When in Rome
: Chapter 21

I’m faced away from the mirror, like the way hairstylists always do (which I’m convinced is so if they mess up, they can fix it before you notice), and haven’t been given a peek at my hair this entire time. Heather is the twenty-one-year-old daughter of Tanya, and the one who has been working on my hair. It’s been—as Tanya would say—a hoot listening to these ladies volley conversations back and forth. I don’t think I’d even notice or mind if she accidentally shaved my head. Worth it to hear them spill the town tea. I just wish I knew all the people they’ve been southern-politely slaughtering. I’m invested no less.

“Now, give us the scoop about you and Noah,” Heather asks me a touch too loud. Even over the sound of the hair dryer, everyone seems to have heard. All heads swivel in my direction. It’s my turn to spill the tea, I guess.

Tanya and Virginia (the other two stylists) are each working on elderly clients, rolling pink perm rods. Virginia has bright yellow-blond hair that is teased up to the ceiling. She’s smacking her gum while aiming a mischievous smile at me. “I tried to date him, ya know? Hell, I didn’t even need to date him! I offered to climb right into that man’s bed.”

Thankfully they can’t see my hands clenching into jealous little fists under my cape. I try to laugh lightly but there’s a quaver in my voice.

Virginia winks at me. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s too much of a gentleman. Turned me down and sent me home with an apple pie.” She rolls her eyes up to heaven like she’s reliving the taste of it—or maybe trying to see if she can spot the top of her hair. She’ll never replace it. “And if that man’s hands can make a pie that good, imagine how delicious the sex would be.”

“Virginia!” Tanya scolds. If I had to guess, I’d say Tanya is about fifty years old with chestnut brown hair, heavy eyeliner, big hoop earrings, and six-inch-tall high heels that she walks in with the same ease as if they were slippers. Jealous. “Don’t be talking like that around Heather.”

Virginia throws her head back laughing and I can see her gum in the side of her mouth. “Oh come on, Tanya. The girl’s getting married soon. Surely she’s allowed to talk about sex now?”

Heather takes this moment to lean down and whisper quietly as Virginia and Tanya argue about appropriate salon conversation. “Mama, God bless her, still thinks I’m a virgin.” She looks at me with a laugh and wide eyes. “She somehow got it in her head that Charlie and I are waiting until our honeymoon to sleep together even though that already happened the day I got my license back in high school.”

“I heard that, young lady!” says Tanya with a speaking glance at her daughter while pointing a pink rod in her direction.

Heather rolls her eyes and continues tugging a round brush through my hair. “You heard nothing!” She lowers her voice just for me again. “Something I’ve learned about southern mamas: They pretend they know everything even when they don’t just to get you to confess. Never confess. It’s always a bluff on their end.”

I laugh and adjust in my seat so my butt will regain some feeling. “Good to know.”

“What about you?” Heather asks, peeking over my shoulder. “Is your mama a Nosy Nelly, too?”

A sharp—nearly offensive—laugh jumps from my throat before I can stop it. “All my mom cares about is my career in a how-can-it-benefit-her sort of way. And I’ve never known my dad.”

I can’t believe I said all that to a stranger. What is the air made of in this town? Truth serum? I imagine these scheming southern mamas all huddled around an air vent each morning with a vial labeled Liquid Truth so they’ll never be left out of the loop.

Other than blurting it to Noah when I was loopy on a sleeping pill, I’ve kept that secret about my parents locked inside me for years. Even through countless interviews where everyone wants to know about my perfect life and perfect family, I just smile and nod and, even though our relationship is nothing but a rotting apple core lately, I say how thankful I am for my mom.

Heather cuts off the hair dryer and stares down at me with her bright red lips parted. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows are pulled so tightly together they’re making a unibrow and I’m afraid she’s going to burst out in tears. And then suddenly, her arms are around my neck and she’s hugging me. HUGGING ME. I don’t hate it.

“Oh,” I say, slightly startled, but definitely not turning my nose up at it, and I awkwardly pat her back. “A hug. Wow. Thank you.”

She pulls away. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. You should definitely come to my wedding.”

I blink, trying to figure out how those two points connect when the door to the salon opens. I see who it is and my stomach flips. Noah. Why does the sight of him do this to me? Someone tell me why the air shifts and my breath feels heavy in my lungs? A strange electricity pulses through my fingertips and I’m afraid the only way it will resolve is if they run over his skin.

“Well, if it isn’t Noah Walker in the flesh,” Heather says, alerting the whole salon to his presence. “Will you bring Amelia as your date to my wedding?”

