When in Rome

“We need to talk,” says Amelia, turning abruptly to corner me by the door as soon as we walk into the house. This isn’t a good, sexy sort of cornering. There’s a heaviness in her eyes and she’s worrying her bottom lip. I extend my hands to rub the sides of her arms, but she shakes her head sharply.

“No, don’t do that,” she says, and the look in her eyes makes me drop my arms by my sides.

I start to panic. Did I do something wrong? Was that kiss in the lake too much? Maybe she wasn’t ready for it and I misread all the signs.

Amelia breathes in deeply and lets it out in one slow exhale. “Noah…”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, unable to stomach the thought of having pushed her too far or upset her. “I was thoughtless at the lake and I should have explicitly asked what you were comfortable with, and—”

She laughs, cutting off my apology. Her eyes are sparkling with humor, and maybe a drop of sadness. “You think I’m upset about the kiss? Noah, I’m upset because…I like you.” She smiles tentatively. “And I shouldn’t have let you kiss me, because for me, it wasn’t just physical. I have…well, I’ve developed very real feelings for you even though you told me not to.”

Now it’s my turn to expel a heavy breath. I run my hand through my hair and resist the urge to lean back against the door for support. Damn. This is bad. We definitely shouldn’t have kissed. It was okay when it was just a physical urge, but knowing she has feelings for me changes everything.

It’s a problem because I also have feelings for her. Big ones. Inconvenient ones, and I don’t want to do anything about them. Two people can’t live under the same roof for weeks knowing they both have the same feelings and not inadvertently propel their relationship forward. And that’s why I don’t admit to her that I’m crazy about her. That I can barely sleep at night because I lie awake tormented with the thought that she’s sleeping across the hall from me. That I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way she does.

“Ameli—”

Her hand races up to press against my mouth. “No. Don’t say anything! You were very clear in the beginning with your intentions, and I don’t expect a single thing from you. Nothing will change. We’re friends, and it’s going to stay that way.” She drops her hand when she feels content that I’m not going to try to interrupt her. “I’m only telling you now because I need for us to set up some rules from here on out so I’m not tempted for us to cross the line again.”

“Rules,” I say, not liking the way that word sounds coming out of my mouth. “Like what?” I ask while going into the kitchen for a beer, because something tells me I’m going to need it.

Amelia follows me and sits on the barstool under the island while I pull two beers from the fridge. She accepts hers and takes a long drink before setting it down firmly on the counter, wincing when she adds a little too much force to it and nearly cracks the bottle.

She gives me a cute, apologetic smile before making her face solemn again. “Well, for starters, no more kissing. But that one’s obvious.”

Obvious or not, I hate it. I want to kiss her all day every day until I eventually die from lack of oxygen.

“Okay, go on.” I set my beer on the counter and cross my arms.

She watches my movements, wearing a private grin, and then lightly clears her throat. “I also think it would be better if we just didn’t touch at all. Ever.”

The extra addition of that ever feels like an unnecessary punch after a boxing match that’s already over. Never touch Amelia again after knowing what it’s like to have her in my arms? Knowing what it’s like to feel her satisfied sigh against my lips? Torture. It’ll be nothing short of it, but I know she’s right. This has to happen.

“No touching, got it. Is there a minimal distance I should keep from you? I could stop by the hardware store and buy us both a tape measure to carry around.”

Amelia’s eyes narrow playfully. “Let’s say four feet to be safe. And last, I think we should not hang out alone anymore.”

I suck in a sharp breath with that one because it somehow hurts more than the others. I want to fight it, but it wouldn’t be fair of me to push back against her rules when she’s trying so hard to respect mine.

Raising my beer to my lips, I take a long pull of it to put off having to respond. Her blue eyes watch me intently like she’s on the edge of her seat for my answer.

I finally set down my beer and brace myself. “I thought I could make it work with Merritt even though I could see our differences from the moment I met her.” This was obviously not the sort of response she anticipated. Amelia’s eyes widen a little in shock, and her brows lift. I feel that familiar thundering in my chest that always precedes spilling an emotional part of me, but I need her to know.

“Our worlds were completely opposite from the start, but I chose to ignore it, and that’s what eventually led to the end of our relationship. She was a city dweller who thrived on stress and the hustle and bustle of New York; and I liked being here with my family, having quiet game nights on Saturdays and knowing the name of every person I pass on the sidewalk. When I proposed to Merritt after her visit here, she accepted, but made it clear that she could not live here, and I’d have to go with her to New York.”

