Chapter 37
Sundays will forever be my favorite day in the store. Mrs. Packer is closed. The flower shop is closed. The town is sleepy no matter the season.
Shoppers are those who are out walking the town, either checking in, or making one more round before they check out.
The patio at the pub across the street will eventually get busy, and some of those patrons will make the walk to my store.
I don’t sell a lot, but I clean. I read. I think.
Today I’m waiting.
Noah didn’t come into the store with me yesterday, opting to stay at the hotel and work.
Katie was much too enthusiastic with his choice, and I suppose it was for the best. Over dinner, he’d rattled off some enormous number of words that he’d written and then went on about another story he’d started.
I guess this is what he’d come to Colorado early for—to work.
He still calls me his muse, but the more he says it, the more I don’t want the job.
What happens when my magical power over him runs out?
When the door to the store opens, and the woman in the long puffer coat drops her hood and stomps the snow off her boots, I find it a bit hard to breathe. I’d recognize that blonde hair and those piercing, all knowing, blue eyes anywhere.
Rachael Anderson has just walked into my store—alone.
She scans a look over the store, her eyes stopping on the poster of Noah. A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she pulls off her gloves, shakes her head, runs her hand over the cover of his book on the table by the door.
Everything inside of me tightens as she lifts her eyes and zeros in on me.
The smile on her mouth grows wider as she walks right toward me.
“You’re Emma Reynolds, aren’t you?” she asks, already holding out her perfectly manicured hand to shake mine.
“Yes,” is all I can manage as I hold out my hand and her petite one takes hold.
“I knew it. I’d know you anywhere,” she says, much like the few people who have caught Noah and been star struck when they talked to him.
“Your store is so cute. I looked it up online, but the pictures don’t do it justice.
And then you have that old coot’s picture at the door,” she says as she laughs and it’s full of love and humor.
I blink at her, still not sure why she’s in my store alone.
She was flying in today with Noah’s agent Dylan.
When did she get into town? Why isn’t she with him?
Was this why Noah didn’t come to the store with me yesterday or today?
I mean if he’s at the hotel and she and Dylan checked in at the hotel, wouldn’t she want to be with them?
Him? She’s obviously smitten with him. I’ve seen it with my own eyes now—right?
No one looks at his picture like that—well, no one who works with him.
My heart is racing and I know my hands are shaking now. I’ve talked myself into some stupid scenario.
“God, I’m daft,” she says, tucking her gloves into her coat pockets. “I’m Rachel Anderson.” She holds that manicured hand to her chest. “You must think I’m some lunatic.”
Yes! Yes, I do!
Now a line forms between her brows. “Didn’t Noah tell you I’d be coming to see you today?”
“Noah didn’t say anything about it,” I say, but I think about how he smiled when her name was mentioned.
“Well now you must really think I’m some crazy woman coming in here. He was supposed to tell you I’d be coming to meet you. I can’t trust him at all,” she says and I wonder if I can trust him.
“Why are you coming to meet me? I mean, I know the event will be here and all, but …”
Her eyes get that shine back and her smile returns. “I’ve come to talk to you about your book.”
I blink once. Then I blink again. “My what?”
“Your book.” Her eyes have gone wide. “You are Emma Reynolds, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m interested in your work. Noah sent me the first few chapters, and it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. And of course it comes with a hefty recommendation. I’m currently building my client list, and I have some editors looking for just your style of voice.”
I’m shaking all over now. My hands and knees are shaking and I’m worried I’m not breathing.
This woman has come to me to talk about my book. A book she wants to rep. A book that Noah sent her pages from. A book that Noah sent to her without my permission. I’m furious. I’m excited. I’m speechless.
Rachel reaches a hand to me and touches my arm. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I should have let him come with me, but they were in a meeting and I couldn’t wait to meet you so I told him I was just going to pop over.”
I’m supposed to be grateful. The man I love is helping me with my goal.
Do I love him? I hardly know him.
This isn’t the point!
“Noah sent you my book?” I ask, my voice shaking as much as my hands and my knees.
“He sent me the first three chapters. He said you’d been working together on it, and let me tell you, it really has promise.”
“You really think so?” I ask, but inside I doubt everything this beautiful woman is saying. Not to mention that I’m battling some very persistent anger in the direction of Noah Carter at this moment as well.
“I do. I was hoping I could get my hands on it and read the rest of it while I’m here. I can’t promise it’ll sell, but I think it has merit.”
My throat is dry.
We’re standing in my store just looking at one another.
I at her in disbelief, and she at me in the same way, though I’m sure its because I’m not reacting as she thought I might.
This is great news. Isn’t it every author’s dream to have an agent come to them and say, “I want to rep you”?
But it’s not how it works, is it? Shouldn’t I be putting out queries and getting rejected?
That’s all I’ve ever heard, authors get rejected some hundred times before someone says, “Sure I’ll look at it.
” The odds are against me, so this can’t be happening.
“I understand if you’re not interested in me looking at your work,” Rachel finally says. “Some authors don’t plan to go the traditional route, and independently publishing romance is equally as successful.”
Rachel reaches into her purse, pulls out a business card, and hands it to me.
“My cell number is on the back, but I’ll be here the rest of the week helping Dylan and Noah.” She smiles, but her lips are flat. “Call me if you’re interested talking about it.”
I look at the card and then back at the woman who is turning to walk out of my store, dejected by me. By me!
“Wait,” I say and Rachel turns back around. “Do you really think it might be sellable?”
“I do.”
“You really want to read it? I mean, yes, we’ve been working through it, but it’s still a little rough.”
Her smile fills out now as she walks back toward the counter. “All drafts are rough. But if you’re willing to let me look at it, I could have notes for you this week.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. This is it. I could have this dream and it’s nearly being handed to me—but is that only because I’m sleeping with Noah?
“How would you like it? Printed? Emailed? Flash drive?”
Rachel laughs. “Do you have time to print it? I work better with paper and pens.”
“Old school. I like it,” I say. “It’ll take a bit to get it all printed.”
“I’ll go shopping then,” she says and turns to go shopping. In my store.