Nicholas shoveled another scoop of pasta into his mouth and smiled. She looked exasperated. She loved it. This cycle had gone on as long as he could remember. Her pasta hit the spot. He’d been working in the sun for hours.
The time had passed in a blink. His mind wandered to Emma and the meal they’d shared. She made heirloom tomatoes on the grill like his mom’s, right down to the tangy touch of Italian dressing and zip of dill. At first, he wondered if she’d found the recipe somewhere. Then, he passed it off as a common idea. Lots of cooks tried a pinch of this, a dash of that, to change up an old favorite. Sitting with his mom, enjoying her sweet red sauce, he wondered.
“I had grilled tomatoes the other night.”
“Did you use the dill?” She looked up, seeming delighted.
“I didn’t make them.”
That gave her pause. She sipped her water. He watched her ponder what his point might be. “Well, then they weren’t as good.”
“They were pretty good, dill and all.”
She raised a brow. “I thought I was clever. Guess there’s nothing new under the sun.” She sighed and forked another bite of pasta. “Who made them with dill?”
His gaze darted from hers, betraying him. Knowing she suspected a woman in the story made him cocky. He lost 15 years in less than a minute.
“Emma Hastings.” He hoped his expression didn’t give too much away. Emma got under his skin worse than anyone ever had. He couldn’t even say her name without dropping I.Q. points. “Do you know the Hastings?”
“Yes.” She chewed a bit of pasta looking content and unflustered.
Her composure killed him.
Speak woman!
“She’s very young. Twenty-two?”
“Twenty-five.”
“The Hastings are good people. How is Emma these days? I hear she had a… She left college early, I believe. Came home for a while and left again. I’ve seen her out and about more lately. She takes pictures of Mable’s grandkids umpteen times a year.” His mama rolled her eyes. “Mable’s a braggart.” The oh-when-will-it-be-me look in her eye took over. A few sighs later she shook her head. “How’s Emma feeling?”
“Fine. She’s got a great photography studio in her barn. Jackson renovated an office. It looks nice. Have you been to see it?”
“I haven’t. Did you say you went with Jackson?” The faux innocence in her expression made him choke.
“No. I took Mavis over to have her picture taken.”
His mother laughed and pulled a napkin over her mouth. “You didn’t.”
“I did. I didn’t expect her to offer dinner.”
“Uh-huh.” She shook her head at him. “Ornery.”
“When she offered, I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Of course not.”
“I cooked.”
She pressed her lips together but didn’t speak.
“She brought seasoned tomatoes out with the chicken. Do you know anyone else who uses your recipe?”
“I don’t know. I’ve made those tomatoes for years and taken them to plenty of events around town. I’m glad she’s using it.” Her lips twisted into a smirk.
“What?” He knew. He asked anyway.
“You like her.” The smirk became a coy motherly smile. It made him happy to see her smile.
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.” He took a sip of his coffee and mulled over the truth of the words. She seemed to like him too. She hadn’t thrown anything at him. He smiled. Then again, she was nice to everyone. His smile fell. Confusion returned, and he took it out on his pasta, emptying his plate in record time.
Nicholas hadn’t been on a date in years. There’d been too much he needed to work through before he could consider dragging other people into his mess. Then he stayed too busy to meet anyone. Lately though, the need crept back in. Spending time with the
Fallons
did that to him. No one could deny their love or affection for one another. They were best friends, companions, confidants. Sometimes, if he let himself, he thought of how nice it must be to have what they had. Someone to share his secrets with. Someone who’d love him despite them.
“When do I get to meet her?” His mother’s expectant blue eyes looked back. “Will she be at the festival? Maybe you could introduce us?”
Still reeling from the fact she accepted his offer to take her, and that he’d had the nerve to be specific in his request for a date, he nodded. As he’d spoken the words to her, he knew he had to say
date
or he’d wonder what her answer meant. Whatever it would be. Then, she’d said yes. Yes. Without hesitation, leaving him to believe she wanted to go on a date with him. She didn’t mean to agree for the sake of his feelings. She wanted to go. And that wide crazy happy smile.
“Careful, sweetheart,” his mom gloated, “you’re smiling.”
He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “I’m picking her up at five Friday night.” Nicholas squeezed his lips tight before daring a glance at his mom.
“I see.”
“That’s it? You see?”
“
Mmm
hmm.” She scurried from the table to the sink and rinsed the plates.
Nicholas turned in his chair to stare at her back. His mom was never one to interfere, but the way she dropped the conversation about a Honey Creek girl he had a date with fell out of character. Miles out.
“Do you remember her? I looked at some old yearbooks and she seemed to be involved in everything. She’s different now.”
His mother looked over her shoulder. “I quilt with her mother sometimes. Emma was Honey Queen one year, I think. It’s been years.”
“I hear she used to get into some trouble.”
“I had a boy who knew all about trouble once.”
