Chapter 38
When I’m involved with someone, radio silence isn’t my idea of things going well. Admittedly, I woke up with Noah and headed to work. It’s now seven o’clock and I’ve decided to just show up at the hotel.
I’ve gone through every emotion today, most of which has been elation after I handed Rachel my manuscript, but there still is nervous anger that rolls through me. And now that I haven’t spoken to Noah in nearly twelve hours, meaning he hasn’t replied to any of my texts, I’m shaking again.
When the elevator opens to the lobby, Katie steps out and my stomach tightens even more.
“Emma,” she says with a smile and I watch the elevator close without me. “What are you doing here?”
I know she knows what’s going on, so why do I feel the need to blow it off as if I’m just casually here? But I’m not going to.
“I came to see Noah.”
Her smile tightens like it does when she’s worried.
“He and Dylan have been working all day. Could I buy you a drink?”
I study her. Is she trying to keep me away from him on purpose?
“No thank you. I’m just passing through before I head home for the night,” I say, but I hear it in my voice, that rattle of insecurity. She hears it too.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” she says, the crease between her brows deepening.
I smile, push the button to call back the elevator, and step inside when it comes. I push the number for Noah’s floor and step off when the doors open again.
Noise filters down the hallway, from Noah’s room. Voices. Laughter.
Turn around, Emma. Go home, Emma.
Instead, I knock.
“One second,” a woman’s voice says, and I’m certain I’m going to be sick.
“It’s probably the room service I ordered,” a man’s voice says, but it’s not Noah’s.
When the door opens, I’m staring up at a man I don’t know.
“Oh. Hi,” he says. “You’re not room service.”
I swallow hard. “Did I get off on the wrong floor?” I look at the room number to assure myself that this was the room I woke up in this morning. “I’m looking for Noah.”
The woman laughs and the man opens the door wider. She’s seated on the bed in a small red dress. But I’ve seen her face enough times to know exactly who she is. Sylvia St. Clare is sitting on Noah’s bed in a seductive red dress.
“He ran out for drinks,” she says and I know this is my moment to turn and run. “But damn, that has to have been at least an hour ago,” she says, turning her attention to the man holding the door.
“I think he ditched us,” the man says. “I’m sorry, Dylan Collins,” he holds out a hand for me to shake.
“Emma Reynolds,” I say as I take his hand, and that has Sylvia standing from her position on the bed.
“You’re the bookstore owner,” she gleefully says as if I’m the celebrity in the room—or just outside of it. “Let her in.”
“No. I should be going. I just hadn’t heard from Noah today. Needed to make sure he was taken care of.”
Dylan still has my hand in his. “So you’re Emma?”
“I am,” I say, looking at our clasped hands.
“Thank you. He needed you.”
“I beg your pardon,” I say, considering yanking my hand from his and running toward the stairs.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” he asks and Sylvia nods.
“Just like he said she was,” she agrees.
“I really should be going,” I say.
Finally Dylan lets go of my hand. “Congratulations, too, by the way. Rachel has been singing your praises all day as well.”
“Oh, well …”
“A great muse and a great writer,” Dylan compliments me. “Why don’t you come in and wait with us? He has been gone a long time. No doubt he’ll be back soon. I’ve had him working quite hard today. He deserves a break.”
That’s when my phone buzzes in my pocket and I hurry to pull it out, Dylan finally releasing my hand.
There is a picture of the keypad to my garage door. Number please. I thought you’d be here, but I had to get out of town.
I do everything I can to keep my face neutral.
“Thank you for the invite. Message from home. I need to get back. Just let Noah know I stopped by.”
“I’ll do that,” Dylan says, but there is a sly smile on his mouth now too. He knows what just happened.
I turn and hurry toward the elevator, punching the button numerous times as if it will call it faster.
The drive home has lost its beauty, well, for the evening I guess. Tonight as I hurry toward my house, I only realize just how dark it is, and how far out of town.
When I do come up to the house, I slow. The lights are on and there is smoke from the chimney. I can’t help but to come to a stop just feet from the driveway.
Swallowing hard, I look at the house that is never alive when I get home. It’s always dark. Always cold. It waits for me to light it up and warm it. Tonight, it did all of that without me—with him, waiting for me.
Again, so many emotions run through me and my head spins with elation, depression, anger, love.
I pull into the driveway and open the garage door. As I settle, turn off the car, and lower the garage door, the door to the house opens. Standing in the doorway is Noah, a glass of wine in each hand.
He looks as wary as I feel, but when he smiles it brightens inside of me.
Oh, I have a lot of words for him tonight. After all, he gave my book to Rachel without my permission. But in this moment, I question that. Did I give him permission? Maybe I did.
I draw in a breath as he shifts in the doorway, no doubt wondering why I’m taking so long to get out of the car.
I want this, I decide. I want it a little too much.
I want Noah Carter waiting for me every night when I get home from work, but I’ll never have that.
I want him to write all day, because I’m his muse, and spend all night thanking me in his special way.
But again, his life is in New York, and mine will never be.
He turns and sets the glasses down on the bench in the mud room, then walks toward the car. His expression is lost, and as he pulls open the door to the car, I begin to sob.
“God, Emma. What’s wrong?” He kneels down next to the car, which is wet from the snow on the ground and the puddles I’ve driven through to race home to him.
I blink to clear my eyes.
“Take me to bed,” I say and the expression on his face changes, but only slightly.
“Don’t you want to talk? I’m guessing you want to yell at me for a plethora of reasons.”
I do—don’t I?
I shake my head. “If we talk, I might. Right at the moment I think I’m going to yell at you because there was a sexy woman on your bed in a red dress.”
His eyes go wide and a horrified look crosses his face.
“On my bed?” His voice rises and the mood shifts again because I laugh. He’s so clear to me, and he never did engage with Sylvia more than a kiss—and I know that in this moment more than when he told me.
“Take me to bed, Noah, before my day of emotions crash around me.”
He pushes the button on my seatbelt, stands, and holds out his hand to help me from the car.
Following my direction, he leads me into the house, past the wine glasses that will wait, and straight to my bedroom where he makes quick work to help me forget that I’m mad at him.