Chapter 3
Lack of sleep has me fumbling my keys, my bag, and the cup of coffee I just purchased from Pack-a-Punch Coffee, Mrs. Packer’s coffee shop.
It’s just past six-fifty, but thanks to Julia, I was worried about getting to the store by seven in case Noah Carter was to actually arrive that early.
Just from history, or the tabloids, I thought that broody thriller authors would be night owls.
The kind that don’t wake until well past noon, drink coffee and whisky intermittently, and then write up a storm until the sun comes up, and then shut all the blinds as if perhaps the sunlight burns their skin.
“You’re punctual,” the voice comes from behind me just as I get the old key to turn in the lock. Luckily, I don’t startle so easily, and the coffee doesn’t take its opportunity to spill all over me.
“Mr. Carter. Good morning,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Mornin’,” he returns eyeing the cup in my hand. “Is the coffee good?”
I look at the cup, as if it isn’t in my hand burning through the paper cup. “Yes. Mrs. Packer has a special blend.”
He nods. “Super caffeinated?”
I know I’m staring at him now, those eyes deepened by dark circles as if the man hasn’t slept in a decade. I guess that’s the difference. He goes all day and all night? “She has that option. It’s called Ski Bum.”
I’m sure the corner of his mouth lifts at that, but it’s gone as quickly as it surfaced. Without another word, he walks next door to get his caffeine fix for the day.
By the time Noah walks back into the store, I’ve dropped my things on the counter, and begun to clean off my desk for him to work. I thought I’d have time to clear out of my private space, but here he is, now standing in the doorway.
“Sorry, I thought?—”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I know this wasn’t the plan for you. I appreciate you making space for me without warning. I’ll pay you for the extra day.”
I don’t know why I’m so surprised by this. I guess I had just decided, because of our email exchange so many years ago, that this guy was an asshole in person. Well, to be honest, his mood yesterday hadn’t changed my mind. And, he doesn’t seem to be a morning person either.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks, scanning a look around the small room.
“Really, I just need to clear off the desk. I can do everything from the laptop at the counter. And you’re welcome to use the desktop computer if you need to do research or anything on the internet.”
“I appreciate that,” he says.
Hmm, so morning Noah Carter has a soft side when he gets going.
I gather up the stacks of papers and move to the door. Noah steps back and lets me through, and then moves quickly into the office and sets his bag on the desk.
“We have a coffee maker and a small refrigerator of drinks in the back room. You’re free to help yourself.”
He eyes me coolly. “I’ll be fine. I don’t mean to disrupt your day to day.”
“Oh, and the door sticks a bit. So you’ll have to give it a good shove and yank to open and close it.”
“Got it,” he says, but he doesn’t move to close the door. So, I set down the stack of papers I’m carrying on the counter, and close the door myself—pulling it shut until it slams.
Julia arrives just shy of nine o’clock. She’s usually what brings me to life with her morning person attitude. The coffee and the two hours I’m at work in the dark and quiet settle me—Julia brings the spark to the day.
“Have you seen that enormous pothole at First and Main? I swear my car nearly got swallowed up by it. It’s an actual health hazard,” she says.
“Oh, and I talked to the librarian at the elementary school this morning at the donut shop. She says that they’re going to have Audrey Palmer reading to the kids next month.
I told her I’d talk to you about having her come here too. ”
Without me saying anything to her, she keeps walking through the store, flipping on lights on her way to the back room, just as she does every morning.
“When is Katie coming in this morning?” her voice carries through the store. “I have some ideas on how to set up for the signings. And I think we need to rearrange the thriller shelf.”
A moment later the sound of the door behind me being yanked open has me turning.
Noah emerges from the office and looks around the store.
“Disgruntled patron?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.
I look at him. The dark circles are a bit lighter beneath his eyes, and his hair looks as though he’s tunneled his fingers through it over and over. Maybe he wasn’t working in there, but was sleeping.
