So why did he feel so guilty?
He shook his head, wishing the pangs of conscience would fall right out of his head. There was no reason to feel this way. Emerson was now in a better place with her family. She just didn’t see it yet.
She was on the path to standing up for herself.
Not to mention that she had a successful business and a townhouse and friends. She was fine. She would be fine.
He was the one who wasn’t okay. He was the one hiding in a dark, dank storage room in the back of a bar.
He leaned against the shelf and closed his eyes.
“You know, hiding isn’t going to help this situation,” Xander said.
Jack’s jaw ticked. “What situation is that?”
“The one where you messed stuff up with Emerson.”
Jack opened his eyes in time to see Xander lean against the opposite shelf and cross his arms over his chest. He was dressed casually, yet still carried that aura of supreme confidence.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Jack didn’t want to talk about it. None of it. And yet he found himself opening up. “We fought. Bad.”
“About what?”
“I don’t even know how it started.” That wasn’t true. It had started because he couldn’t open up to her. Because she had totally called him out on his crap. In one month, Emerson had figured him out better than pretty much anyone else in his life.
When he felt hurt, he ran.
“I was telling her about my mom—”
“Whoa. You talked about your mom with Emerson?”
“So?”
“I’ve known you since we were in kindergarten. You’ve barely talked to me about your mom and I was there when it...happened.” Xander grabbed a bottle of water he’d brought with him and took a long swig. “She must be really special.”
Jack shrugged.
“Listen, dude, you know my stance on relationships.”
“Yeah, it’s brilliant. Don’t get into one.” He turned and counted the bottles of tonic on the shelf. “Real or fake relationships. Both suck. I should have listened to you.”
He heard Xander let out a long exhale. He turned to see his friend frowning. “What?”
“I’m only going to say this once and I will deny it if you ever bring it up.” Xander gave a long, dramatic pause. “Sometimes I’m wrong.”
Jack almost laughed. But he knew his friend was serious. “Oh yeah? And what have you been wrong about lately?”
“Relationships. Sometimes they’re good. Damn good.”
“You’re full of crap.”
“Nope. I’m not. But you are if you let Emerson get away.”
“I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
Jack shoved his shoulder as he passed him and pretended to study another shelf of inventory.
“Emerson is amazing. She’s beautiful and smart and funny. You’re in love with her.”
Jack froze. Xander had no idea what he was talking about. He wasn’t in love with Emerson or anyone else. He’d never been in love. He wouldn’t let himself fall in love.
Loving a person was far too dangerous. Loving someone opened up the possibility of loss and heartache. He’d been through enough of that for a lifetime.
“Like I said, I don’t want to talk about Emerson. I’m going to sell the bar.”
“Jack—”
“I made up my mind. Can you call my dad’s lawyer, Fred? I’d like you to be there too.”
“Jack,” Xander began again. “Please think about this.”
He had.
* * *
Jack usually felt better after he made a decision. Right or wrong, it was empowering to simply commit to doing something.
He was going to sell The Wright Drink. It was settled.
And yet he didn’t feel settled. He felt moody and indecisive. Xander had finally gotten sick of his bad mood and left the bar. Jack finished inventory, made sure his staff members were all set and took the night off.
On the drive to his dad’s house, Jack found his car veering down different streets than his usual route. When he threw the car into Park outside the cemetery, he wasn’t particularly surprised.
He hadn’t been to visit his father’s grave yet. It had been raining the day of the funeral, so instead of holding the interment graveside, they’d stayed in the mausoleum, where it had been warm and dry.
But as he walked along the winding path that would lead him to the double plot, Jack knew that visiting his dad wasn’t why he was here.
It was a nice place, as far as cemeteries went. The grass was well-kept and large oak trees lined the narrow road that wove throughout the plots and headstones.
There was a small fountain in the middle of a roundabout. The white marble attracted birds, who delighted in splashing in the water.
His mother had liked that statue. He remembered her saying so when they had visited the cemetery when he had been young. Ironically, the statue now acted as marker to her grave.
Jack turned to the right and walked a short distance, reaching the slate-gray headstone, with their names etched in the stone. When his mother had died, his father had bought his plot and the double headstone. Jack remembered thinking how morbid that was. Although, it had greatly helped him when he’d returned for his father’s death.
He knelt in front of the headstone. The ground was damp. He could feel it through his jeans. But Jack didn’t care.
His dad’s date of death hadn’t even been engraved yet. Suddenly, guilt overwhelmed him. He should have come here sooner. Or at all. In the late spring, near Memorial Day, he should plant some flowers. Geraniums. His mother always did that with her departed relatives. And she switched those flowers throughout the year. Brought wreaths at the holidays.
Of course, that would require Jack to stick around. As it were, he wouldn’t be here around Memorial Day. As soon as he sold his dad’s house, he wouldn’t be here at all.
