Page 12 of The Luck of Finding You
So I got left again.
Which is why I will not fall for Noah. I don’t want my heart to be broken, so I’m not going to even give it the chance. I’m not going to give him the chance to leave me.
There’s a tapping on the front door that makes me jump out of my thoughts. I sigh and make my way to the front of the store, frowning when I see Noah standing on the other side of the glass about to unlock the door.
I unlock the door but head toward the register by way of greeting.
Thankfully, he’s dogless as he enters. His sister must have the dog. “Tally, we should talk,” Noah starts, but I hold up a hand.
“Nothing to talk about.”
“But about…”
I can’t bear to hear the words. “Nope. Nothing to talk about unless it’s about the shop—which, welcome to the shop, I guess.”
“Tally.” Noah’s voice is a plea. One I won’t give in to.
“Noah—” Saying his name seems to startle both of us as he looks at me with wide eyes. I recover first. “I don’t want to talk about what happened that day. We can have this new start; we’ll work together and I’ll show you the ins and outs of the shop and that’s it. We don’t need to be friends.”
“But what if I want to be friends?” His voice is light, but his words come crashing down like the weight of an ocean wave. His eyes are so sincere, but I remember the promise I made myself. I will not, I cannot, fall in love with him again.
“I don’t.” Being friends could lead to something more.
Noah takes a step toward me, his blue eyes never leaving mine. I swallow hard. “I’d like to be your friend. But if that’s not what you want, I’ll respect that.”
I blink in surprise. You’d think that a man doing the bare minimum, respecting what I say, wouldn’t be completely shocking to me. I read a lot of romance novels, so I’ve seen a lot of men written by women. But it’s been a long time since I met a guy like that in real life. I’m so shocked that I can’t seem to find the words to say next.
Noah takes a step back and looks around the part of the shop we’re standing in. I suddenly wonder how he’ll take it all in. Will he notice how most of the shelves are slightly crooked and always overflowing? How the counter we use as a checkout stand was part of the building next door that we took when they remodeled a few years ago? He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m saved from hearing his words as an older woman walks in the door.
“Hi, welcome to The Book Shop.” I smile at her brightly. “Can I help you find anything?”
The woman holds up a list. “I’ve got a few books I’d like to see if you have for my grandson. He’s eight and has been loving reading so much that I needed some more books.”
I smile and lead her toward the children’s section. Thankfully, Noah stays standing near the register. Because most of the books in our store are donated and secondhand, there’s no way of knowing if we’ll actually have what she’s looking for. I do know we have a good selection though, so I give her a few recommendations as well as finding two of the books on her list.
Noah is leaning against the counter with a steaming mug of hot chocolate when we make our way to the register. The cowbell above the door rings as she heads out, and I face Noah because I have no other choice now.
“Guess you found the hot chocolate machine.” This sounds like something you’d say to a new co-worker. Or maybe it’s something you’d say to a friend. It’s been so long since I had a new one of either, I don’t know how to navigate this.
Noah’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “Grandma Marsha was always trying to convince the world that hot chocolate was superior to coffee.”
His comment makes me smile. “She really was. Thankfully, she didn’t have to work too hard to convince me.”
Noah lifts a single eyebrow. How do people do that in real life? I could have sworn it was just a thing that happened in books because no one I know can only lift one eyebrow at a time.
“Yes, I’ve always been on team hot chocolate,” I say in answer to his unspoken question. I have to look away from his curious stare because this feels too much like friends after I just said I don’t want to be friends with him.
He doesn’t say a word for a moment.
“Do you carry any new inventory? Or just used books?” Noah asks.
“Only used,” I say, wondering why I’m so bothered that he’s already asking about the shop.
“Have you ever considered selling new books?”
“It’s just all business for you, huh?” I grab a stack of books that someone dropped off this morning and carry them to the nearest shelf, where I start shelving them. I already wrote them in our records this morning. And even though part of me agrees with him, my heart tugs at the words, because changing anything makes me think of Marsha and thinking of Marsha makes me think of Mom and thinking about how both are gone makes me want to cry.
Noah grunts. “Did you not just say you didn’t want to be friends? I figured I can ask a few questions while I’m here.”
