When in Rome

Noah approaches me until we’re an arm’s length apart. He stops and crosses his arms, shoulders stretching the fabric of his T-shirt and looking as stern as a rock. Surly Pose.

Truth is, I don’t intend to quit and he knows it. I can’t cancel the tour even if I wanted to. Contracts have me bound at the ankles. But I am feeling. Feeling so much and so strongly about everything that I can’t quite handle it. I love being here with Noah. I love walking through this town and feeling the heartbeat of its personality. I can’t believe I have to leave it. And because I can’t fall into tears right now, and there’s nothing I can do about my quickly approaching real life, I have to fight with Noah. Because I know he’ll let me, and it’ll help.

His eyes narrow lightly as he scans my soul. “Say it again,” he says in a steely tone that has shivers running over my skin. “I need to watch your face as you say it.”

I take a moment to summon my best lying skills so I can pass this test. I need him to think I’m serious. Fight with me, Noah. Distract me from these feelings. I tilt my chin up. “I said, I’m quitting music.” Unfortunately, I think the last word ratted me out. My voice shook. Also, it probably doesn’t help that this morning as I lay in bed with Noah, I sang to him the few verses I’ve been working on the last few days and told him how excited I was about them.

Something sparks in Noah’s green eyes. He knows I’m a little liar now because he’s come to recognize my tells.

“You can’t quit. I won’t allow it,” he says sharply—argumentatively—and he’s onto my game but is putting a fresh spin on it. A hot spin, judging by the way the corner of his moody mouth twitches ever so slightly. You want to play, I’ll play, says his grumpy-handsome face.

“I can if I want.” I’m defiant as I take a step toward him. With anyone else I’m grace and poise—I’m Audrey. Polite, polite, polite. But with Noah, I speak my mind. I’m not afraid to look silly. To fight and argue and get messy. I cast an explorative glance around The Pie Shop. “In fact, I think I’ll just work here…with you.”

“I’m not hiring.” He pauses. “Besides, I’ve seen your baking skills.”

“That’s only because you refuse to teach me. I can learn, though.”

Noah steps forward, the gap between us slowly disappearing and searing heat crackling between us. “No. I won’t let you work here.”

“Ha!” I raise my chin. “I’m Rae Rose. I’ve built a musical empire and a cult following that would risk their lives if I asked them to. I’d like to see you try to stop me from doing anything.” I wish I was actually this confident.

“If you quit, I won’t talk to you again.”

This makes me smile. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can hold out?”

He grunts an affirmative response, but his actions are telling a different story. His hands are somehow on my waist and he’s been slowly backing me up until I’m close enough for him to lift me up onto the counter. Memories of last night dash through my mind and my pulse sledgehammers against my ribs.

“Easy.” He’s cocky with that hat casting a dark shadow over his eyes. Brooding and commanding. I rip it off—splashing his face in light and then running my hand through his messy hair. It’s tossed and perfect. On the brink of needing a haircut, but not quite there yet.

“So let’s just say I quit and I’m living here. I’m at your sisters’ house making pancakes while you’re over there. You see me reach for the salt instead of the sugar and raise it over the mixing bowl. You still don’t say anything to me?”

His mouth tilts sardonically. Amateur hour, his eyes say. “I don’t eat your pancakes anyways so it doesn’t affect me.” First of all, rude. Second, I never want to stop playing with Noah.

“Fine. I’ll up the stakes then.” My hands glide up his chest and clasp at his neck, pulling him between my legs, lightly toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. His fingertips press firmly into my hips. “I’m crossing the street, and I don’t see an oncoming car. You still don’t say anything?”

His eyes hover down at my lips. “Not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

“And I’m trying not to be the reason you give up your dreams.” Bam. Truth falls between us and ruins the game.

There’s a moment of silence, where only the tension in our bodies is speaking, where our fingertips say words that our mouths never will. My hold around his neck tightens. He slides his hands all the way around to hug my hips up close to his.

