It wasn’t what she’d expected. None of today had been. But as Emma grasped Brynn’s hand and shook, she wondered why she hadn’t attempted these small steps outside of her comfort zone before. Not all the results had been good, but for the first time, she was forced to consider whether the benefits in taking a risk once in a while might not outweigh the potential for catastrophe. For all that losing the Harding wedding had been a gut punch, it had also been a wake-up call.
She just needed to muscle past the fear. She wasn’t there yet . . . but it felt like she was making a start. Emma thought of Seth, and of his whisper
—“Soon”—
and decided that as long as she was on a roll, it might not be a bad idea to take one more risk today. Whether that conversation ended up being a triumph or a complete debacle, at least she’d wake up tomorrow knowing where things stood in the Amazing Life of Emma Henry.
“Deal,” she said, then pulled her hand away, feeling a strange sense of triumph. Even a small change in her world was a big deal. A risk. She knew just how much she
had to lose, and she knew what it felt like to have holes left in you that refused to heal. Still, nothing that had happened since her now-legendary performance at Sam’s party had turned out to be the world-ending event she’d expected. The rumors were ridiculous. Today’s rejection had stung, badly. But she’d met Seth, who seemed interested in her despite her horrible romantic instincts. And as Brynn’s cheerful chatter about an upcoming sale at a favorite upscale clothing store washed over her, Emma had to admit that this didn’t feel dangerous or scary, either.
It simply felt like moving forward, a sensation she’d nearly forgotten.
And better, it felt like gaining a friend.
H
e’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have a day this bad.
Seth slunk into his kitchen, popped a couple of aspirin, and wandered back out to the family room to flop in his favorite chair and stare blindly at the television. His cheek and eye throbbed, and the tenderness told him he was going to have one hell of a black eye in the morning. That alone would have made it a less than stellar day, but the e-mail he’d had waiting for him after work had been the icing on the cake.
He looked up at the ridiculous picture above his fireplace, remembering a different day, a phone call.
One more gone. Shit.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there as the room grew dark, staring at the flickering images on the television without really seeing them. Everything he’d held at bay, the sorrow, the anger, the guilt, settled on him like a comfortable old overcoat. He let it stay, having learned that sometimes, you just had to sit with the feelings and let them have their way with you awhile before you could put them away again.
The knock at the door echoed through the quiet house like a gunshot, and he hit the floor without
thinking. A split second later he’d shoved his face into his hands, feeling foolish. He’d been too deep in his own head, in a place thousands of miles from here, and had the old reaction. All things considered, it could be a lot worse. The war had changed him, but it had left him basically intact, with a few odd little quirks thrown in for good measure. He knew he was lucky.
But that hadn’t banished the guilt. Especially not on days like today.
Seth got quickly to his feet, turned off the TV, and glanced out the window on his way to the door. The streetlights had come on, and the sky bore only a faint, final trace of the sunset. A sleek little sports car, one he knew well, was parked in his driveway. It made his steps falter. As much as he wanted to see her, as curious as he was about what had brought her to his door, a part of him just wanted to drift in his own melancholy for a while and then go to bed. He was tired. Maybe too tired for another round with Emma the Inscrutable tonight. She might surprise him with another kiss. Then again, she was just as likely to tell him to stay the hell away from her if he couldn’t keep his paws to himself, no matter that she’d been the instigator.
In the end, his own impossible attraction won out. He took a deep, cleansing breath and opened the door.
She stood on his doorstep in a small circle of light, her hands folded uncomfortably in front of her. She was in one of her classy work getups, a little gray suit with a flared skirt and a skinny red belt that drew his eyes right to her tiny waist. An equally red pair of heels made her legs the next destination for his attention before he lifted his gaze back to her pale heart-shaped face. Her eyes seemed enormous, the bright blue of the ocean on a calm, clear day.
“Oh my God, what happened?”
“Hazards of handling a domestic dispute solo. His wife got it worse.” He shrugged, but his response didn’t seem to satisfy Emma, who started to lift her hands to his face before stopping halfway, biting her lip, and shoving her hands behind her back. It was just as well—he wasn’t sure that her touching him was a great idea right now, mostly because he wanted her to so badly. Last night had been fun, not to mention surprisingly easy. He wasn’t in the mood for fun, though, and Emma was nowhere near as comfortable with him on her own. The last thing he needed tonight was more frustration.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Yeah, like a son of a bitch,” Seth replied. “I had some ice on it afterward. Took aspirin. I’ll live.” He looked down at her, curious. Her hair was down, falling in dark waves around her shoulders. For him? Or just for comfort? She never wore it down to work. He hated himself a little for knowing that . . . and a little more for immediately imagining plunging his hands into all that thick, soft, silken hair.
