Page 35 of When in Rome

“Did she give you crap aboutit?”

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 offDo Something Excitingfrom 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 medo.

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 mefeelin 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.

“They both died when I was ten.” I swallow. “They were big outdoorsy people and loved to go on extreme hikes for vacations. There was a freak accident while they were camping for their anniversary in Colorado. Storm came out of nowhere…and…there was a lot of lightning, and well, they didn’t make it off the mountain. My grandma took over guardianship and raised me and my sisters after that.”

Amelia’s hand drops to mine and she squeezes. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice is nothing but gentleness. And the way she’s looking at me, it’s been a long time since anyone has looked at me like that. Like she wishes she could take care of me. The skin of her hand is soft, and the smell of her bodywash is something warm and comforting, and because I suddenly find myself wanting to lean into her and kiss a line up her exposed throat, I stand up. Pulling myhand out from hers, I head into the kitchen just behind the sofa. There. A much-needed barrier.

“It was a long time ago. No need to be sorry for anything.” Where’s my metal trash can? I’ll happily climb inside and pull down the lid right now, because I like being Oscar the Grouch. That trash can is comfy, and I’ve really made it homey in there. Keeps strangers out, and even better, keeps beautiful singers who will only treat my heart like an all-you-can-eat buffet at a distance.

She hesitates a moment. “Okay. Are you sure you don’t wantto—”

“Nope,” I interrupt while slapping my baseball hat back on my head, knowing she was going to offer to talk more about it. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is talk. About anything. Ever. Words make me uncomfortable. And why would I share anything with her when she’ll be gone before I knowit?

She laughs lightly—but not with amusement. It’s more like bewilderment. “I don’t know what to think about you, Noah.”

I pick up my keys. “Just don’t think about me at all and you’ll be fine.” I want to look back at her, which is why I don’t. “I’ll be back late. There’s leftover vegetable stew in the fridge. Don’t take any more sleeping pills. Oh, and by the way.” I pause and give into temptation, looking back at her wide puppy dog eyes one last time tonight. “You can’t have my pancake recipe. It’s a secret.”

Chapter 16

Noah

After parking my truck, I walk to The Pie Shop, and see that my sisters have already beaten me here. It’s dark outside so I’m able to see a straight shot into the lit-up shop, card table in the center of the usually open area, junk food on the countertop, and my sisters all gathered around the table drinking and laughing. It’s Saturday night, aka our night to get together and play hearts. We’ve been doing it since I came back to town three years ago. And since none of us ever have anything to do on the weekend (singletons party of four) we rarely miss a Saturday night. Despite the fact that we’re pretty much on display, it’s after business hours, and the town knows not to disturb us. Because if there’s anything citizens of Rome, Kentucky, love, it’s familial traditions. No way in hell they’d stand in the way of that.

I open the door and step inside to the cheers and whistles of my overzealous baby sisters. “There he is! Casanova!” yells Emily, with her hands cupped around her mouth.

“No! Not Casanova…something more tragic and brooding. Romeo, for sure,” says Madison.

I flip them all off and go over to the counter, where I set downthe case of beer I picked up on the way in. It looks like each of my sisters brought a case, too, so I take this one into the back to stick in the fridge for next week. When I return to the shop front, my sisters are still debating my nickname. They think they are absolutely hilarious.

Emily is kicked back with her tube-socked feet up on the card table, catching jelly beans in her mouth in between debates. Annie is sitting cross-legged at the table, reading a book and minding her own business as usual. And Madison is sitting on the card table, painting her toenails. She always keeps nail polish in her purse for moments like this.

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