When in Rome (When in Rome, #1)

by Sarah Adams

I shove my key in the lock even though I could probably leave the thing wide open at night and no one would even consider vandalizing or stealing anything. In fact, Phil would probably come in and fix the wobbly barstool and then lock the place up for me on his way out.

Stepping inside the shop feels like a hug. It might not look like much to anyone else, but to me, it’s home.

“Last name?” He blows on his coffee and peers at me over the rim of his cup. I turn my eyes up like I’m racking my brain for the answer. Like it’s not been buzzing through my head all morning. Sitting on the tip of my tongue. Racing through my dreams last night.

“I’ll date again when I’m good and ready. But I sure as hell won’t be trying with another woman whose life exists outside of this town—because you know I can’t go with her. And let’s say the world has flipped upside down and she was interested in a pie shop owner from Kentucky; I don’t care to date a celebrity and find out through a tabloid that she cheated on me.”

But the more times I have to put on that facade each day, the more I feel myself slipping away. I miss Amelia.

“ ’Cause I grew up here. I speak dip. It’s a language in and of itself.” “Bilingual,” I state with a light chuckle and let my eyes fall down the same path I traversed a moment ago.

I don’t even know him and I feel safe. Noah is the blanket fort you used to make and hide in as a kid. So warm and reassuring.

When our gazes connect, I feel that same thrill run through me from last night. It’s terror and joy. Hope and dread. All I know is, it gives me the push I need to trust myself.

After she leaves the kitchen, I stand stock-still as her name rolls itself around my head. Amelia. Dammit, that’s something I wish I didn’t know. The sooner I can get Amelia Rose out of my house, the better.

The longer I’m here, the more I feel my limbs tingling back to life. It seems important to stay, no matter how awkward it feels.

No one touches me. Well, that’s not completely true. If I find myself in the middle of a fan mob, everyone tugs, snatches, and gropes at me…but strangers never affectionately touch my hand like a grandmother would. The gesture is so kind and sweet it feels like bubble wrap around my heart.

But no, he’s not a caveman, he’s…classic. Like his truck. Like his phone. Like his handwriting. Like the plaid shirt rolled up over his sturdy forearms.

“I’m trying to break them of swearing so much. When anyone reaches twenty tallies, they have to pay twenty bucks to the cussing jar,” says Annie, closing the notebook and setting it aside. I laugh lightly. “And why’s that?” “Because she’s a wholesome, sweet, little baby angel,” says Emily with a taunting smile. Annie sticks her tongue out at Emily. “At least one of us should make it through the pearly gates and represent for the Walkers.” Madison grins sardonically. “Pearly gates? I’m just trying to make it past the city limits of the fu—orking town.”

Sitting here watching these sisters banter, fuss, and love one another so well, I feel the lack of it in my own life so keenly. I’m desperate for this. To know and be known. I want to burrow my way into their little family and beg for them to make fun of me like they do each other. I want them to skewer me with the obvious truths about myself that I don’t see. I want to laugh and roll my eyes and be one of them. Have what they have.

It’s not infatuation. Not even lust. It’s the worst of all the feelings…care. Care is reckless because it doesn’t come with the seat belt that selfishness offers. Care has so much to lose, and almost always ends in heartbreak. Unfortunately, I’m powerless against keeping my heart in check around her anymore. There’s a very short list of people in my life that I allow myself to truly care for, and it looks like I just added another name to it.

Her gesture rams into me. She’s not asking anything of me. Doesn’t want my money. Just friendship.

Sometimes a woman is just worn out and needs a break, you know?” The lines on her forehead deepen. “That doesn’t prove that you’re weak or neglectful, it proves to all the women standing by and watching you pave the road to success that it’s okay to say no. It’s okay to shut your door every now and then and put up a sign that says Busy taking care of me today. Piss off.”

To my complete shock, Noah hooks his finger around mine, lowering them both slowly down onto the counter. Too many sensations mingle in that small touch, and when he doesn’t immediately remove his finger from mine after they’re finally resting on the counter, my heart gives out. I flatline. Someone get the stretcher.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a man articulate his emotions so well to me before. I didn’t even realize that was something I should expect or hope for. It’s clear that there’s so much more to Noah than his Surly Pose and burnt orange truck. He’s obsessed with flowers. Is protective. Feels deeply, but prefers to keep it to himself. And damn if I don’t find all that sexy as hell.

He lays his cards faceup and he has a winning hand. “You can trust me, Amelia. I won’t exploit your tiredness.”

And now, I’m beginning to think he’s not wrong about that choice of word. I am tired. Tired of loneliness. Tired of distrust. Tired of being taken advantage of. And tired of hiding myself from everyone all the time.