Noah stands in the doorway, unmoving. He hasn’t looked at me yet. I inspect him from head to toe—so thoroughly I could describe him to a sketch artist and come away with a perfect likeness. I would describe the scruff on his jaw first. It’s important to get it right—because it’s not long and beardy—but it’s not trimmed or edged to slicing angles either. It’s just sort of a natural dusting that wouldn’t burn you if he kissed your skin, but might tickle a little. Next, comes his hair. Oh—that sandy-blond hair. It’s tousled lightly with styling cream. A matte pomade—flex fiber. I know because we share a bathroom and I’m a dirty little snoop.

And I also know that under that white T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders is a tattoo. The most adorable, perfectly fitting tattoo I’ve ever seen on a man in my life. My mind jumps back to this morning, seeing him run into the kitchen shirtless. It’s the image of that man’s taut body that will play on a loop through my mind until the day I die. Golden-tanned skin. Light freckles across his impressive shoulders. Cut biceps and abs that track their way down to his tapered waist.

He is in a word: gorgeous.

I smile as a primal satisfaction, knowing that I’ve seen Noah in a state that Virginia only wishes she could, pumps me up. Oh crap. Am I pathetic? I think I am, since I’m developing very real feelings for a man who has made it abundantly clear that I should under no circumstances develop feelings for him.

Noah’s eyes finally slide over to me and I see him hold his breath. Is that good or bad? His expression is so intense that now I wish I had seen my hair before he did. Maybe I have jagged edges. Or there’s a big gap missing somewhere. Oh well, even if he doesn’t like it, it doesn’t matter. This haircut was for me, and I’m glad I did it.

But I can’t take him staring at me any longer. I blink and look down.

“Heather,” Noah starts and I hate that I love the sound of his voice so much. I need to start making a list of things I don’t like about Noah just to keep myself from truly falling into the feelings pit. “Don’t make the woman come to your wedding. She’s a celebrity for crying out loud. People don’t even want to go to weddings for people they know, let alone strangers. No offense.”

“Hey!” I say, raising my eyes and glaring at Noah. “How about you let the her in question decide for herself what she likes and doesn’t like, thank you very much, Mr. Grump.” The corner of Noah’s mouth twitches. I know why, too. He’s mentally adding yet another nickname to his ever-growing list. “I would love to come to your wedding, Heather. Thank you very much for the invitation.” I toss Noah a saucy look. “I will be there, even if Noah already has a date. When is it?”

“A month from today.”

I resist looking in Noah’s direction. His face will be smug. “Oh…Actually, I will not be there.” I give her a sheepish smile. “I’ll be on tour. Sorry.”

“Should’ve listened to me.”

“Oh hush, you,” I say and the whole salon laughs. It earns me a genuine smile from Noah’s scruffy, moody mouth.

But then, just behind Noah’s shoulder, someone catches my eye. It’s a man, and the way he’s dressed immediately has me on edge—all in black with a long-lens camera slung across his back. He’s a paparazzo, there’s no doubt.

“Shit,” I say in a frantic whisper, ripping the cape off my neck and looking around for somewhere to hide. “They found me!”

“Who found you?” Noah asks, sounding stern and protective. That voice chases a shiver through my whole body.

“Paparazzi.” I gesture with my hand out the front window toward the man who has his back to us, assessing the town square. If he replaces me and confirms that I’m here, it’s all over for me. This whole adventure will go poof.

Unfortunately, I don’t even have to think twice to know who sent him. My mom is the only person who knows where I am and, unfortunately, has been known to sell stories to tabloids in the past. I should have known better than to tell her where I was. I can’t wait to replace out what she’ll spend her money on. Designer bag? Shoes? Of course, she’ll deny it until the day she dies because she’s terrified I’ll cut her off if I learn the truth, but Susan always replaces out through anonymous magazine sources that it was my mom who tipped them off. I’ve never had the guts to call my mom out on it, though. Because the sad thing is, I like the attention from her even if it’s fake. It’s nice to pretend she’s genuinely interested when she asks about my life. That she doesn’t have ulterior motives when she talks to me or spends time at my house. But it’s past time to start reevaluating our relationship. I can’t keep going through this.

Noah is at my side in an instant, his long legs eating up the salon floor with determined strides.

“Honey, don’t you worry,” says Heather, pushing me from the chair. “We’ll hide ya.”

“Thank you! I’ll come by and pay later. I promise.”

“Don’t you worry a minute about that.” Tanya frantically points toward the back of the salon. “Take her out the alleyway, Noah.”