I think back to those months in the big city and how much I hated brushing shoulders with strangers in every corner of it. It was so populated. And busy. Everyone had a purpose at all times. I couldn’t understand for the life of me how city life energized Merritt. How she loved the subway and hailing a ride everywhere we went. The longer I was there, the more I hated it. Also, the job at the bank didn’t help. I missed the soft edges of my town—even if the people here do drive me nuts.

“You really don’t have to explain anything to me, Noah.”

“Thank you, but I want you to know why I’m so hesitant to start something between us…if you want to know?”

She nods. “I do.”

So I continue. “I really thought our feelings could make up for all the differences between Merritt and me. But it wasn’t enough. Turns out, we had both fallen in love with the idea of each other, rather than who we really were.” I look down just to get a break from Amelia’s focus and tap the counter with my knuckle. “I still spent a miserable year there, rarely seeing her because of her job, and then fighting most of the time when we were together. And then when I needed to come back here for my grandma…well, that’s when it all imploded and I was able to really see that Merritt and I were never meant to be. Oil and water.” I look at Amelia again and shake my head. “I gave so much of myself striving to make it work with her, and I just can’t do that again. Not even sure I’m at a place in my life where I could do that if I wanted to.”

Unfortunately, so much of what’s happening between me and Amelia mirrors how it went with Merritt. A whirlwind romance with a woman passing through town who never plans to stay. Except on an even greater scale because Amelia has fame on top of a demanding career. She’s going to need someone who’s comfortable with a long-distance relationship, who can drop everything and fly to her when she needs me. And as much as I want to, I can’t be that guy for her. I’d just weigh her down like I did Merritt.

We’re both quiet for a minute, until Amelia stands and picks up her beer. “Thanks for telling me. It helps knowing why.” And I can tell she means it. Her voice is soft and her smile is kind. She’s so understanding it makes me ache. “These rules will work. Let’s follow them, okay?”

I hold her gaze and nod slowly. She turns away, heading toward her room, but pauses before facing me one more time. “And Noah?”

“Hmm?”

“She didn’t deserve you. I agree that sometimes opposites are terrible together—like pickles on brownies.” She shivers in disgust, making me laugh. “But sometimes…I think they can make each other better. Like maple syrup and bacon.”

She gives me one more of her heart-stopping smiles before she goes to her room for the rest of the night. I go to mine and try to read, but I can’t focus because all I can think about is how much I damn well love maple syrup with bacon.

“Hi Noah, it’s me. Amelia. Ha ha, you probably already knew that. I’m calling from James’s house…which…you probably knew, too, since I’m not at your house and also leaving this message on your answering machine. Anyyyywhoooo. Just letting you know James thought it would be fun if we threw a little dinner party tonight with you and your sisters. So I’m going to hang out here for the day and help him make dinner. If you see smoke, send help. If you don’t see smoke, come over around six. Your sisters are already confirmed to come, too. Sooo yeah, okay, I’ll hang up n—” BEEP.

My white-knuckled fists are leaning on the counter, bracketing the answering machine I’ve never wanted to throw out the window as much as I do now. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never felt like a jealous asshole before, but hearing that Amelia and James have already spent the entire day together on his farm and are now throwing a dinner party like some sort of white-picket-fence couple has me contemplating murder for my best friend. It’s not fair that James gets to spend endless time with her, and now she and I have these new rules.

Damn rules.

I sigh and scrape my hands over my face hoping to clear my head of this pounding jealousy. It doesn’t subside even a bit.

Instead, my mind lingers back to that kiss yesterday that I felt all the way in my soul. She was so right in my arms—sweet and soft and holding on to me like she needed me. Of course, it was a mistake. A sexy, hot, unforgettable mistake. But really what else could it be?

Why did it have to be the best kiss of my whole damn life and all I could think about at work today? Three times I realized I had zoned out while rolling out the dough for a piecrust. By the time I came back to reality in the pie shop instead of treading water with Amelia back in the lake, the butter in my dough had melted and I had to start over. Everyone noticed, too. Harriet came in for a pie while Mabel was also in the shop and all hell broke loose. I’d mixed up who got which pie and the next thing I knew, Harriet was giving me the third degree.

“See? It’s that woman that’s making him all scrambled in the brain!” Harriet had said it like an accusation.

“Well, of course she is. The boy is smitten, anyone can tell. And what’s wrong with that? He deserves happiness,” said Mabel. Everyone is so used to talking around me. Rarely do they ever need me to participate, which is just fine by me.

Harriet had scowled. “At what cost? I’ll tell you what! His soul. That woman is sleeping in his house and tempting him in all sorts of ways.”