“Employee with too much energy in the morning,” I say softly, because my morning voice isn’t revved up like Julia’s yet.
Noah nods as we both lift our heads as we hear Julia walking through the shelves.
“We’re going to need to reorganize the back room,” she says from beyond the children’s section. “When Dreamy’s books get here, we’ll need to get them staged.”
I feel the prickle of anxiety creep up my spine as I look toward Noah.
“Dreamy?” he mouths.
I can only smile. I’m not about to confirm that she’s talking about him.
“Dreamy Noah?” she shouts across the store. “Dreamy Daddy?” Julia continues as she works out a name for him.
Now I make a strangled noise as I see the man next to me stiffen.
“Is she talking about me?” he asks, and when I look at him, his eyes have gone wide and he appears to be mortified.
“She thinks you’re, well, dreamy,” I say with a little shrug of my shoulder.
“Disturbing,” he groans, just as Julia emerges from the cookbooks, her arms stacked with books that she’s going to display in the window for the day.
When she sees Noah standing next to me, she goes pale. I’m not so sure she’s not going to pass out, but she recovers quickly.
“Mr. Carter, I didn’t realize you were here,” she says looking confident, but her voice shakes realizing that she just shouted all those things about him throughout the store.
“I am,” he says.
“Well, glad to have you here. Can I get you a coffee? A muffin? Mrs. Packer makes brownies, and I know she has some special ones in the back that you can ask for if you’re needing any kind of pick me up or rest for a few days.”
Again, I hear the strangled noise escape my throat, and Julia looks at me, maybe realizing she might be talking too much.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he says. “I was just going to refill my coffee.”
“C’mon, I’ll show the machine in the back. Mrs. Packer is a bit expensive. I mean, sure, buy one cup, support the local businesses, but then use the machine in the back. More cost effective.”
Noah exchanges a glance with me as Julia disappears behind the shelves again.
“Am I safe with her?” he asks.
“She’s young enough to be your daughter,” I tell him, just as I’d told her about him being old enough to be her father.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Well, just keep your distance and yell out avalanche if you need a safe word,” I say.
“Avalanche?”
I nod.
“I just wanted to practice,” he says, returning to the office and retrieving his paper cup from Pack-a-Punch Coffee, with the logo of a fist, which Mrs. Packer’s grandson created to go with the overly caffeinated coffee.
A few minutes later Noah emerges from the bookshelves with a new coffee mug, this one branded The Reading Nook.
“Your employee thought I should use one of the store mugs if I were going to be in here,” he says, obviously not remembering Julia’s name, and as if he’s explaining why I’ll have to wash that mug later.
“She’s conscious of those kinds of things.”
He stops at the end of the counter and looks at the display with his book and headshot that announces that readers can preorder their copy here.
“This is disturbing too,” he says looking over his picture.
“Why? It’s prompting people to buy. You’re going to be very busy at the signing.”
Noah blows a long breath through his lips and his shoulders drop. “I’m sorry you have to look at this everyday. I don’t know what I was thinking when I had that goatee and now it’s my trademark I guess.”
It’s only then that I realize his face is shadowed with growth, but the goatee wasn’t there yesterday when I met him.
“You look distinguished,” I say, and I hear him chuckle softly.
“I look like someone trying to be someone else,” he says as if there is regret from doing that in his past.
“We could take a new picture and stick it over the sign,” I offer and watch as he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
“I’m not sure that would be better.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re worried, no one will recognize you …”
“Well, the anonymity is nice.”
And there is a new side to this man that I don’t really know at all. I wonder how he’s going to make it through this event if he’s not comfortable with people looking at him. He’s going to be the biggest draw here.
He passes behind the counter, back to the office, and closes the door with some effort.
Suddenly, without even knowing him, I feel protective of him. I look at the sign prominently displayed on the counter. I can’t take it down. I’ll lose sales. But my mind is now fixated on how I can make it better for him.