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“I do.” He searched my face again. “And I appreciate it. I guess I’ll let you get on with your Saturday.”
“Keep me posted, okay? I’ve got backups for the venue if the Torpedo Factory doesn’t work out.”
“Will do.” He started toward the front door, then turned. “Grilling tomorrow for dinner, right?”
“Absolutely. I’ll bring the apple cake.” I watched him flip the deadbolt and head out onto the sidewalk. He walked back toward the river, so I couldn’t watch him for long. I sighed. There was still time before I officially opened, but I might as well leave the door unlocked. I could take my spot up by the register and if someone came in early, even better.
The bookstore might not be in trouble yet, but I wasn’t going to turn away a sale just because it was earlier than my posted hours.
3
CODY
“About time, man.” Noah slapped me on the shoulder as he stepped into my living room. He held out the covered bowl in his hands. “Where should I put this?”
“I guess in the kitchen.” I shut the door and started in that direction. “I was thinking we could put a sort of buffet line of the sides on the counter here. People could grab a plate, get sides, then come out on the deck for their meat.”
“Works for me.” Noah set his bowl down on the counter. “I’ll leave the foil on until people get here, I guess. It’s just a salad though.”
“Should it go in the fridge?” I checked the time. Noah was about an hour early. I headed to the fridge and pulled open the door. There was room. “Put it in. And we can both try to remember it’s in there.”
Noah laughed. “I’m not taking it home if we forget.”
I shook my head. When we’d lived together, Noah was the one who would buy veggies and leave them to die in the drawer. Sometimes I’d try to do something with them, but it wasn’t as if I was a super healthy eater. Still, a salad was something I could take to work and enjoy for lunches. So it’d be fine. “All right.”
Noah carried the salad to the fridge and then looked around. “I like it. You’re going to have to learn to cook better to do this place justice.”
“Hey.” I scowled at him. “I cook. More than you, at least.”
“That’s not exactly saying a ton. Do I get the tour?”
“You’ve been over before.” Had I really not given him a tour before? He’d helped carry boxes when I moved.
“Sure. But that was before you were set up.” Noah shrugged. “I’m guessing you’ve bought more furniture by now.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Not so much.”
Noah began to laugh.
I looked away. Okay, sure. It was a little funny. But maybe not to the split-a-rib level Noah was at. “I don’t see you even owning a house, man. So maybe keep the chortles down a level?”
Noah sucked in a breath and blew it out, clearly fighting the last remnants of humor. “Sorry.” He held up a hand and cleared his throat. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“I did get living room furniture.” I went through the kitchen door to the living space and gestured to the leather sectional, coffee table, and area rug.
“Nice. Leather’s always a good choice.” Noah flopped onto the couch. “Comfy.”
“I like it.” I took a seat in one of the chairs. They weren’t as comfortable as the sofa, but they were still nice.
“Did you see that the Potts-Fitzhugh-Lee house is for sale?”
My eyebrows lifted. “I did not.”
“You think it’s stupid.”
“I didn’t say that. I just never figured you for a rehab project. I believe you said, at one point in our tenure as roommates, that you weren’t changing lightbulbs because that was the super’s job.” It had turned out not to be the super’s job. I’d tried to tell him that, but Noah had been adamant. Sometimes it worked out better if I let him learn things on his own. Even if it had made the two of us the laughingstock of the floor for a while.
Noah’s face blazed red. “How long are you planning to throw that in my face?”