Sorry, Dad, he thought to himself. Jack thought his dad would understand though.
He reached a hand out and traced his father’s name with his finger. Then, finally, he looked at his mother’s side of the headstone. He didn’t expect the quick inhale of breath or the lump that formed in his throat.
“Hi, Mom.” He said it quietly, even though there was no one else in the area. He bowed his head. “I should have come sooner.”
But he hadn’t wanted to. Because he didn’t want his mother to be here, buried in the cold, hard ground. He wanted her to be alive, bright and vibrant, with him.
Jack dropped his head into his hand. “Dammit, Mom. I miss you.” Thinking of the fact that he would never see her alive again made him feel restless, annoyed, irritated.
Devastated.
The urge to take off running was overwhelming. To stand up and turn around and jog toward the front gate. To keep going through Alexandria, through Old Town, away from his father’s bar and his house and everything in Virginia.
If his mother had been there, she would have given him that look. The mother of looks. The one that froze him in place. In fact, he felt like she was looking down on him now. He couldn’t move, even though every bone in his body wanted him to.
“Well, I’m not running. Not right now. I’m here.” His voice was laced with defensiveness.
“It’s not like Dad and I didn’t get along.” He looked at his father’s name again. He did love his father, and he knew his dad loved him.
“It’s just that when you died, everything changed. I don’t know. Maybe it would have anyway.” His mother died when he was fifteen. It didn’t escape Jack’s notice that he’d entered adolescence.
His knees were aching from kneeling. “Hell with it.” He plopped down on the grass, feeling the dampness se
ep into his pants.
“It didn’t feel like home without you. Nothing did,” he whispered. “Not the house, not the bar, not Dad.”
I was all alone.
Jack had felt so lonely and isolated during that time. That’s why he ran. Ran away to college and kept going. The further he ran, the further away the pain was.
It was a heady realization, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Emerson had called him out on it the night before. She had claimed he ran to escape hurt. He’d thought she was full of it. But now he had to agree.
“I’m okay though, Mom. You don’t have to worry about me. You should see the bar now. It looks really good. Emerson came in and worked her magic.”
He thought of Emerson and that glittery clip she’d worn in her hair. “You’d like Emerson. A lot. I do.”
It struck him that Emerson and his mom had a lot in common. They both laughed at his stupid jokes. They both rolled their eyes when he was being stupid. They both loved him in spite of everything else.
Emerson brought a sparkle back into his life. A sparkle that had dimmed the day his mother had died.
Xander was right. He was in love with Emerson.
His phone let out a sound, alerting him to a text message. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw Xander’s name.
Fred Koda and I will be at the bar Monday morning, at 10:00 a.m., for you to sign all of the paperwork. Less than forty-eight hours as a bar owner. Celebrate your freedom...
He frowned and stowed his phone. For someone who was about to get “freedom,” Jack certainly didn’t feel light and easygoing. In fact, he felt rather encumbered and stressed.
Jack vividly remembered that summer after high school graduation. He’d left for college early to report for training. As he’d driven away from Alexandria, he’d felt like a million bucks. The world had been at his feet and he had finally been able to breathe.
He had felt about the exact opposite of how he was feeling at the moment.
When he’d left at eighteen, he hadn’t felt like he was leaving home. Instead he felt like he was finally out, searching for it. But somehow that journey brought him back to where it had all started. And the place that had made him feel so alone suddenly was the only place where he wanted to stay.
Because this is where Emerson was.
Emerson challenged him. She constantly surprised him. And she’d reminded him that he wasn’t in this world alone.
She was home for him now.
Jack didn’t quite know what to do with this newfound revelation. He was selling the bar in two days and putting his dad’s house up for sale. What about Emerson?
She had fallen out of a window and had landed in his heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Emerson felt like crap.
She spent most of the weekend snuggled up in her bed, watching mindless TV shows and eating food with way too many calories. It was easy to get lost in the problems of the Real Housewives while shoving cold pizza in her mouth. That way she didn’t have to think about what was actually bothering her.
Jack Wright.
Falling out of that window had turned out to be the best thing she’d ever done. Even if Jack really left town, her life was better for having him in it for that short time. She felt stronger around him. More confident. She felt like herself.
Still, these recent revelations didn’t keep the heartache at bay. And she was suffering.
Usually Mondays were a light workday for her. She caught up on paperwork and reviewed files for her coming events. She’d been looking forward to the mindless work. It would require her attention just enough to keep it from drifting back to Jack.
But her mother had called early that morning and asked—more like demanded—her presence at Dewitt’s Bridal. Something about new dresses and inventory and help with the computer system. Whatever. The last place Emerson wanted to go was her mother’s bridal shop.
Try saying no to Beatrice Dewitt. A near-to-impossible task.
