The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,27
at me. “How many years has it been since you left Utah?”
“It’s been almost sixteen years.”
He shook his head. “Has it really been that long?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“It also does when you’re not.” He looked into my eyes. “I’ve wondered about you. How you were doing. What you were doing.”
“Making books,” I said.
“I could have guessed that,” he said. “I ran into your father a few years ago. We were at the same restaurant. He came over to talk to me. He told me you were working for some big-time New York publishing house. I wasn’t surprised. Then he said, ‘You were always good to Noel. I was glad you two were friends.’ I asked him how you were doing personally. He said, ‘She’s married and seems happy. Other than that, I don’t really know. She doesn’t talk to me. I miss her.’ ”
“He probably just wanted you to think he cared,” I said.
“He seemed sad when he said it.” Dylan’s forehead furrowed. “Why would he care if I thought he cared?”
I couldn’t answer.
He clasped his hands together. “Anyway, how long will you be in Utah?”
“I’m not sure. I thought I was going back to work, but now… I guess not.”
“What happened?”
“My supervisor called a few days ago to inform me that I no longer have a job.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. When it rains it pours.”
“The last person who said that to me took my job.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not after your job.”
“So, what are you doing these days?” I asked. “Other than stalking me.”
He grinned. “Mr. Mom. And I own a men’s suit store.”
“You sell suits?”
“High-end custom-tailored suits and tuxedoes for the discriminating male.”
“I never would have guessed you’d end up doing that.”
“What did you expect?”
“I thought you’d either be operating an oil rig in the middle of some ocean or have died saving hostages.”
He smiled. “I know, right? One day I’m covered with plaster, putting up drywall for a future suit store, and the next thing I know, I’m selling suits.”
“Another life parallel between us,” I said. “One day I’m editing books, the next I’m selling them. I inherited my father’s bookstore.”
“It’s like they say, ‘When one door closes, another opens.’ ”
“More like when one door closes another one falls on you.”
He laughed. “I think running a bookstore would be fun.”
“We’ll see. Culture hasn’t been kind to independent bookstores. It feels a little like being handed the keys to a car as it goes over a cliff.”
“It’s not doing well?”
“Actually, my father’s store is doing surprisingly well.”
“I’m not surprised. I like your father’s bookstore. Bobbooks. It’s always busy when I’m there.”
“Do you go there much?”
“Usually when I have a birthday or Mother’s Day. They’ve got great candles.”
“You go to the bookstore to buy candles?”
“Well, you don’t sell coffee…”
I laughed. “No. My father never liked the idea of that. He didn’t think coffee and books mixed. Not that candles do, either.”
He leaned forward. “Speaking of which, we should get coffee sometime. Or maybe dinner?”
“I’d like that.”
“How about Friday night?”
“You were serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I live in New York. Sometime usually means never.”
“Well, I don’t live in New York. So, Friday?”
“Friday would be great.”
“Good. I just need to make sure that works with my mom.”
“Your mom’s coming with us?”
He grinned. “No. She’s my sitter. She usually invites Alex over for sleepovers on the weekend anyway. She’s her only grandchild, you know. She’s kind of crazy about her.”
“I can imagine.”
“I’m off work at six. How about you?”
“I get off at five, so any time after six.”
He stood. “Six thirty, then. I’ll come straight from work.”
I walked him to the door and opened it. He looked at me and smiled. “It’s good seeing you, Noel. Have a good night.”
“You too,” I said.
As he was walking out I said, “Dylan.”
He turned back.
“Thank you for coming by.”
He smiled. “My pleasure.”
I shut the door. At least I had one thing in my life to look forward to.
CHAPTER fourteen
Quiet people have the loudest minds.
—Stephen Hawking
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 5
Thursday morning I walked into Wendy’s office. She was wearing a black bodysuit with a red sash, accentuating her hourglass figure.
“What’s up, boss?”
Wendy looked up. “Are you really going to call me that?”
“I’m just respecting the arrangement.”
“We need to start promoting our Black Friday book signings.”
“You’re still doing that?”
“You know how your father was. He loved his authors.”
“Most of them,” I said. “So, what do you need me to do?”
“Just make sure there are fliers in everyone’s shopping bag.”