But there’s no time. We only make it to the far end of the salon when the door chimes. Noah whirls around in front of me, so my body is pressed against his. We are one right now and my heart can’t take it. The feel of him. The smell of him. The warmth of him. Oof, it’s all so good. And then he has to go and make it worse by reaching behind him and taking my hips in his hands, adjusting me an inch to the left so that I’m more squarely lined up with him. “Hold still,” he says as if I would want to go anywhere but here right now.

Good luck ever peeling me off you, buddy. I live here now.

“Afternoon, sir!” says Tanya in a chipper tone. “You here for an appointment?”

I can hear my heart beating in my ears. Noah and I are in the far corner of the salon, partially hidden by the nail tech tables and hooded dryers, but still, I can’t imagine this little bodyguard trick is going to work.

“Uh…no. I’m actually looking for someone.”

Virginia laughs and I hear the click of her high heels moving across the floor. “Like a sweetheart? I’ll date you, honey.”

“Flattered, but no thanks. I work for OK magazine and I’ve received a tip that Rae Rose might be staying in your town. I was wondering if any of you have seen her? I’m willing to compensate for your help.”

I swallow, all too ready for one of these women to point an acrylic fingernail in my direction. I rest my forehead on Noah’s back, needing support. It’s not until my face is resting against his sturdy back that I realize he might not like me leaning on him like this. I’m wrong. Suddenly, I feel Noah’s fingers discreetly brush against mine. He wraps his hand around my fingers and squeezes. I feel that touch like he’s brushing his fingers across my very soul.

“Rae Rose?” Heather exclaims loudly. I hear her rushing across the floor toward the man. “Are you kidding me? She’s here? In this town?” Her voice is so high it’s going to crack a window. “Mama, can you believe it?”

“I know, baby. That’s what he says but I don’t believe it. If she were here, we’d know about it. This town is only as big as a whisper.”

I smile, and relief drenches me. They really are going to protect me. These women who owe me nothing are hiding me. Noah squeezes again as if he can read my thoughts.

“So…you haven’t seen her then?” the man asks again. He sounds skeptical. Or maybe he’s just trying to replace the top of Virginia’s hair, too.

“Heavens no! Oh, but look! Is that her across the street?”

“Where?” he asks frantically right as Noah spins toward me and starts tugging me by the hand to follow him to the back door. I look over my shoulder and the whole salon is gathered by the window, making a wall between me and the paparazzo. I make eye contact with Heather, mouth thank you, and she winks before turning back to the man. She shoves her finger over his shoulder and points. “Over there! See that woman?”

“Ma’am. That’s an elderly woman walking with a cane.”

“Oh…ha! I guess I do need glasses after all.”

And that’s the last I hear before Noah and I escape into the alley. His fingers are still intertwined with mine, and I’m having to take three steps to his one. We quietly zigzag around dumpsters and trash cans toward the parking lot. When we run out of the alleyway, Noah gestures for me to wait as he walks out into the parking lot and surveys the area. Something about his face right now looks lethal. Like he’s Jason Bourne and navigates situations like this on the regular. When he makes it to his truck, his green eyes lock with mine and he gives me a subtle nod telling me the coast is clear. I stay low, running hunched over so the row of cars and trucks protects me, until I’m at Noah’s truck. We both jump in at the same time and when our doors shut, I let out a breath and sink down against the bench seat. He does the same.

It’s quiet in here and safe. Just like Noah.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” I say, rotating my head toward him.

He’s staring at me. Not smiling. Not frowning.

Noah doesn’t respond, but he lifts his hand to gently brush his fingers across the edge of my new fringe bangs. I had forgotten about my haircut. I still haven’t even seen it, but I’m really hoping it looks like the picture of Zoey Deschanel I showed to Heather as inspiration, and not like one of the photos that magazine articles use to convince readers to never cut their own bangs.

“I chickened out on a full haircut,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious. “But I’ve wanted bangs for a long time and Susan always talked me out of them saying they wouldn’t look right with my face shape.” I want to close my eyes against the feel of his calloused fingers touching my skin. My voice shakes as I continue to babble. “I really hope she was wrong. But I guess it’s too late now. They’ll grow back, though. And if they look bad, I can pin them back.”

His hand falls away, and I look up into his evergreen eyes. His jaw flexes and he turns forward, gripping his steering wheel with one hand and turning the key with the other. “Dammit,” he whispers and then looks at me one more time. “You look very pretty.”

I feel a smile in my soul before it reaches my lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is for me.”

And that’s all he says before backing up and driving us both home in stunned silence.