Not a great night for this, Andersen.
“What can I do for you, Emma?” he asked. “I’d invite you in, but I’m pretty beat.”
“Oh,” she said, “that’s okay. Um. I’ll just . . . I’ll catch you a different time. I just thought . . . You know what, never mind. You’re hurt. I’ll just go.”
Her hands fluttered around her as she spoke, her cheeks turning a deep pink, and Seth sensed that sending her away would amount to a missed opportunity he’d be kicking himself for tomorrow. Turning up here on her own wasn’t something he’d expected from her. It might not be something he’d get again if he sent her off. He knew he made her nervous, and he also knew that wasn’t Emma’s preferred state of being.
Seth sighed, relenting. “Emma. Come inside.”
“I don’t want to bother you if you need to rest, Seth. It’s fine.”
“No, I’m just a little grumpy. Getting punched in the face will do that to you. But if you can deal with that, then come on in. Maybe some company will be good for me.”
She didn’t look entirely sure about that, and he didn’t blame her, but he also knew she wasn’t apt to run from a challenge. When she took a small step forward, Seth knew he’d been right.
“Okay,” she said. “But don’t feel bad about telling me when you want me to take off.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “I won’t. Come on in.”
* * *
Emma knew something was off the second he opened the door.
It wasn’t just the black eye, which looked painful. It was the expression on his face. Seth looked tired, almost haunted. She’d gotten used to his smile, she realized, and the sense that whatever was going on around him, he tended to keep a sense of humor about it. Tonight, though, dressed in a ratty old pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt that looked like it was only barely hanging on, Seth no longer seemed like the affable knight in shining armor.
Maybe giving in to impulse and coming here had been a mistake. She’d been cruising on the good vibes from her dinner with Brynn, somehow sure they’d overflow onto the rest of her evening, whatever she chose to do with it. This wasn’t what she’d been hoping for . . . but it was too late to turn around and bolt for the car.
“You want a soda or anything?” he asked, flipping on a light. Emma looked around, unsettled. Had he just been sitting here in the dark?
“No, I’m fine,” she said. “Seth, really, I can go—”
“Stay,” he interrupted her. He must have heard the harsh edge in his own voice, because he softened it when he spoke again. “Really. I’m not enjoying my own company tonight, but there’s no reason I can’t enjoy yours.”
He looked so lost, she thought, startled as she was by the force of the feelings that barreled into her. She wanted to know what was wrong, and she wanted to fix it. Now. Because in here, with just the two of them, his sadness seemed to fill up all the extra space. As she watched, Seth sank onto the couch and settled in, stretching out his legs. One of the legs of his shorts rode up enough to expose a muscled thigh, which flexed as he got comfortable. The sight of such a small bit of skin immediately began doing some interesting things to her ability to breathe.
When she lifted her eyes to his, he was watching her intently, and she was sure he knew exactly what she’d been staring at. She felt herself flush, the heat rushing through her system like wildfire. It was different now that he’d kissed her. Now that she’d kissed him. The tension between them was heavy with the sorts of possibilities Emma had been determined not to entertain where he was concerned.
But somehow, here she was. And she’d come to him.
It made her question her sanity, among other things. And this time, she couldn’t think of a single, plausible excuse.
“Why don’t you sit?” he asked. His mouth curved in a ghost of a smile. “I don’t bite, no matter how bad I look.”
Emma laughed nervously and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t look bad. Just injured.”
And you look like you’d happily take a bite out of me. What worries me is that I think I might like it.
She looked at the couch, then at the leather recliner near it, had a brief debate about just how much of a chicken she was going to be, and finally hurried to the couch to perch at the far edge of it. She felt like an ass, but it did prompt the first flicker of genuine amusement across Seth’s face. He shook his head and chuckled.
“You’re something else, Emma.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” He shifted, wincing a little. His face had to hurt, Emma knew. Sam had given her a black eye once when they were kids, when Emma had decided that one of Sam’s masterpieces really needed stick people added to it—in black paint. Sam had ended up grounded, but Emma was pretty sure Sam had never regretted getting even.
Flustered, Emma cast around for something to talk about besides her own obvious apprehension. Her latest disaster seemed as good a starting point as any. “I didn’t get the Harding wedding,” she said. As a distraction, it worked like a charm. Seth frowned, made a soft, pained sound, and then settled on an expression that was more polite concern.
“No way,” he said. “I figured you had that in the bag.”
“Nope. I went down in flames. Didn’t ask the right people the right questions.”
