup in tandem.

Amelia is an interactive viewer. She yelled her answers at the TV, and I tried not to stare at her the whole evening. So I guess you could say we were both busy tonight. And then when her arm brushed mine while dropping our empty bowls into the sink, I almost rolled my eyes at how my body reacted. Like an electric shock took hold of me. An arm brush shouldneverdo that sort of thing tome.

I realized tonight that I’m in real danger here of developingfeelings for her. That’s a problem, because admittedly, I’m that loyal guy who develops feelings and then falls way too hard way too fast. I don’t know how to keep things casual. I hate casual. It’s pointless to me. Like city girls wearing Carhartt beanies.

So yeah, I’m keeping myself cooped up in my bedroom for the rest of the night where I can’t do any more damage to myself. I’m in bed with a book in my lap. Except, I read the same paragraph four times. I’m distracted by my own addiction to Amelia. Every time I hear her bare feet padding down the hallway, I twitch. I cannot let myself touch that doorknob.You can last one freaking night without seeing her, Noah. You survived every night without her before you met her.

But I hear her walking again so I lower my book. My heart rate picks up when I notice her shadow under the crack in my door. Also, I notice that I forgot to fully close the damn thing. It’s resting against the doorjamb so she can’t see inside, but still. One little press of her finger to the door and it would glide right open.

She’s standing there and I know she’s contemplating opening it. I don’t think I want her to. I’ve kept my room purposely closed off from her because I didn’t want her getting to know me at all. This room feels too personal. Too much ofmein here. I like controlling the part of me that Amelia gets to know, and if she came in here, it would be a slippery slope to telling her everything.

Her shadow disappears and I breathe again. She wouldn’t just barge in here. I raise my book again and tell myself to focus on reading.

Chapter 23

Amelia

Don’t go in there, you loon!Ugh. I’m acting ridiculous. Noah went to his room to get some space from me, I know it. So why in the world would I go in search of him? Except, his door is not latched. And that door might as well have developed cartoon eyes and a mouth because it’s smirking at me. Jiggling its eyebrows up and down. Hitching its head a little trying to tempt me inside.Seducer.

I walk away from the door and in an attempt to clear my head of Noah and how much I want to be hanging out with him right now, I slip into the kitchen to call Susan. I realllyyy don’t want to, but I can’t completely step away from my responsibilities. The least I can do is check in with her from time to time to let her know I haven’t been kidnapped. Then, maybe her relentless emails will let up a little, too.

I dial Susan’s number and wait for her to answer. It’s been ringing so long that I think I’m going to get lucky and be sent to her voicemail, where I can at least tell her I tried to reach her. Except the line connects.

“Having fun playing house?” is how she greets me. My heartdrops. I knew she wouldn’t be gushing with excitement, but I didn’t quite expect those harsh words right away, either.

“Uh…what are you talking about?”

“The guy you gushed about last time we talked,” she says in a clipped tone. “I assume he’s the reason you’re still hiding wherever you are. Please at least tell me that you, a world-famous star, are not contemplating having a relationship with an average pie shop owner who will never be good enough for you?”

“Goodness, Susan. That’s harsh, don’t you think? He’s a great guy.”

“Oh my gosh, you are. You’re considering it.” She scoffs. “I honestly can’t believe you’re still wasting your time there. This whole thing makes me worried about your mental state.”

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