Chapter 25
Lily sets a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of me before sitting next to me, her legs tucked up under her.
She brushes one of my peppered curls behind my ear. “Are you ready to tell me how you locked yourself out of the store?”
I’ve been sobbing since she picked me up off the sidewalk and poured me into her car. Now, seated on her sofa, where I will sleep, she watches me and waits.
“He crossed the line. He read my book,” I say, my lip quivering.
“He read your book.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve read your book,” she reminds me.
“It’s not the same. I let you read my book.”
She crinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I don’t think you did. If I remember correctly, you had a huge ream of paper that you protectively hovered over and I stole it.”
I blink at her, pick up my tea, and study her as she smiles at me.
“I didn’t let you read it?” I ask.
“No. But it was good. And I know you’ve rewritten it ten times since I read it, so I’m sure it’s even better.”
I worry my lip as I lift my cup to my mouth. “You think it was good?”
“It was good, Em,” she says with that irritated edge of I’ve told you this a hundred times already, kind of tone.
I sip my tea and shake my head. “He had no right. Besides, he had an entire list of things to fix.”
Lily puckers her lips and studies me. “So a New York Times Best Selling author has notes on your manuscript that sits on your computer. You know, a man who has published, how many books? Oh, that’s right, people clamor for his attention and make his books into movies.
I’m sure he doesn’t have anything constructive to say about your book.
I mean, how would he know how to craft a good book?
Nor would he have connections to make one of your lifelong dreams come true.
What a fucking bastard,” she says, picking up her own tea and sipping as she stoically watches me over the top of her cup.
I’m not wrong.
He crossed a line.
He should have been working on his own book. Doesn’t he have a deadline?
He was wrong to do what he did, only now, I wonder what those notes say.
“I’m going to head out,” I say, setting my cup on the table, but Lily is shaking her head.
“You’re not going anywhere. Your elbow is the size of an orange and needs to be iced.
That huge bandage on your arm needs to be changed.
Your ass is sore. Your attitude sucks. Your car is still at the store, and you just need to stay right where you are, sleep off your pissy mood, and go back tomorrow. ”
I adjust the ice under my elbow and think about tomorrow. Katie returns and we have plans for dinner. I’m not sure I’m up for that, but I won’t back out.
I can’t imagine I’ll even see Noah tomorrow. Why would he want to be anywhere near me after I acted like I had?
Lily picks up the remote to the TV and aims it at the screen. She scrolls through the channels and stops on Sweet Home Alabama .
I move in closer to her and rest my head on her shoulder.
There are no more words between us. Until I fall asleep on her couch, and wear one of her dresses to work tomorrow, I’ll sit in the quiet with my ride or die friend and let her comfort me and my mixed up emotions.
I haven’t heard from Lily yet, but I suppose that I’ll get that text any minute. It’s just past six o’clock in the morning and I basically snuck out of the house, but the thought of looking at those notes that Noah left on my desk kept me up most the night.
Luckily, she only lives a mile from the center of town, and she leaves the keys to the store in her key bowl by the door. The walk was good to clear my head. Not that I’m thinking any straighter.
“You’re super early,” Mrs. Packer says from the doorway of her store as I walk up to my store.
“I am. What are you doing here? Are you opening on Sundays now?” I ask as I slide my key into the lock on the door.
“Planning,” she says. “I’ll be open all week during your book event thing.”
That makes me smile. “It’ll be an epic week.”
I unlock the door and push it open, closing and locking it behind me. Without turning on any of the lights, I walk to my office where the door is open and the light is still on from last night when I ran out of the store.
The notes Noah tore from the pad still lay piled on the desk.
I reach for them, but then pull back my hand as if they’ll burn when I look at them.
Instead, I sit down, turn on my computer, and bring up my manuscript.
I read a few pages and then look over at the notes.
They’re just words. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad that he read them.
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I pick up the notes and look over them.
There are a few notes that mention the scene and the names of the characters all starting with the letter C. That actually makes me chuckle, because I had never thought about how confusing that could be.
He has a few questions written down about storyline and I study them. Everything he has written down makes sense. If I took these questions and addressed them, would I feel better about the story?
I take his first question and scroll through the manuscript until I find what it is he’s talking about.
Reading through the scene, I realize I have a gaping hole in the story.
There is a flutter in my chest as I work through the scene trying to address the items he’d noted. Then I move to the next item.
Before I know it, I hear the chimes above the door between the cafe and the bookstore, which means Mrs. Packer has opened the door. I look at the time and realize I have spent the past two hours working through Noah’s notes after I’d gotten so angry at him.
“Em, are you in there?” I hear Lily say.
“I’m in my office.”
A moment later she’s standing in the doorway. “You snuck out,” she says.
“I did. Thank you for the dress and the care.”
“How’s the elbow?”
I lift my arm to look at the scrape. “It’s okay.”
“It’s a good thing Mrs. Packer is watching out for you and told me where you were.”
I ignore that and look back down at the notes.
“What are you doing?” Lily asks.
I wince and wrinkle my nose. “Working through Noah’s notes.”
“Interesting. You were mad enough you sent him away and then hurt yourself, and now, here you are, working through them?”
Shrugging, I smile at her. “He’s had a few good points.”
“I’m sure he has more than a few. Don’t be such a bitch when you see him,” she says before she turns and walks back out into the store, turning on the lights and getting the store ready to open.
I sit for a moment and think about what she said. I was a bitch to him. I owe him an apology, a very sincere one.