Chapter 4
It’s business as usual, except that Julia seems to be on mute, and the office door has been closed behind me for hours. I can’t help but wonder what Noah’s process is, locked in my office.
Are his fingers flying across the keys on his computer keyboard? Does he have notebooks full of ideas that he keeps adding to in longhand? Is he researching new and evil ways to off someone?
Will the FBI be knocking on my door because he took me up on my offer and is using my computer for his research?
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the familiar yank yank on the door before it flies back and nearly hits Noah in the face as he opens it.
“It’s like a safety net,” I tell him as he inspects the doorjamb. “I definitely know if someone is breaking in, or out, as the case may be.”
He nods. “I could fix it for you.”
I am so taken aback by his comment, I know that my expression is nearly cartoonish. A Scooby-Doo double take, if you will. “You can do that?”
He shrugs. “I can be handy. Do you have tools?”
Ducking under the counter, I pull out an old, red, metal tool box and hand it to him.
He sets it on the counter, opens it, and frowns down at it. “I might need something more than this. Surely there’s a hardware store?”
“Across the street and down three spaces.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “You can always rely on small towns to have exactly what you need in a short distance.”
“We try to keep up with the times.”
“Bowling alley?”
I wince. “Fresh out. For that you have to travel about twenty miles.”
“And I was just thinking about how much I liked it here. That’s a strike,” he deadpans.
“Pun intended?”
“Indeed.”
Now the corner of my mouth turns up.
I love a good, witty conversation. I have to assume that if I had a daughter, it would be like talking to Julia.
There is a protective stance I take with her, but she’s comfortable enough to talk to me about her life.
Lily and I can get into some deep conversations, and always have.
I can tell her anything—and I mean anything.
But as for someone who can share witty banter with me, I’ve been at a loss for years with that.
Who would have thought I would find that with Noah Carter, the author with whom I’ve only exchanged curt emails?
“I was just going to order a sandwich for lunch from Mrs. Packer’s, if you’re interested. I’d order you one too,” I offer.
He’s studying me, and I feel a heat move through me as he does so.
I suppose he’s trying to see if my intentions are true—you know, the good neighborly kind.
Maybe he’s trying to decide how he’s going to kill me off in his book.
Either way, it’s been a very long time since a man’s eyes searched my face for any kind of truth.
“Does she make those in the front of the store or in the back?” he asks.
“You don’t want an herbal sandwich?” I tease.
“Lettuce is as far as I go on the greens with my lunch.”
“Understood. You’d like a brownie from the front counter as well, and not from the back?”
“We can save that for another day,” he says looking back down at the tool box. “Order up the sandwiches and I’ll pick them up on my way back from the hardware store.”
“You really don’t have to fix my door,” I say, a bit worried about his handyman skills.
“It’ll be a good break.”
“Getting a lot of writing done?” I’m curious, and if we keep up this kind of banter for the next two weeks, maybe I will get to know his process. Maybe it’ll give me a process to write too, and I can finish that damn book that is stuck in my computer.
“Sure,” he says, turning back to the office and retrieving his wallet. “I’ll buy lunch.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’d feel better about it. The other girl …” He looks around the store.
“She’s gone. She’s takes classes at the community college on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“You run the store alone?”
That has me now questioning his motives.
I don’t know this man who hyper-focuses on thriller, horror, death, and terrorism.
I’ve read his very detailed words on dismembering a body.
Maybe I should have had the store fully staffed for these two weeks.
But, I took a self defense class from the local martial arts school.
I feel confident that I could effectively kick him in the groin and yell, “Leave me alone!” if I had to.
In that instant, I also remind myself that if I’m being attacked, I need to yell fire.
People respond when they think there’s a fire—go figure.
“We’re not too busy in the middle of the week until the summer tourists start to pile in.”
“Or the literary seeking crowd in the next few weeks?” he asks.
“For that, it’ll be all hands on deck.”
A silence falls between us and it’s not uncomfortable. Maybe we’re both just old enough that it doesn’t matter. Like, I’m not out to impress him and he’s not out to impress me, so we don’t have to fill this moment with more chatter.
Noah walks around the counter. “I don’t know how long it will take me at the hardware store.”
“Ask for Sam. Tell him what you’re looking to do, and he’ll direct you right to what you need. I have an account, and you can charge anything to it.”
“I got it,” he says.
“I’ll order the sandwiches and they’ll be ready when you get there.”
He nods and walks through the door.
I find that my eyes stay laser focused on him as I watch him cross the street and start toward the hardware store. Then, the curiosity of it all fills me, and I have to turn back to the office and look inside.
His laptop is closed in the center of the desk and there is a legal pad atop it.
There are no notes, just a few drawings, doodles actually.
The air doesn’t buzz with productivity. I remember how the office would look when I’d put in hours of writing.
Surely it’s just his process, and mine is much different.
Picking up a piece of paper from my discarded stack near the printer, I walk back to the counter and write out our orders which I’ll hand to Mrs. Packer through the open door between our stores. I forgot to ask Noah what kind of sandwich he wanted, but at least I know I can add lettuce.
The thought makes me chuckle.
I opt to order a tuna sandwich and a turkey sandwich, and I’ll let him take his pick. If he doesn’t like my choices, he’s free to go and order something different.
My phone chimes on the counter and I pick it up. It’s Katie.
I’ll be in at three to start planning. I have some great ideas for the store, and a list that Julia sent me as well. I can’t wait for this event!
I shake my head as I reply back to her letting her know I’ll be ready.
I hope Julia isn’t stepping on any toes.
I don’t want to stifle her enthusiasm, but this is bigger than our store.
Fitzgerald & Clark is putting a lot of money into this town, so I’m not going to get in their way, and neither are my employees.