Mabel scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Leave his soul alone, Harriet, and mind your own beeswax. I think you could stand to be tempted a little…maybe it’d make you less bitter all the time.”

But Harriet wasn’t wrong—about the brain scrambling at least. My soul is still up for debate. And the problem is, I can’t afford to have my brain scrambled right now. I need every lick of sense I can get to help me withstand falling in love with Amelia Rose. Except…no. I think I already have.

I’m standing outside of James’s front door at 5:58. That’s a whole two minutes early. And because I can’t have Amelia thinking I was so eager to see her after our first full day apart, and that I hustled through a shower and practically sprinted across the long front yards to make sure I got here at six, I stand out here quietly and wait until my watch says exactly six o’clock to knock.

But as soon as I raise my hand, the door flies open. I’m immediately greeted with Amelia’s pretty smile. Well, first her face is surprised, and then she smiles, and then she wipes it off again like maybe she wasn’t supposed to smile. She’s a slot machine for possible emotions.

“Hi! Sorry. I didn’t know you were out here. I was actually just about to run to your place to grab a sweatshirt.” She means my sweatshirt. I wouldn’t be surprised if that thing turns up missing after she leaves town.

“Oh. Okay…and I was just getting ready to knock. I haven’t been standing out here or anything.” I gesture toward the now-open door in case she might have been tempted to think I’d knock on the house’s siding instead.

She smiles again and I’m lost in it. “Yeah. I figured.”

We stare at each other for a minute and it feels hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to do anything but imagine wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into my chest. I’d kiss her hair. Her forehead. Work my way down her temple and her cheek to the corner of her mouth to…

“Did you have a good day?”

“No,” I say quickly before I realize it. And then when she smile-frowns, I say, “I mean, yeah.”

She’s confused now. Rightfully so. We fall back into awkward silence. I’ve never been good at small talk anyway. My brain just won’t do it. Instead I’m dying to say exactly what I’m thinking: You look gorgeous. I like your jean shorts—I haven’t seen these on you before. Your white tank top is cute. Has your manager bugged you today? I don’t want you to go. I’ve been dreaming of kissing you again. I don’t trust myself alone with you. And I want to hear every single detail of your day from start to finish, don’t leave anything out. I know she’d tell me. She’d spill her pretty guts and her eyes would sparkle and light up like they do when she’s happy.

Instead, I don’t say any of this because I’m an addict trying to cut myself off cold turkey.

“What about you? How was your day?”

“Good. It was good.”

“Good.”

We both nod. We’re robots doing a poor imitation of humans. Next I’ll bow and she will curtsy. This is so messed up. One amazing kiss and we don’t know how to interact anymore.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go grab that sweatshirt,” she says cheerily.

“Right.” I step aside so she can pass, but she steps forward in the same direction. We almost collide and she hits the brakes. One quick awkward chuckle and I step aside. For a brief moment when she looks up at me, I see her shoulders relax slightly. Her smile turns self-deprecating but sweet. It’s the moment in the movie when we both lift our human masks and reveal that we’re the same ole robots we’ve always been, trapped inside the role we’ve been forced to play.

As she slides by me and out the door, I catch a hint of her sweet scent. A montage hits me of my hand tangled in her hair. Her mouth eagerly exploring mine. Her legs tied around my waist. The taste of her lips, and her neck, and…

“Well, that was weird to witness.”

I look up and James is standing with a beer in his hand, on the edge of the kitchen obviously having watched that whole scene play out. I grunt and slam the door shut behind me with the heel of my boot.

He wants me to engage, but I won’t do it. Instead, I go into the kitchen and see what they’ve got cooking. Surprise, surprise, it’s breakfast food. Scrambled eggs are steaming on the stove, there’s biscuits in the oven, cooked bacon on a plate, and gravy simmering in a skillet. I recognize it as one of my grandma’s old ones. She gave it to James one night several years ago when he came over for dinner and confessed to her that he didn’t own a cast-iron skillet.

I block out the intruding images of James teaching Amelia how to make country gravy with my grandma’s iron skillet. I swear if he put his arms around her to teach her how to whisk the flour into the milk and bacon grease I will punch him in the throat. I’ve never been the violent type, but it’s never too late to change.

“You gotta see these,” James says, completely oblivious to my new hatred for him. He walks over to a plate covered in foil and even before he lifts it, I know what’s under there. I can see the height and recognize the smell because it’s the same smell that’s been lingering around my house the past few days.

Pancakes.

Really shitty pancakes.

