When in Rome
: Chapter 23

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 heart drops. 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.”

“HA!” I bark out an unamused laugh. “Now you’re worried about my mental state? I’m trying to tell you, Susan, that I feel better than I have in years. I needed a break.” I’m done apologizing for needing a vacation.

“I would have scheduled you a spa day, you know? Anyway, I’m just going into a meeting. Since you’re on the phone, I’m going to hand you to Claire so she can go over the scheduling I need answers for. When you’re ready to be a professional again, call me and I’ll send you a car.”

My jaw is on the floor, almost unable to believe she would talk to me like this. But then I guess she’s never had to talk to me like this because I’ve always nodded, smiled, and agreed to everything she’s ever asked of me. Polite, polite, polite.

“Hi,” Claire says tentatively after Susan hands her the phone.

“Hey, Claire.”

“So, Susan wanted me to talk to you about the opening week of the tour and—” Claire pauses and I hear a door shut. She then lets out a full breath. “Okay, she’s gone. Listen, I just have to tell you a few things because I can’t keep it to myself any longer. First, I’m not sure how many more days I’ll be working for Susan. She’s a nightmare. So much of a nightmare, I see a therapist weekly where I do nothing but talk about Susan.” She pauses, but not long enough for me to interject.

“The thing is, she’s terrible and there’s a lot going on behind your back that I just found out about. I don’t have time to fill you in now, but I will when you come back to town. Which, I hope you don’t do quickly, because I’m so happy you finally took a vacation. I could see you needed it, but I’ve been too cowardly to say anything until now.” Another brief silence that I don’t fill because I’m too stunned to speak.

“Listen, I don’t want you to have to worry about work. So I’m going to tell Susan your call dropped and I couldn’t get ahold of you again.” Who is this person? I’m having trouble reconciling her with the quiet woman who usually stands in Susan’s shadow. I want to jump through the phone and hug her.

“Claire,” I say quickly because I can feel that she’s getting ready to end the call. “Thank you. Just…thank you. Do what you need to do to take care of yourself, but I’ll be sad to lose you from the team. Let’s talk when I get back.”

“Sure thing,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Bye, Amelia.”

When Claire hangs up, my head is spinning. I needed something to take my mind off Noah and, boy, did that do the trick. I have so much to consider now. So much to decide. And what is going on behind my back that I don’t know about?

I march my way down the hallway, intending to disappear into my room and contemplate all my options for the future. For once, it doesn’t feel set in stone. I feel like I can make some changes. Like I should make some changes. Except I never make it to my room, because while walking down the hallway, I trip on the bottom hem of these too-long pj bottoms and flail right into Noah’s door where my body throws it open with the force of a 60 mph wind. I fall flat on my belly, sprawled out over his floor like a starfish.

I gasp and sit up, where I find Noah, wide eyed and gaping at me from his seated position on his bed. He blinks. I blink. And then we both talk at the same time.

Me: I’m sorry I fell into your room, it was an accident!

Him: Holy shit are you okay? That was a hard fall!

We both make no attempts to move.

He lets me talk first this time. “I’m fine. My ego is a little bruised, but I’m—” My eyes finally snag on Noah’s chest and he’s…he’s wearing the exact same pj set as the one I’m wearing, but in the color gray. My smile blooms wide and wicked as I pop up to my feet with renewed vigor. He gives me a warning look after noticing the sparkle in my eyes.

I point anyway. “You have more of these pj sets! And you wear them!”

He wets his lips and rolls his eyes, snapping shut the book he was reading—oh my gosh Noah is a reader—and sets it aside. “Okay, get it all out of your system.”

“These weren’t just a gag gift. You own them because you love them. Noah, the Classic Man, is even more classic than I ever knew. Look at you wearing collars on your pj’s. Oh my gosh, you have them all the way buttoned up!” And still looks fine as ever in them. It’s unfair.

He should look ridiculous in a buttoned-up matching set of pa-ja-mas, as he would call them. But no. He looks sexy as hell. Comfy in cotton. Like a handsome businessman in the 1950s just before he puts on his suit, and fedora, and goes to his fancy job on Wall Street to do businessy stuff. And the way his broad chest and shoulders fill out that shirt is undeniably, knee-knockingly delicious. Mainly because I can imagine sitting across his lap and unbuttoning each and every one of those little buttons.

“The first pair was given to me as a gag gift.” He pauses. “But then I wore them and liked how warm they were.”