That seemed to surprise him. “Yeah? I thought you knew everything about everyone around here. More of a party oracle than a party planner. No?”
She bunched up her fist at him. “Keep kicking me while I’m down. Really.”
Seth tilted his head at her. “Actually, you seem like you’re in a pretty good mood. That’s why I’m surprised you didn’t get the job. Something else happen to cancel
that out? Lottery win, or maybe you finally went streaking with Big Al for real?”
Emma wrinkled her nose at him. “Getting naked and running around downtown wouldn’t put me in a good mood.”
“I hear it’s therapeutic,” Seth replied. He flexed his fingers absently against the leather of the couch. “So don’t leave me guessing. This is two days in a row I’ve seen that smile. You seem to save that for special occasions, so . . . a diabolical plot to take over the world, maybe? Or were you eating burned marshmallows before you got here?”
“No!” But she laughed. “I did think about the marshmallows, but . . . no. The Harding thing stinks, honestly. I’ll probably obsess about it later. But I had a nice dinner with Brynn. I’m giving her more responsibilities, and we’re going shopping. It was productive.” She lifted a shoulder, smiled. “It was also fun. I’m not sure why we didn’t do it before. Apparently I’m not that approachable. Who knew?”
That finally got a real smile out of him. “So you gave her more work, and she wants to hang out. Obviously this was meant to be.”
“I guess. It’ll be fun. Hopefully. I don’t do things with other people much. I mean, non-work-related things. You know.” She breathed deeply, looked around the room, and tried not to stiffen up. She wished she could stop saying things around him that would make normal people walk quickly away in the other direction. Maybe she should just get a button that said
HI, I’M SOCIALLY
IMPAIRED! TALK TO ME
AT YOUR OWN RISK!
and be done with it. At least then people would know what they were getting into.
“No, I get it. I’m like that.”
Emma looked sharply at him, eyebrow raised. “You? I watched you last night. You’re completely friendly. And you don’t stick your foot in your mouth every time you open it.”
“So we have stylistic differences.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Right. ‘Awkward loner’ is a style, then?”
“You weren’t either one of those things last night. You’re not awkward when you’re working, either,” he pointed out. “You’re cool and collected. And from what I hear, a little scary.”
“That’s competent, not scary. And I’m good at work. It’s the one thing I
am
good at.”
Seth snorted softly. “Wrong.”
“No, I’m not,” Emma replied. She dug the toes of her heels into the rug and propped her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on her fist as she frowned at him. She must have looked funny, since she got another smile, not broad but warm. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
“So why are you having such a bad night?” she asked.
Seth looked at her blandly. “It’s not obvious? My face hurts. And no jokes—I heard enough of them at the station.”
“I know. That’s not what I meant, though. You seem down. That’s all. I wouldn’t think some jerk punching you would bother you so much.”
She was right. She knew it when he looked away from her. There was more; he just didn’t want to share. And why would he? They hardly knew each other, and she hadn’t exactly been easy to talk to since they’d met. Not about anything important, anyway. She nibbled at her lower lip, wondering how to draw him out. This was her
annoying compulsion to fix things, she knew. But she couldn’t help it.
“Well, I’m not always Mr. Sunshine. Sorry.”
Whatever was wrong, he hadn’t been lying about one thing: He was grouchy. Part of her wanted to snap back at him. The other part was relieved that perfect, gorgeous Seth Andersen had some flaws, too. For some reason, rather than putting her on edge, it helped her relax. Flaws were comforting. She had plenty of experience dealing with her own. Seth winced again and closed his eyes with a pained sigh. Emma watched him, utterly sympathetic. There was a cut by his eye, probably from a ring. It couldn’t be helping. She tried to think of something she might be able to do. It only seemed right, considering what Seth had done for her. Fuzzy though the memories were, she did remember him holding her hair, rubbing her back, and consoling her while she was violently ill.
“How’s your neck?” she asked. There was only one thing she could think of, and given his mood, there was the distinct possibility he would tell her to take off. Still, while soothing wasn’t her forte, she knew firsthand that in some ways she was capable enough.
“Stiff,” Seth replied, his voice grittier. “Kind of like the rest of my face right now. Maybe you should go, Em. I’m just going to end up hurting your feelings or pissing you off, and you deserve better than both.”
Hearing her nickname out of his mouth startled her, but in a way that left her with a sweet warmth that made her even more determined to help him. It didn’t matter what his problem was. It only mattered that she could likely help him, if only a little. She was nervous about touching him, but that was her problem. She’d deal. This wasn’t about her, and for once, she was glad of it.