And then because he knows I need for him to lighten this moment, he grins lightly and tacks on, “Forfeiting so soon, Pop-Tart?”

I quickly press my mouth against his. It’s so forceful he rocks backward slightly and I nearly fall. But he stabilizes us quickly and kisses me back, just as forcefully. We’re still fighting, but it’s on new terrain. It’s bumpy and jarring and our mouths will be bruised. I nip at his lip and his hands grip my back. None of this is helping—it’s making it worse. I whimper from a fresh stab of emotions and Noah pulls away quickly.

He cradles my face and studies my eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head and try for a smile. It’s weak and pitiful. “Noah. I won’t ask you to come with me when I leave, but I need you to know that if you ever change your mind you’re always welcome wherever I am. Always.”

He stares at me, a crease etched between his brows, and takes a deep breath. He tilts forward and kisses me again. Softly this time. Our lips don’t part. We don’t explore. We soothe and settle.

The bell chimes above the door, and then a woman’s scratchy voice echoes through the shop. “Unlock those puckers, kids!” It’s Mabel.

And she’s not alone.

“Oh, sweet bread and butter on Christmas morning.”

“Now, Harriet, you just tuck those delicate sensibilities away for another day. This ain’t the time.”

Noah and I peel ourselves from each other and I look over my shoulder to find Mabel and Harriet catching their breath. I quickly fix my skewed shirt and would most definitely feel embarrassed by the scene they just found us in if there were enough time. But these two ladies are pink cheeked and panting from shuffling their way in here like they were trying to win a fast-walking competition. All that’s missing are hot pink windbreakers.

“Don’t try to boss me around, Mabel, I’m older than you.”

“And stodgier, too. Haven’t you ever seen a couple in love doing a little bit of kissing before?”

Harriet lifts her nose. “They should wait to show that sort of affection until marriage.”

Mabel rolls her eyes. “Oh, like you and Tom did?” She says this with a sassy slur making Harriet gasp. “Yes, don’t act so surprised, Your Supreme Holiness. Can’t tell me your little last-minute wedding back then was because of love. It was because you’d been making love and a baby! You had yourself a good ol’ fashioned shotgun wedding.” Mabel grunts again. “Honeymoon baby, my ass.”

“Ladies,” Noah says, somehow managing not to laugh at these two bickering grannies I hope to grow up and become exactly like one day. “Was there something urgent you came in here for?”

“Shit! Yes!” says Mabel.

Harriet jumps in before Mabel can finish, also taking a delicate but poignant step in front of her. “You need to hide!” she says, aiming her hawk eyes on me.

Mabel nearly pushes Harriet out of the way to step in front of her this time. And now it’s clear they weren’t here on a joint mission—they were each racing to get to us first. “That fellow who’s been snooping around all week with his camera is in town again right now.”

“The paparazzo?” Noah asks.

“No, the pizza man has a new photography hobby! Yes, Noah, the paparazzo! But even worse, there’s more of them!” Poor Noah. He takes it like a champ, but Mabel is downright lethal today. Actually, I think Noah secretly adores it because the corner of his perfect mouth is doing that slight twitch again.

“Phil and Todd saw him coming and waylaid him with facts about hammers. But I don’t know how long they’ll hold him, and the others are all scattered around.” Harriet says this while lifting the folding countertop and trying to push her way through it. I say trying because Mabel is also trying to push through and the two are only getting themselves wedged in that little space together.

“Mabel! Would you just—”

“I would, Harriet, if you would just…”

Now, Noah has stepped away from me to help pull these ladies through the counter. “Now look at what you two have done,” he says gently. “Mabel, suck in and twist.”

“How many of them are out there, Mabel?” I ask, feeling sick.

Noah tugs her arm lightly and they both pop through to our side of the counter. “Oh honey, there’s gotta be at least twenty of them. A whole crowd. You need to get out of here quickly.”

I look to Noah and our eyes both convey the same message: Game over. Our time together is up.