I should let him off the hook and tell him he doesn’t have to spend time with me. But I’ll die before I do that, because even though it’s the worst idea in the world, I want to spend as much time with him as I can while I’m here.

Noah lets me borrow his truck to drive back to his place, and with the windows down and a smile on my face, the strangest thing happens to me. I catch myself singing along to the radio. Something I haven’t felt like doing in a while.

Her eyes are eating up every inch of my bare skin. They linger heavily over my left rib cage where my only tattoo lives. It’s a pie nestled in a bouquet of flowers. Most people would think it’s a ridiculous tattoo to have, but Amelia sees it and her smile says, I knew you were obsessed with flowers. And now I feel doubly exposed because not only is she seeing my skin, she’s seeing my…damn, there’s no less sappy way to put it, she’s seeing my heart.

Good luck ever peeling me off you, buddy. I live here now.

I rest my forehead on Noah’s back, needing support. It’s not until my face is resting against his sturdy back that I realize he might not like me leaning on him like this. I’m wrong. Suddenly, I feel Noah’s fingers discreetly brush against mine. He wraps his hand around my fingers and squeezes. I feel that touch like he’s brushing his fingers across my very soul.

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

I realized tonight that I’m in real danger here of developing feelings 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.

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.

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.

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?

“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!”

What the hell is wrong with me? She’s not mine to get territorial over. If James wanted to go for Amelia, that would be completely…unacceptable. Who am I kidding? I’d kill him. Limb by limb, I’d make it as painful as possible.

I keep trying to tell myself it’s only attraction, but I’m not sure that even I can believe that anymore. Not when she smiles up at me and it feels like my insides burst with light. When I’m dying to know how her night with my sisters went. Wishing I could cancel my day and spend the whole of it just listening to her talk. I’m terrified.

Noah’s eyes drop to my mouth. They linger there for a full in and out breath, before his lashes rise back up to my eyes. “I missed you.” My laughter stops. My heart skips. My lips part. But before I can respond, he adds, “But you’re still a pain in my ass.” How does he manage to say that in a way that makes me feel like I’m back in that fantasy bubble bath?

“I’m trying so hard to stay away,” he says in a low rasp. His eyes track over my face and now the pull between us feels crushing. Unbearable. “And I’m failing.”

Kissing Noah is more than I bargained for. It’s more than I could have hoped—and it convinces me of something that it shouldn’t: we’re good together.

And the problem is, I can’t afford to have my brain scrambled right now. I need every lick of sense I can get to help me withstand falling in love with Amelia Rose. Except…no. I think I already have.

But most of all, I’m mad that I’ve fallen in love with Noah, and I’ll never get to have a life with him.

“I do want something romantic with you. I have since I first laid eyes on you. And you’re not the only one who has developed feelings.”

“To me, you’re Amelia. Maker of shitty pancakes and a smile that rivals the sun. All I want is you.” And just like that, I feel safe.

“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.”

“I don’t want it to be over between us. I can’t let it be over.” I’m breathless with hope. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying fears be damned. I want a relationship if you do.”

“Last night, I held you in my arms and realized I’d be an idiot to ever let you go. Not only an idiot, but I’d be miserable. I could never forgive myself for letting you get away.” I shake my head frantically, smiling and trying not to cry. “Mr. Romantic.” “Mr. Ridiculously Lucky.” “Shush. I told you not to encroach on my nicknames.”

Noah climbs on the bed beside me. He sits upright against the headboard and retrieves a book from his side table, and then he does the most incredible thing: he reads aloud to me. All week I’ve asked him to and he said no. But now he is, and his voice is rumbly and comforting in the most perfect way.

We have so much to talk about, so many decisions to make, but instead, I let myself rest in this moment and lean my head back against the pillow, smiling as I run my fingers up and down his arm while he reads. Maybe he won’t have to have a Gregory Peck face after all?

“I promise I’ll be back, Noah. And you know how you can believe me?” “How?” he asks, with his eyes still closed. I take this moment to study him. To memorize every centimeter of his face. Every wrinkle, eyelash, and curve of his mouth. “Because I found a home and a family with this town and I love them.” I drag in a breath and cup his jaw, angling his face up toward me. “And I love you.”

Tonight, he tells me how much he loves me with his mouth. He tells me how he’s going to miss me with his hands. He tells me we’ll make this work with his body. And when there is nothing left between us besides skin and desire, our hearts tangle with our limbs until I don’t know what’s what anymore. We fall and twist together into this place between reality and dreams. There’s no existence outside these four walls.