Chapter 13
Mrs. Packer agrees with Noah’s earlier take on Evan, the love interest in the book. “I didn’t fall in love,” she says.
“How could you not?” Clara Harris, a book club regular, says with a hand pressed to her chest. “He’s looking for answers, and she has them. He treats her so kindly, and when they have that kiss …”
“That kiss?” Mrs. Packer grunts. “Oh, honey, that wasn’t a kiss. That was a lame excuse to feel her boobs.”
A few of the ladies giggle, Mary Lou, a book club regular, covers her mouth in disgust, and poor Clara bats her eyes at Mrs. Packer in disbelief.
“C’mon, girlies, this wasn’t her best book and we know it,” Mrs. Packer lifts her wine to her lips and drinks down what’s left in her glass.
“It was a stretch for sure,” Noah says from his perch against one of the book cases.
I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, but the audible gasps and whispers mean no one knew he was there and now the entire flow of book club has been disturbed.
“See, I told ya,” Mrs. Packer says, acknowledging Noah’s presence.
I eye him coolly, “She’s guarded,” I say to Noah.
“Yeah, I would be too if some buffoon stole my career and turned the entire art world against me with his lies,” he says. “But some historian wanting access to the letters I found in the attic of my new house, that doesn’t warrant the softening of her heart as quickly as it happened.”
“Maybe she was just ready,” I retort.
“Maybe. I mean, sure, obviously she just wanted sex,” he suggests.
Again, those who giggled at Mrs. Packer’s take on Evan, and the one that gasped, do the same thing. Mrs. Packer stands, fills her glass, and another for Noah, and hands it to him.
“See, I told you these girls wouldn’t get it,” she says to him as if they’ve already discussed the book in great detail.
“What’s not to get?” Clara asks. “Alyssa Maxwell is a genius at putting together characters. So, they have sex quickly,” she says, with a wave of her hand as it’s no big deal.
“Not every romance has to be slow burn,” she adds, and the comment is aimed toward Mary Lou whose cheeks are a crimson red now.
“But it has to fit the story,” Noah says, and the whispers begin again among the other ladies.
They’ve figured out who he is, and one even has one of his books in her hand and is comparing the photo on the back of it to the man arguing romance during book club.
“How does it not fit the story?” I ask and Noah’s eyes scan a look over me perched on my oversized reading chair. His lips twitch before turning up into a smile.
“Our dear artist, Emily, hides out in her house and hardly talks to anyone.”
“Normal,” I say, thinking that sounds like Noah—or what I’ve learned about him.
“Sure. Absolutely normal,” he agrees. “What’s not normal is the first man she lets into her house makes a move on her by chapter six? And she lets him?”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” I agree.
“The vagina wants what the vagina wants,” Mrs. Packer injects and now I feel my skin grow warm.
Noah chuckles at that, but keeps his eyes on me.
“All I’m saying is the sex was rushed. It was really good sex,” he admits and again the ladies giggle at that and Mary Lou drinks down her glass of water.
“I think she needed to gain more trust between the characters. Emily wasn’t set up as the kind of woman who would quickly let a man in her bed.
The whole premise just seemed hurried.” He now presses his hand to his chest. “I love a good Alyssa Maxwell book. I mean, c’mon, Wisdom Among Lovers … ” he lets the title linger there.
“Oh, my, god!” Clara holds up a hand in praise. “Gloria and Ruben?” She fans herself and Noah points in her direction.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he defends himself. “That romance was exactly what a romance should be. Well paced and thought out. It was sexier than any of her books, but it was done just right.”
“I’ve read it seven times,” Clara admits.
“Ten,” Mrs. Packer says.
Now Lily has her hand up as if it’s her turn to speak. “I have a dog-eared copy in my night-stand. Page one-hundred-seven,” she says and everyone breaks out into laughter and she turns toward me. “Don’t tell me you don’t have that very annotated copy in your night-stand too.”
“Probably next to her vibrator,” Mrs. Packer adds, and now the flush on my skin turns into a heat that does have my hair going damp.
When I look up, Noah’s eyes are still on me. There is a bit of concern that flash in them, but I think he’s proud of himself for stirring up the women of book club, and now I have to figure out how to rein them all back in.
He lifts his glass toward me, drinks down the wine, then turns to Mrs. Packer and gives her a wink before returning to the office and closing the door.