Nicholas snickered. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You made life interesting. How many moms can say their son organized a senior class skinny dip? Or was suspected in stealing every chair the high school had set up for graduation, leaving hundreds of people standing for an hour and a half at commencement?”
“Hey, they never caught anyone associated with that awesome prank, and an awful lot of people had lawn chairs in their trucks. There were some seats available.” He chewed and thought. “Don’t forget the moonshine scandal.” He pointed his fork at her.
“Luckily you were 14 on that one. We kept it quiet.” Her eyes went heavy. “I suspect your father had a hand in that little enterprise.” A weak smile tugged her cheeks. “Life happens. It changes us.” The sober tone in her voice broke his heart.
She could’ve meant a dozen things. Losing his dad had changed her life. War changed his. He wished he knew what changed Emma’s. He wanted to know everything about her. More than he wanted her to be his confidant, he wanted to be hers. The more he thought about all he didn’t know about Emma, the more something twisted inside him. A protective instinct kicked in, and all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and pull her against him.
“Do you know what happened to her? What really happened? Her mom must’ve said something to someone.”
His mother’s eyes softened. Her shoulders sagged. “Those are her stories to tell.” Sadness loosened her smile and his heart broke.
“Mom?”
“Go.”
He stood and moved beside her to help dry and put away their dinner plates.
“Leave it.” She patted his cheek and her eyes brightened. “Don’t forget to introduce me at the festival. I’ll be watching for you.”
****
Heather’s Jeep sat in the dark drive when he jogged up Emma’s front steps. Unsure of what to say, he dithered on the porch. Music played somewhere inside. He checked behind him for more cars, but saw none. It sounded like a party. The door swung and he frowned. He hadn’t heard anyone come near it. He was losing his edge.
“You come here to admire the door, or are you coming in?” Heather wore a cowgirl hat and boa from Emma’s studio. Her hands anchored against her hips, but they hadn’t stopped moving. Before he could speak, she grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him through the door.
Nicholas stood in Heather’s laser stare, frozen in Emma’s foyer. She evaluated him. He’d underestimated the depth of their friendship. She looked like a blond mama bear ready to pounce if he gave the wrong answer. He didn’t know the right answer. “I was thinking about Emma, and I thought I’d stop by. Say hi.”
Her face relaxed for a fraction of a second before Emma appeared at the top of the stairs above them. She wore an unbuttoned men’s shirt. A painfully feminine tank and cotton shorts beneath. From his position her short legs looked long and lean, disappearing beneath the minimal fabric. The curve of her bottom set off images he hadn’t associated with her before. Her bright green eyes were squeezed shut as she belted lyrics from the top step. She kicked her legs out over the stairs in showgirl fashion.
Heather coughed and cleared her throat. The music overpowered her efforts, and Emma continued in an uncanny Shania Twain impression.
Nicholas couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d never seen her so free and silly and, well, loud. His cheeks ached from the ridiculous smile taking over his face. A direct contrast to the horror on Heather’s. Only a few steps away and her eyes sprung wide for the finale.
“Ah!” Emma squealed loud enough to start the neighborhood dogs barking and dropped to her bottom on the stairs. She pulled her shirt closed and buried her face into her knees.
Heather looked between them and muttered an apology. She turned, he assumed for the radio, but walked past it and out the back door.
Emma remained statue still. Aside from the heavy moan and soft chuckle, she didn’t move.
“So,” Nicholas climbed the stairs to sit beside her. “I stopped by for the show.”
She laughed loudly at her feet.
He nudged her shoulder with his. “What on earth do you girls do over here at night?”
He earned another laugh. She rolled her head against her knees and risked a peek his way.
“Shut up.”
“I like this look on you.”
Emma turned on the step to face him. Her cheek flaming as red as her hair. “To what do I owe the honor of this complete embarrassment?”
“Oh. Let’s be clear. The honor is all mine.” He gave her ensemble a healthy nod.
“Can I get you something to drink?” She took off down the stairs without looking back.
“Sure. What
d’you
have?” He hoped she had coffee because he hated tea.
Another blush and she raised a bottle of strawberry wine to eye level. “Homemade wine?”
That explained a lot. He leaned against the wall, pleased. “You keep surprising me.”
“You’re not getting a look at my best sides tonight.”
To the contrary, he remembered her descent in those little shorts, but kept it to himself. She pulled the material of her button-down tight at the collarbone. The shirt hung in loose waves around her small hips exposing a ribbon of flesh between her tank and shorts. He forced his eyes back to hers.
“So, what’s going on?” One hand on her hip, she turned to face him. A soft smile nudged her pink cheeks. “You’ve seen the show. Now what can I do for you?”
With her, Nicholas had trouble following procedure. He knew the steps involved in a proper town courting. He knew all the ways he shouldn’t do what he had in mind, but Emma pushed him past his limits for discipline and protocol. Hadn’t he already showed up unannounced, invited himself inside and lusted after a girl singing karaoke?