Sweetest Mistake (Nolan Brothers #2) (16 page)

Vivian’s injured expression turned calculating. “Stuffed baby artichokes and Tuscan salad. For the main course, smoked salmon with lemon, seasonal vegetables, and golden potato croquette. Either Pinot Grigio or Sauvignon Blanc for the wine. You can choose.”

The curtain rustled and Mina stepped out from behind it.

Emily gasped while, for the first time since she entered the store, Vivian fell silent.

The dress conformed to Mina’s curves with a standing shoulder collar and an elegant flare at the bottom. It contained no adornments, but was made of a buttery-smooth satin with a wide sash around her small waist. It reminded Emily of styles they might’ve worn in the forties, but with a sexier silhouette.

Vivian’s head started to bob and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s perfect.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “It is?” Her head bent as she tried to look at her body. “You don’t think it’s too tight? Or old-fashioned?”

Unable to speak, Vivian went to Mina and wrapped her in her arms.

A spasm of grief struck Emily near her heart as she witnessed the special moment. One of those rare instants in life when all the small pains melted away, or finally made sense, and good-byes only meant new beginnings.

It was a moment Emily would never share with her own mother. She told herself if she were fortunate to find a man she loved enough to marry, she wouldn’t begrudge her fate, but her mom’s absence from her life was like a big, gaping hole blown through the middle of her chest. It might callus over one day, but she would never be whole again.

Vivian sniffed. “It’s timeless, and it shows off your curves. That’s something every woman should do on her wedding day.”

With Mina changed, the quartet made their way to the front of the store. Exhaustion clawed at Emily and she plopped onto a raised platform by the entrance where a mannequin posed while Mina and Isobel finalized the details of Mina’s dress order.

Emily leaned back to gaze up at the faceless mannequin, outfitted in a taupe patterned blouse and a cream-colored corduroy blazer with dark-wash blue jeans and leopard-print ballet flats. She fingered the teardrop pearl earrings lying next to a chocolate-brown leather tote at the mannequin’s feet.

It was a great outfit. The kind of outfit a smart, professional businesswoman might wear. Or a woman with a lover.

Vivian appeared at her elbow. Her throat worked when she swallowed. “I wish I’d known your mother was sick. I’d liked to have helped or… visited her.”

Emily recoiled and her heart kicked painfully in her chest.

Vivian’s voice wavered. “Did she suffer?”

Her throat closed and it took her many long moments to force out the words. “Y-yes, she did. Very much.”

She knew it wasn’t what Vivian wanted to hear, and maybe she should’ve censored her response for her aunt, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t downplay the hell Audrey had suffered.

Mina turned away from the sales counter and Emily stepped into her place. She barely listened while Isobel verified the size and color of her dress.

This month marked one year Emily’s mom had been dead, and in that time, she’d moved across the country, opened her own business, and had regretful sex with a gorgeous man.

Isobel confirmed the total price, and Emily slid her credit card from her wallet. But before she handed it over, she pointed to the mannequin in the front window. “I’d like to b-b-buy the outfit on that mannequin as well.”

S
leep hadn’t eased the exhaustion pulling at Emily’s limbs, and by late afternoon the next day, she crawled to her bed and pulled the covers over her head. When she awoke near dinnertime, her head throbbed with the pressure in her stuffed sinus passages and her eyes burned.

In the bathroom, she rummaged through the cupboard in search of anything with enough strength to knock her out again, but her search turned up only a couple of allergy tablets and a bottle of multivitamins, and she discovered the nearly empty box of tissues on her nightstand was the only box in the house.

She counted the rolls of toilet paper and decided she could manage without more tissue. Then she swallowed and her throat screamed with raw aching. Her muscles sore and weak, she yanked a brush through her hair before she gave up on grooming and pulled on her sneakers.

Outside, clouds hovered overhead and blocked out any warmth from the setting sun. She didn’t know if the temperature had dipped or if her body, with its weakened immune system, overestimated the chill, but she burrowed her nose in her sweatshirt and darted to her sedan.

At the store, she skipped the carts and searched out the health aisle. Her head as cloudy as the darkening sky, she loaded her arms with cough syrup and drops, throat spray, mentholated rub, and two boxes of ultra-soft tissue. En route to the checkout lanes, she added a jug of orange juice and a gallon of ice cream to her heap.

She tucked the ice cream under her chin and turned toward the front of the store. As she came around the end of the aisle, someone crashed into her. She registered only blonde hair and jiggly warmth before a box of Kleenex popped out from under her arm and landed on the ground with a crack of noise.

The pile in her arms shifted and started to slide. She bobbled the orange juice and a squeak leaked from her when the ice cream toppled toward the floor.

At the last second, two hands shot out and plucked the gallon from its freefall. Bright green eyes glinted up at her. Emily gulped back a curse, and winced with the sting of her inflamed throat.

“Nice catch.” Her nose clogged with snot, she’d become a mouth breather.

Luke’s dimples popped, and he straightened. “Cookie dough? Somehow I pegged you for a rocky road kind of girl.”

