Chapter 24
I don’t see Noah the rest of the day. In fact, I hate to admit it, I forgot he was in the office until I was turning off the lights in the store and I opened the office door to grab my bag.
The collective yelp from both of us diffuses any guilt I might have had forgetting he was there. He obviously forgot I was around too.
“Sorry,” I say pressing my hand to my chest.
“I think I was too deep into this to realize how late it was,” he says.
I can’t help but want to see what he’s writing, but that’s when I notice that my computer screen is on. He’s not writing. He’s reading.
He’s reading my book!
“What are you doing?” I ask frantically as I nearly fly across the desk to turn off the screen.
Noah’s hands come to my waist as I push him up against the wall in the chair.
He’s laughing, but this isn’t funny.
“You’re on my computer,” I shout.
“You told me I could use it to do research,” he rebuts.
I turn to look at him, as I’m pinned against the desk and him in the chair.
“I did tell you that. I didn’t say you could search my drive.”
Noah holds up his hands in surrender. “That was on the computer when I turned on the screen. I didn’t go looking into anything.”
“You … Seriously …” My words trail off because what he’s saying comes rushing at me. I had opened the file. I had worried over it the other day. “Shit.”
Noah is watching me with wide eyes and a smile that is trying to surface. “It’s really good,” he says.
“It sucks.”
“No. I wouldn’t say that.”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t say it’s awesome.”
He reaches for me, resting his hands on my hips as he eases the chair closer to me. “I would say that if you let me. I could help you work through it and make it perfect.”
“Proof that it’s shit.”
Noah stands, his hands still on my hips and the chair pushed against the wall.
“It’s not shit.”
“I don’t have even an ounce of the talent you do. I don’t want you to read any more of it.”
He studies me. “Emma?—”
“I’m serious,” I say, turning from him and turning off the computer without doing it the proper way—and that’s when I see his legal pad of notes.
I pick it up from the desk and study it.
This has nothing to do with his own work, he’s written explicit notes about my book. My book!
“You had no right to do this,” I say shaking his legal pad.
“I was only?—”
“You were only snooping.”
The lines around his eyes deepen. “You know that’s not true.”
“I have proof,” I say, holding up the pad.
“You have proof that I took and made notes to help you with something that I think has a lot of potential.”
“Proof that you saw something you should have ignored and you didn’t.”
His fingers go to his hair, just as they always do when he’s frustrated.
“Emma, I’m sorry.”
My jaw hurts from clenching it so tightly.
“Maybe you should go for the night.”
His lips part as if he might say something, but then he doesn’t.
Taking the notepad from my hand, he tears off the pages he’d written, and drops them on the desk. Then he takes his laptop off the desk, picks up his bag, and walks out of the office without even putting his computer into the bag.
A moment later, I hear the door open and close, and I fall into the chair.
My eyes sting and tears clog my throat. He had no right to do what he did. What the actual fuck?
He was supposed to be in my office working on his own book and instead he’s editing my book? A book I’ve been working on for decades. A book that will never see the light of day. A book that he never should have seen!
I push up from the chair, rush out of my office and out of the store to the back lot hoping to find him still climbing into his car, or maybe sitting there thinking about what he did. But he’s not here.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I stomp back to the front door of the shop and yank on the door.
It doesn’t open, instead my fingers slip from the handle, and I jolt backward.
The only problem is, there’s a piece of sidewalk that is uneven, and my heel catches on it, flinging me to the ground on my ass, my elbow skidding on the cement.
“Fuck!” I shout as I reach for my elbow, cradling it to me.
My ass throbs, and it’s just late enough that there is no one on the street, well on my side of the street.
There’s an entire patio filled with patrons enjoying barbecue and beer across the street, but no one seems to notice that I’ve flung myself to the ground in a rage of—what—irritation at myself.
The tears are back, my elbow is bleeding, and from my seat on the sidewalk, I realize the door locked behind me. My keys are inside. My phone is inside. Dammit, could this day get any worse?
I cover my mouth with my free hand and let the sobs surface.
“Oh, my gosh. Are you okay?” two women rush down the street toward me.
“You’re bleeding,” one says.
“Did you fall? This sidewalk is horrible,” the other says as they both crouch down next to me.
I blink rapidly to ward away the tears. “I’m okay. I guess the sidewalk won this battle,” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t come through.
“Where’s your phone? Should we call someone?” the woman closest to me asks.
“I’m actually the owner of the bookstore. I’ve locked myself out.”
The woman sits flat on the ground next to me and smiles. “What a shitty day.”
I suppose that it ended that way, but when I think about how I woke up, I cry even more.
“Oh, honey. Did you hit your head?” the other woman asks.
I shake my head and blow out a breath. “No. Just having a moment, I guess.”
The woman sitting next to me pulls her phone from her pocket. “Would you like to use my phone to call someone?” she asks as she hands me her phone.
I nod and dial Lily’s number. Luckily, she’s the kind of person that answers every call. She enjoys the challenge when it’s a spam caller and she can keep them going as long as possible.
“Yep?” she says, because she’s not expecting to know the person on the other end.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say, and then add, “Emma.”
“Where are you? Whose phone are you on? This is a local number, not Noah’s.”
“Would you give me a moment to talk?” I say and I don’t know if it was meant to be humorous or filled with the irritation boiling up in me. “I borrowed this nice woman’s phone, so listen. I locked myself out of the store and then fell on that broken piece of sidewalk.”
“Shit! I’m going to that city council meeting next month and complaining about it again,” she says.
“Lily, are you listening to me?”
“Sweetheart, I already have my keys in my hand and I’m unlocking the car. I’m on my way. Tell me you don’t need me to call 9-1-1.”
“You don’t need to call 9-1-1. We would have already done that.”
“I would have hoped so,” she says and I hear the engine of her car roar to life. “You’re okay?”
“Banged up, but okay.”
“I’ll be there in ten. Sit and play Candy Crush on that phone or something just to keep that woman there with you.”
I laugh and I realize no matter how things end up with Noah, I always have Lily, and she will always have my back.