Chapter 18
Noah hasn’t left the office. I finally made sense, or he’s now hiding from me too. Either way, he’s still close by.
I’ve warded off at least a dozen questions about Noah being in town.
“Is he staying here all week?”
“Is he as sexy as he is on the book cover?”
“I hear he’s actually quite scary,” one woman said and even Lily laughed at that one.
“No, he’s not scary at all,” I defend him.
“He writes really dark,” she continued. “Do you think he’s mentally stable?”
I think about the conversation I had with him, and he was more stable than I was. “I think his mental state is just fine. He’s very creative,” I say and the woman nods.
“I don’t usually read thrillers, but my sister got me hooked on his. I’ve read them all. I can’t wait until the next one comes out in a few weeks.”
“It’s fantastic. You’ll really enjoy it.”
Her eyes go wide. “You’ve read it? You have copies?”
Sometimes those advanced copies get me in trouble. But I find it easy to talk about Noah and what he does. Why I feel pride in it, I don’t know. Even though I’ve been letting him kiss me, okay and I kiss him too, it doesn’t mean I really know him.
“They sent us an early copy.”
“Can I get one of those?” The woman actually leans in over the counter.
“I’m sorry. They are only distributed to stores so the publisher can get orders,” I say, as she doesn’t know how the process works, so what does it matter.
“That’s too bad. I wish I could be here for that book event. I’d love to meet him. Someone said they saw him in town, but I haven’t seen him.”
“Are you from near by?”
“Forrest Hill,” she says of the town twenty miles away. “It was worth the drive over.”
“He’ll be sorry he missed meeting you, I’m sure.”
The woman reaches over the counter to retrieve a stack of sticky notes, and then proceeds to write her phone number and email address on one of them. “If he does come back, call me. Seriously, I want to meet him.”
“If I see him, I’ll let him know,” I tell the woman and then watch as she picks up her The Reading Nook canvas bag, and walks toward the door to the cafe.
I press my fingers to my forehead and Lily watches me. “That’s how it’s been all morning. When he walked in, I thought I was going to have to call the police.”
“I love that the literary world is so admiring,” I say.
“So either he needs to work somewhere else, or he’s going to have to appease the adoring fans.”
I look toward the office. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe this will die down in a day. I don’t think this is normal.”
Lily shrugs. “Call Stephen King, see what he says.”
Most authors walk into the store and have to introduce themselves to me. No one looks like they do on their book covers—except for Noah Carter, I guess.
The door to the office opens slightly. “Is it clear?”
I look around and the store has emptied but a few people in the romance section and another in cookbooks. “I think you’re fine.”
“I came to stock those shelves you were talking about,” he says and I eye him coolly and then notice that Lily is doing the same thing.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Lily asks. “Is there some contractual thing that says you can’t be signing books before the event?”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “No. Just not the book that was delivered to your back room.”
Lily nods. “C’mon, stock boy. Let me show you the ropes,” she says, leading Noah toward the back of the store.
Picking up the stack of mail on the counter, I decide it’s a good time to sort through it and pay what bills came in.
I walk to my office, sit behind the desk, and begin to sort the papers. Noah’s stuff is still packed in his commuter bag.
Laying the papers on my desk, I sort through the bills, flyers, and junk.
Reaching to my computer screen and turn it on. My manuscript pops up. I’d forgotten I’d opened it the last time I was on my computer.
I swipe to the next screen and open my bookkeeping software.
Ten minutes into paying bills, I get an email from Katie.
Emma,
I’m headed back on Sunday, would you have time for dinner?
Also, Sylvia St. Clare is arriving early as well.
She will be in town the week prior to the event and would like to come into the store to get a feel for it, and to sign books.
She likes to sign them and then personalize the ones that are sold at events.
She feels it gives her more time to mingle with the reader.
I hope Noah isn’t giving you any grief. He says he’s fine, but then again, that’s what he always says.
I’ll talk to you soon,
Katie
I ease back in my chair. This email has my muscles tensing. There’s so much to unpack here.
Dinner on Sunday when Katie gets back is one thing.
I know I’m going to be working with her quite a bit on the event, but why is Sylvia St. Clare showing up early?
Well, I know why, and that gets to me too.
Is that a clever scheme? If Sylvia St. Clare signs all of my inventory, I can’t send it back.
What if the crowd coming to see her doesn’t buy as many books as Katie decided would sell?
I can’t return them. And does Sylvia know Noah is here?
Is she coming here to be with him? Kiss him? To finish what they started?
There is an ache in my chest, and I hate that it’s there. I shouldn’t care who he has or will kiss. He’s not from here. He’s kissing me and then he’s leaving.
Heat crawls up my neck and I flip from the email reader back to the screen with my bookkeeping, but the screen with my book flashes first and I go back to it.
I look at the words on the page.
I started this book when I believed in love. Back when I knew the meaning of the word.
But as my marriage crumbled, so did the plot.
My main characters got bitter.
The sex got vicious and sad.
I had no happily ever after.
It didn’t matter how many books I read, how many sex scenes I dog-eared, or how many pivotal moments I annotated, I couldn’t get the desire back in me to make the book good.
Writing isn’t for me. Selling books that make others happy, that’s my calling, I think. That’s my happily ever after.
My head pops up when the door opens and I see Noah’s wide smile.
Quickly, I turn off the screen, making that sad happily never after disappear so he won’t see it.
“Penelope Winters?” he says the name on a questioning laugh.
“What about her?”
“She’s a regular?” he says as he walks into the office.
“She comes in twice a week and buys two books each trip.”
His smile widens. “Lily says I need a commission.”
I ease back in my chair again and cross my arms in front of me. “Why exactly?”
“Today’s sale was six books.”
I can’t help but laugh when he does some little celebration dance, and it’s so unnatural, I wonder if he’s ever danced in his life.
“And she bought six books because of you?” I ask.
“She sure did. Had no idea who I was, didn’t care.
When I mentioned thriller to her, she turned up her nose and almost gagged.
But, because I’m knowledgeable about the romance genre, she walked out with six, yes six,” he states again, “books, including the new Jennifer Zeppelin book, and one of those cute annotation kits that you have at the front counter. So bonus points for showing her the good stuff.”
He is so proud of himself that I stand, pull him closer to the desk, secure the office door, and wrap my arms around him.
Much as he had earlier, he turns me so that my back is against the door as our mouths come together in a heated kiss that has the temperature of the room rising a good ten degrees.
“Congratulations, Mr. Carter,” I breathe out the words as his fingers press into my hips and his mouth moves over my throat.
“Is this my bonus?”
“Does it work for you?”
He lets out a deep groan and it rattles through both of us. “It’ll do for now,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine.
They’re dark and full of need.
I know I’m scared to death that this man is going to use me and leave, but I’m all in. I guess this is the adventure.
“For now?” I say, my own breath ragged.
“For now,” he says again and suddenly I can’t wait for later.