AJ froze. “You didn’t.”
Storm pointedly eyed AJ’s cast. “Actually, I did.”
AJ frowned. “Do I not get a say in this?”
Storm smiled sweetly. “Nope. Noah—”
A shadow appeared behind the All-Seeing Eye, and AJ’s heart sank. Storm never let customers in back, even to use the bathroom.
She truly had decided to hire this person.
A large hand parted the beads as an extremely tall young man stepped through. He was dressed head to toe in black, with jet-black hair that hung shaggily about his broad shoulders and scowling black eyebrows; his overall vibe screamed villain. Except his eyes—dark and expressive and surprisingly lovely for such an intimidating person.
As they flicked to the Panasonic, time slowed. AJ watched the stranger’s frown deepen and knew at once he must be Noah Drew.
Even the tiniest backwater along AJ’s homestretch of the Mass Turnpike had ties to some historical figure of note. Great Barrington had W. E. B. Du Bois. Lenox had Edith Wharton.
Gladstone had the Drews.
They were a family of great actors, each generation more famous than the last, starting with Sir Errol Drew, who had made a name for himself on British and American stages in the 1880s, down to Noah’s father, Daniel Drew, a massive action film star in the 1980s.
The Drews were omnipresent. In fact, a very young Eudora Drew was currently battling it out on the Panasonic as Glimmette, the go-go-boots-wearing, ass-kicking pilot onAstronauticals.
In fact, AJ was writing Glimmette fan fiction.
“AJ,” said Storm. “This is Noah.”
“Hi,” said AJ, quickly minimizing her browser.
Noah’s gaze slid from the Panasonic to AJ. His eyes went wide. “I—You.”
Storm’s head tilted. “You two know each other?”
They absolutely did not. “I probably just look familiar,” AJ supplied, when Noah continued to stare at her. “I think you might have been in my older brother, Pat’s, class?”
AJ was just being polite. She knew for a fact that he had been in Pat’s class, four years ahead of hers. According to town lore, Noah had beenraised by his mother, a college professor, who had shipped him off his senior year after an incident involving arson. Last AJ heard, he’d gone into the armed services.
What was he doing back in Gladstone?
“That’s not it,” said Noah. He was watching AJ with an intensity that made her feel small, which was unusual, since she was pushing five foot nine. AJ was suddenly very aware of her ratty jean shorts, hand-me-down basketball jersey, and messy strawberry-blond topknot.
As they sized each other up, AJ felt a strange untamed aspect of her being awaken.
Noah was so big, he made the DVD cases look like baseball cards. His face was angular, pale, and far too tired for someone only a few years older. He looked like he’d forgotten how to smile.
Even so, he was uncommonly handsome. As he turned his gaze back toward the Panasonic, AJ took in the aquiline nose, the precipitous cheekbones. He stared at his aunt onscreen, unreadable.
AJ sighed. “We were planning a whole Drew-themed welcome display for you, but this was the best we could do on short notice.”
Noah didn’t laugh. His focus shifted to the store’s computer. “What is that?”
AJ glanced at the screen and realized to her utter horror that her browser was still open, the fanfiction.net masthead so large it was practically screaming.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
“Handbook for the Recently Deceased,” she blurted. Her cheeks burned, but she held his gaze.
Noah blinked. “You’rePatrick Graves’s sister?” he drawled, and AJ felt as though an invisible hook had tugged her by the ribs. He was calling her weird. Too weird to be Pat’s sister. Which…maybe she was.