“How many, Noah? How many do you own?” I ask and I think it sounds a tad bit too seductive. But I can’t help it. Apparently matching pajama sets on men get me hot.

He swallows. “Ten.”

“TEN!” I practically chant this word. I’m so delighted by his answer I can’t stand it. Noah owns ten pairs of adorable old-man pj’s. “Do any of them have cute little prints on them?”

“No. They’re all plain.”

“Of course they are,” I say happily. He’d never be caught dead in something festive or peppy.

This is bad news. Very bad news. Because now I officially, without doubt, feel something for Noah. I like him. I genuinely like him. And I’m attracted to him in a big way, and just the scent of him has my blood rocketing through my veins. My heart is inflating like it’s attached to a bike pump. Now that I’m in here, I don’t want to leave.

“Noah,” I say softly, not taking my eyes from his face. “Can I look around your room? I won’t intrude on your privacy if you don’t want me to.” I mean it, too. I’ll shut my eyes right now and stumble out of here if me seeing his room makes him uncomfortable.

His emerald eyes hold mine, he fills his lungs with air, and then lets it out in a whoosh. “You can look around.”

He just gave me the keys to Disney World.

I smile and turn to look at the room. And that’s when I see the shelves and shelves of books. This man does not just read…he’s a book nerd. I feel Noah’s eyes on me as I step up to the wall-to-wall floating bookshelf. It’s a beautiful design. It’s made of exposed wood and black brushed steel. I don’t know if he built it or had someone else install it, but clearly it’s important to him, because it’s very well crafted—which makes it achingly sweet.

Noah lightly clears his throat. “My dad was a big reader. A lot of these books were actually his.”

Pies, flowers, and books. Little by little I’m able to string together these parts of Noah. It’s sort of terrifying that he’s turning out to be more wonderful than I expected.

I tuck my hands behind my back like I’m in a museum and everything around me is precious and fragile. “Why do you keep it hidden away in here?”

He chuckles lightly, and I love the rumble of it. “It’s not hidden away.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “You literally have it inside a room that you keep shut at all times and never let me peek into. It’s hidden.”

He’s still sitting up against the headboard, and the sight of it is so intimate for some reason I have to look away. I think he would feel less vulnerable if he were standing in front of me completely naked. But seeing him lounging in bed in his favorite pj’s in his favorite room around all his favorite books is intensely vulnerable.

“All right, I guess it’s a little hidden. I like to keep my life private. I only let certain people know me on this level.”

I touch a hardback—a biography of a World War II soldier. “But not me because I’m just a celebrity passing through.” My voice is light and airy. I don’t look at him, I just keep looking through his library of mostly nonfiction books. Apparently he enjoys learning about anything and everything. It doesn’t surprise me.

“Right,” he says quietly. “I guess you could say I’m a little jaded. I like to keep the number of people who know the emotional parts of me to a minimum.”

I look at him. “I understand. I really do. I think you’ve already endured enough heartbreak for a lifetime, and if I were you, I’d protect myself, too.” His brows pinch together like my words are a punch to his gut. I see his jaw clench and he blinks before turning his green eyes to the corner of the room.

“You can hang out if you want. Pick out a book.” Noah gestures with his head toward the corner behind me.

I turn around and there’s the most comfy, masculine-looking cracked leather armchair in the corner of the room. A cozy blanket is draped over the back with a standing lamp behind it. It calls to me. It would be a hug, that chair. The most comfortable place to sit in the entire world from years of being worn in by Noah’s body. I can’t sit there. I can’t invade his space like that.

“That’s okay. Thank you, but I’ll let you have your night to yourself back here.” I turn to flee, but Noah’s voice stops me.

“Amelia, stay. Please.”

I slowly slide my gaze to him, and I know my face is contorted into a wobbly expression. “Are you sure? I won’t be a quiet companion. I’m incapable of it.” Best to get this truth out in the open now.

He grins. “I know.”

I start backing toward the chair. “And I don’t sit still very well. I’ll probably be noisy over here. I bounce my foot when I sit too long.”

“That’s okay.”

“Will you read to me from your book?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“PRETTY PLEASE?”

He gives me a look over the top of his book like I’m annoying him to his core, and I smile and turn my attention to the shelf, making a big show of looking for the perfect book. “Do you at least have any romance books? Something steamy and emotional?”

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?

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