I can feel James watching me closely for some kind of response, so I keep my face neutral. I nod slowly with the corners of my mouth turned down. “Pancakes.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What else were you hoping for?”

James sets his beer down and folds his arms. “I want you to explain to me, what sort of hold this particular breakfast item has over her? That woman obsessively worked on these pancakes for an hour and wouldn’t let me give her a single instruction for them. Barely looked at me or responded to questions while she was making them—just kept tasting them and getting upset when they didn’t taste anything like his.” Still he searches my face for a hint of acknowledgment, but I don’t give in because I’m practicing. See, this is just the minor leagues compared to when my nosy sisters get here. And if I don’t want anyone finding out about what happened in the lake yesterday, I have to make sure I’m as stoic as ever.

I shrug and turn to open his fridge in search of a beer. I find it, pop the top, and then resist the urge to go over and inspect each and every one of her pancakes. See if she’s getting any closer to figuring it out. They don’t look as crispy as last time so I think she’s at least learned she doesn’t have to butter the pan each time she puts in a new dollop of batter.

“She likes pancakes. That’s all there is to it.” I don’t tell James about Amelia’s list, because, frankly, I don’t want him to know. He’s spent all day with her and might’ve figured out things about Amelia that I’ll never get to. That thought makes me sick with jealousy, and now I want to withhold anything I can from him on principle.

“She like the farm?” I ask this question in the same tone someone might ask, Did you ever get that suspicious mole removed?

But this guy has been my best friend since I was born. Any poker face I think I’m holding is clearly transparent to him. He chuckles. “Just ask me, you little shit.”

“Ask you what?”

He raises his chin slightly. “Ask if I like her.”

“No.” I take another drink.

“Ask if she flirted with me today.”

I clench my teeth and look down, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No.”

He groans so loud and dramatically, tipping his head back to stare into heaven. “You’re so obnoxious with your stoicism. You don’t deserve it, but you know what? I’m gonna tell you anyway because I hope someday when I’m lovesick, another poor idiot will put me out of my misery.”

I don’t know what he’s about to say, but my heart rate ratchets up. I think I accidentally tip forward just the slightest bit, too. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice because he’s stirring the gravy or else he would have commented.

“I don’t like her, because number one, I’m a great friend and could see from day one that you have a thing for her. Number two, I’d have to be a fool to compete with you after the way she mentioned your name at least a thousand times today.”

I have to press my tongue into the side of my cheek to keep from smiling. “She talked about me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes. Everything was a commentary about what she thinks you would have said at any given moment. Wondering if you’ve ever helped me on the farm. How long have I known you? Wouldn’t Noah find this hilarious? Anything and everything Noah Walker related. So now what I want to know is how you feel about her, because I’m starting to think she’s got real feelings for you.”

I take a swig of my beer and prepare my lie. “I think she’s been in town for a week and can’t have feelings for me that fast.”

“Bullshit.”

“I think she’s trouble.”

“Double bullshit.”

I sigh and look at the stack of pancakes. “I think I’m in trouble.”

“Bingo. There it is. So do you think you two can—” Whatever James was going to ask gets cut off when Amelia flies back through the front door, slightly out of breath and whirling into the kitchen.

“I forgot to get the biscuits out!” She slams down the oven door, hair flying around her shoulders, and cheeks flushed from the full-tilt sprint she must have done from my house back over here. Her eyes light up when she sees them. “Come out of there, my little biscuit-angel-babies. You’re too wholesome to burn like your evil pancake cousins over there.” Amelia peeks over her shoulder with a mischievous grin in my direction. “And yes, I did ruin another batch of pancakes and I don’t need any comments from the snooty peanut gallery about it, m’kay? I can perform on a stage in five-inch high heels for three solid hours, simultaneously dancing and singing in front of thousands of people, but I can’t make a freaking batch of pancakes. Absurd. Inexcusable, really. But that’s okay because now I can make BISCUITS AND GRAVY.” She grins from ear to ear. “I’m so country now I don’t hear my own voice in my head, it’s just Reese Witherspoon and Dolly Parton talking in there.”

She continues on babbling to herself like I’ve come to realize she often does, but I’m not totally listening. I’m focusing on how she’s wearing my sweatshirt again. How the image of any other woman wearing that sweatshirt will never compare to the sight of it draped over Amelia. She definitely has to take it with her when she goes. Or I’ll have to burn it. Give it a Viking’s funeral and send it down the lake in flames.

When I finally glance up, James is staring at me with a smug smile. He runs his thumb across his neck in the universal symbol of you’re a dead man.