Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(43)

No time or place to meet. Just those few words. I’ve been left tingling with anticipation all day.

Unfortunately, everyone notices my pointed question and eyes me speculatively. They look like a sibling gang—all setting down their beers and about to crack their knuckles before they shake me for information.

“Okay, what the hell, Annie?” asks Noah.

I sigh with relief because Noah just unknowingly saved the day.

“Oooh!” Maddie proclaims loudly, pointing a finger at Noah. “That’s number twenty for him! Pay up, bucko.”

“No. That was only nineteen. I have one more until I have to pay.” (Noah says this every month after he’s the first one to burn through his allotted twenty swear words.)

“Let’s take it to the notebook. Annie?” Emily prompts, sitting forward and resting her forearms on the table like she’s about to be witness to an incredible show.

Even though this notebook has begun to wear on me, I reach in my purse and pull it out, grateful for the change of subject. I thumb through the pages and land on this month’s tally chart. Everyone holds their breath while I add them up. Making sure not to tip them off, I keep my face solemn and clear my throat before snapping the notebook shut and setting it on the table. They’re dying of anticipation, each tilted forward and eager to hear Noah’s sentence. It kind of makes me want to drag it out. Really make them ache for it.

But when I finally open my mouth to reveal the answer, a shadow of someone walking across the street catches my eye. A man. Tall, lean build, tattoos down one arm.

My heart hiccups.

He pauses across the street, makes eye contact with me through the shop window, and then hitches his head. It’s time!

“I’m suddenly not feeling well,” I say, jumping up from my chair and clutching my stomach.

“Oh no,” Emily says, eyes searching me head to toe for any unseen ailment. “Do you think you’re sick?”

“I’m afraid so. I feel like I’m going to barf.” I gather my purse and walk toward the door.

Emily stands too. “Here, I’ll come home with you.”

“No!” I say, whirling around. “No, you should stay here. I’m fine. It’s probably just my period about to start or something. I’ll call you if I need you.”

I can practically see her Antenna of Suspicion rising from the top of her head. At all times Emily is scanning for potential danger that could befall us siblings. And if that’s the case, I imagine her warning system is beeping off the charts with Will Griffin close by. I force my smile not to be too big.

“I promise I’ll be okay, Em,” I say, and Madison comes to my aid by telling Emily to sit down so they can start their game before midnight.

And then I leave The Pie Shop.



* * *



—

It’s completely dark outside except for the light of the moon and a few (but not enough) streetlamps. I mention it because it’s a big thing. At the last town meeting, it was put to a vote to install more streetlights or add a speed bump on either side of the town square and, of course, a speed bump won even though no one in the town wanted it. It’s no surprise that Harriet was in charge of counting the votes, and the implication of her tampering is heavy.

I’ve never contributed to the rumors that circled around Harriet’s manipulation because I don’t like to see anyone slandered behind their backs. But now, as I’m searching for Will in the dark and can’t see him without the help of an extra streetlamp, I’m ready to spray-paint It Was Harriet! in bold red letters across the windows of the market.

“Will?” I whisper into the stale night air while looking all around. “Williamson!” I don’t see him anywhere. Surely I didn’t just imagine him. Oh gosh, if I only imagined him out of my desperation to see him, I will have reached a whole other level of infatuation. Because yeah, I can at least now admit that it’s more than a crush on Will.

I like him.

A lot.

I keep trying to tell myself that I don’t, but the more times I say I don’t, the brighter his eyes look in my memory. The more I picture his face while reading my steamy books, the more I dream of him holding me at night. Actually, after our kiss the other night, I dream of a lot more than him simply holding me.

“Will! Where are—”

A hand shoots out from a narrow alley and tugs me in. I know it’s Will before I even see him because my skin has memorized the feel of his. The subtle calluses at the top of his palms and the way his hand swallows mine. And then there’s his smell. It’s so distinctly him, like he did his laundry in the ocean. Someone could blindfold me and spin me around and set me loose in a room full of people, and I’d still be able to find him.

I land in the alley, chest to chest with him. I can see his smile even in the dark.

“Hello, Annie Walker,” he says and uses his hand to brush my hair back from my face. A hot thrill spins like a tornado in my stomach. It’s so good to be near him again. I want to wrap my arms around his middle. I want to press my face into his neck. I want to clamp my legs around him and not let go.

Instead, I stand here and look up at him. “Hello, Will Griffin.”

“Have you had a good day?” he asks, and the attentive question shocks me.

“I have. I think I finally figured out what was missing with Amelia’s bridal bouquets.”