The next hour goes between discussing all of Alyssa Maxwell’s books and the different pacing of the romances. A few of the women have wandered off among the shelves, and I have no doubt they’re looking for Noah, but I don’t offer any information on his whereabouts.
Mrs. Packer serves up the tarts and Julia helps a few of the women, who weren’t familiar with the other Alyssa Maxwell titles, purchase books and even shows them the scenes we’ve discussed.
I don’t think I’ve ever had book club go so far off the rails, and yet, I have to admit, it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
“I promised Noah a tart,” Mrs. Packer says, handing it to me on a plate.
“He’s just?—”
She nearly shoves it in my direction. “You give it to him when you’re ready,” she says before turning, gathering her bag, and heading out of the store with a wave in Julia’s direction.
I shake my head as I watch the older woman disappear.
I carry the tart to the back room, set it in the refrigerator and remember that the brownie I was going to save for Lily is still there, and she’s already made her exit.
As Julia closes out the register, I take down the folding chairs and stack them in the back room.
“Okay, I’m done,” Julia calls from the front of the store, and I watch as the lights begin to go out, row by row.
I walk to the front. “Thanks for staying,” I say.
“Are you kidding me? That was the funnest night of book club ever. You should make sure Noah is here for all of them.”
Shifting a glance to the office door, I now wonder if he’s still in there. “I think we need to have a bit more control.”
“Why? Mrs. Packer is the one that starts it anyway. She is the dirtiest old lady, and I think it’s just to get under Mary Lou’s skin.” Julia says on a laugh as she picks up her bag from under the counter. “I mean, you forget that the old lady next door used to be a free-loving hippie.”
I don’t seem to forget that at all, but I suppose for someone as young as Julia, that might seem odd.
“I’ll see you on Friday,” she says and heads to the door and I follow so that I can lock it behind her.
That’s when Noah opens the door to the office. The light illuminates him from behind, and aside from his wild hair, which he must have been tousling with his fingers, he looks like a god emerging from a cave.
“Is everyone gone?” he asks.
“Yep. Just getting ready to pack up and head out. Oh, and your tart is in the back.”
“I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Nope, Agnes wouldn’t let me forget to feed her favorite guy,” I tease.
“She does love me,” he says stepping out toward me.
“What was with that?” I ask as Noah starts toward the back room and I follow. “Did you guys have that little thing staged?”
“Have what staged?” he says as he opens the refrigerator and takes out the tart.
“That little act you came out with. It totally threw off book club.”
“No it didn’t,” he says, opening the drawer with the plastic forks, taking one out.
“Yes it did.”
“Did you sell more books?”
“Yes.”
“Then it was successful,” he boasts as he digs his fork into the tart.
“So you did work it up?”
He eats his bite and then runs his tongue over the fork. “No. We didn’t. We had just discussed the book and both felt it wasn’t her best.”
I watch as he takes another bite of the tart. It’s nearly erotic.
“Besides,” he says with his mouth full, “that one lady was way off with her assessment of Emily’s quick trip to the bedroom between these two.”
Watching him fork another bite of the tart, I hear my stomach rumble, and when he lifts his eyes to me, I know he hears it too.
“These are good, huh?” he asks, taking the bite off the fork.
“Usually. I didn’t get one.”
He blinks and looks down at the plate in his hand. “Why?”
“Because Mary Lou is not only a conservative snob who comes to romance book club, reads the books, and then snubs the sexy stuff,” I say thinking about her near pearl-clutching when Mrs. Packer mentioned Evan getting squished up against Emily’s boobs, but I saw the reaction when everyone gushed about the sex scenes in other books, “but she also takes more than her share of treats.”
Noah wields the fork in the air. “Why do you let her in?”
“I don’t send anyone away. She bought the book.”
“But she gets offended when you talk about sex?”
I chuckle. “Every fucking time.”
His eyes are light and his smile softens his face. He looks back down at the dessert and then moves toward me.
“You need to try this,” he says, taking another forkful of the tart.
“I’ve had them before,” I say.
“You haven’t had this one,” he says lifting the fork to my lips.
That moment of watching him eat the dessert now blooms inside of me. He’s toe to toe with me holding out his fork with a bite of tart on it.
My tongue darts out to my lip, then my eyes settle on his lips before I take the bite he’s offering.
And when I take the bite, his tongue brushes against his bottom lip.
Warmth pools inside of me, and I’m careful not to sigh.
The tart is delicious, but the moment is so fucking intimate I could make some very bad decisions.