She wished the cold hadn’t destroyed her sense of smell. He probably smelled as good as he looked. A neat black suit hugged his lean frame and turned his bright eyes brilliant. The stunner at his side wore a gold shrink-wrapped dress, and held a bottle of wine nestled in the crook of her arm.

The butterflies banging around in Emily’s stomach crash-landed somewhere around her naval.

He was on a date. They were on a date. Together.

“I’m allergic to n-nuts.”

His gaze raked over her and his smile fell. “Are you sick?”

The blonde’s perfect button nose crinkled and she drew back.

“It’s just a cold.” A menacing tickle built in her nose and erupted as a sneeze.

The other box of tissue hit the floor. She stooped as Luke bent over and her forehead bashed into his shoulder.

“You should get a shopping cart,” the blonde said.

When Emily stood, the mucus clogging her sinuses shifted and the world tipped with a dizzying slant.

“Let me help you.” Luke reached for the jug of orange juice.

Emily twisted away. “No, I’ve got it.” Her gaze slipped to the woman found so often on his arm.

Luke seemed to startle. “Emily, this is Kate. Kate, Emily.”

The women exchanged muttered hellos.

“Emily bought the old Winslow house and opened a bed-and-breakfast.” The slide of his deep voice tried to pull her in, but she resisted its seductive lure.

Kate’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Isn’t it weird sleeping with strangers in your house?”

Emily preferred it to being by herself. With guests filling the empty house, she might be able to pretend she wasn’t all alone in the world.

In the awkward silence that followed, Emily eased back. “Uh, h-h-have a nice n-n-night.”

She spotted an empty checkout lane and dumped her armload onto the belt. Moments later, she approached the storefront to find he had waited for her.

He plucked the grocery sacks from her hands and fell into step alongside her. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m good.” She attempted a cheeky grin. “I’ve got drugs now.”

He didn’t laugh, but only frowned down at her.

At her car, she opened the trunk and he set the groceries inside the dark interior.

“Let me give you my number. In case you need me—”

“All I need is sleep.” She slammed the trunk closed. “Enjoy your date.”

With Kate.

Emily didn’t give Luke a chance to make excuses, think up a lie, or worse, not bother to do either, but went around to the driver-side door and ducked inside the car. She drove away while, in the rearview mirror, he scowled after her.

He ignored the voice inside his head screaming at him to get the hell out of there and pounded his fist on the back door at Emily’s house.

This time, he’d keep his control in place. If he focused on her shortcomings, he’d forget about how pretty she was when she smiled, and how he desperately wanted to suckle her porn-star mouth again, and her pink nipples, and—

The muffled sound of a sneeze reached him through the heavy door.

“Emily, open up.”

He heard a thump followed by a sharp curse.

The force of his smile surprised him. He leaned a shoulder against the house. “Take your time. I can wait.”

A sliver of light filtered out to him when the door cracked open a fraction of an inch.

One brown, red-rimmed eye appeared through the opening. “What do you want?”

He could hear the congestion in her voice, which managed to be husky and sexy rather than gross.

“You’re not asleep, are you?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good. Let me in.”

“I’m in m-my pajamas.”

“So?”

“So, go away.”

He held up the bowl in his hand.

She eyed it. “What’s that?”

“My special healing recipe. It’ll clear your sinuses and feel good on your sore throat.”

Naked longing swept across her face and he coughed with the force of lust that crashed into him.

Her small hand shot out through the crack. “The soup can come in, but you can’t.”

“We’re a package deal.” He held the bowl out of reach. “It’s all or nothing.”

A frown tugged at her mouth. “Where’s your date?”

With one shoulder, he pushed his way inside the house.

A giant snowflake stretched across the chest of her dark blue nightgown. The twin peaks of her beaded nipples begged for his attention, and whatever words he might’ve said fled his mind with the blood rushing to his groin.

He set the soup on the counter and rummaged around her kitchen for a bowl and spoon. She sank onto a barstool at the island and slumped forward.

“Have you taken your meds?”

Another sneeze burst from her, and she moaned. “Uh-huh.” She dabbed at her bright red nose with a crumpled tissue.

Soup warming in the microwave, he laid his hands on her shoulders. “C’mon then. Let’s get you to bed.”

She slid off the stool and he followed her into the mudroom, through a side door, and down a short hall.

“Man, you really are sick. You’re not going to try to kick me out?”

In response, she released an exhausted sigh, and in a space set up like a typical living room, she trudged to the overstuffed sofa and dropped onto a pile of pillows.

He returned for the soup, and handing it to her, sat on the circular coffee table before the couch. She took a small taste and a soft moan slipped through her lips.

Heat rushed over his skin as she swallowed several more greedy nips.

Holding the bowl under her nose, she fixed him with a dark look. “You can leave now.”

“I will. When I’m ready.”

Her mouth pinched. “Wh-where’s Kate?”

“I took her home.”

She considered that. “You two—”

“Are friends.”

“Well, I should hope so,” she muttered.

“We’re
just
friends.”

She set the soup on an end table and burrowed deeper into the quilts. “If you say so.”

“I do.” With the pad of his thumb, he brushed over a callus on his palm. “I promised someone I’d look out for her and I am.”

One eye cracked open to search his face. He allowed her assessment.