She and Jack had left her parents’ party separately, something that had definitely drawn the attention of her parents. For once in her life, though, they hadn’t badgered her with questions. Something told her she wouldn’t be so lucky this morning. No way could she escape the questions when she was alone with her mother.
So at exactly nine thirty in the morning, she made her way into the shop begrudgingly. The weather mirrored her mood. It was gray and overcast, with a harsh wind whipping the curls around her face.
Since the shop was closed at the moment, she dug through her purse for her set of spare keys. The bells situated over the door signaled her arrival. Her mother immediately came out of her office.
“Emerson, there you are.”
“It’s nine thirty. I’m not late,” she said, with irritation coating each word. “You said to get here at nine thirty.”
It was a rare outburst for her, and her mother responded to it with narrowed eyes. Strangely, she didn’t comment or reprimand her.
“Well, come in then. Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“I’m not one of your brides, Mama. I know where all of the drinks are kept. If I want something, I’ll go get it for myself.”
Beatrice arched one perfectly plucked brow but still remained silent.
Emerson shimmied out of her coat and threw it onto a chair. “I’m here. What do you need? I do have a job of my own. Besides, I don’t understand why your actual employee isn’t here. You know, my sister.”
“That’s three sassy comments in a row. You’ve reached your limit.”
No matter how infuriating her mother could be, no matter how much she drove Emerson nuts, she was still her mother. And deep down, she didn’t like to disappoint her. To make her angry or upset.
But glancing at her now, Emerson didn’t see anger or hurt on her face. Instead it was pure concern. And that was her undoing.
She sunk down to the chair she’d just thrown her coat. Tears threatened but Emerson took a deep breath to hold them in. Next thing she knew, a finger was under her chin, forcing her head up.
“What is it, Emerson?”
As if she was still ten years old, she launched herself into her mother’s arms. When was the last time she’d done that?
“Oh Mama, it’s over between me and Jack,” she muttered against her mother’s gorgeous blue cashmere sweater. She leaned back. “I’m sorry I’m crying all over your sweater.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does. I’ve messed everything up. Just like I always do.”
“Oh honey, what are you talking about?”
“How I’ve always screwed up. My whole life. No wonder you’re always disappointed in me.”
Her mother shook her gently. “Disappointed? Emerson Rose, this is ridiculous. Stop it right now.”
“But I never did anything right. Not in elementary school. Or what about how I wasn’t homecoming queen or a cheerleader? I didn’t go to the college you wanted me to go to. And—and I didn’t get married.”
Beatrice’s face paled. “Emerson, have you been under the impression that you’ve disappointed me somehow?”
“Of course.”
Her mother opened and closed her mouth. Not that she would ever point it out, Emerson saw a line form in the middle of her mother’s forehead. She knew that line. Her mother was thinking. After a few silent moments, Beatrice nodded firmly.
“It has been said that I am not the warmest of women.”
It was Emerson’s turn to drop her mouth open.
Beatrice smiled. “But I can admit when I’m wrong. I probably have given you the impression I’m unhappy with you.”
Emerson shuffled her feet and glanced down at the recently vacuumed rug. “You’ve kinda given me that impression most of my life.”
Beatrice sighed and close
d her eyes. When she opened them, her gaze was determined. “I’m your mother. It is my job to be hard on you.” She reached forward and tucked a curl behind Emerson’s ear. “Perhaps I’ve done my job a little too well. Maybe I should have eased up on you a tad.”
“Uh—uh...,” Emerson stuttered and then finally dropped back into the chair.
“You are a forward-thinking, independent woman, Emerson. You always have been. I never worried about your activities or college. In fact, your father and I were ecstatic that you got accepted into such a good university. And you did all of the applications and admission work yourself. Then you started your own business. You didn’t even ask either of us for help. Even though we would have loved nothing more.”
“Really?”
“Of course. My goodness, Emerson. You’ve accomplished so much in your life.”
“Professionally. But not personally.”
Beatrice tapped a finger to her lip as she considered her. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not married like Amelia is. I mean I was almost... I mean I know that it was embarrassing when Thad left me at the altar.”
“Naturally.” Beatrice froze. “Wait a minute. Are you saying it was embarrassing for me? For your father?”
Emerson nodded and felt a lump forming in her throat.
“Oh sweetheart, the only embarrassing thing about that situation is that I didn’t go find that little weasel and punch him in the face.”
“Mama!”
“Well, it’s true. He was a scoundrel for what he did to you. A coward and a liar and a real piece of sh—”
“Mama. Ohmigod.” The giggle that burst from her lips actually felt good. But only for a moment. “Still, what happened with me and Thad was bad.”
“You were engaged, Emerson. It didn’t work out. That’s not the end of the world. He did you a favor. You don’t want to be married to someone like that.”
Beatrice crouched down in front of her. She reached for her hands and Emerson willingly linked fingers with her mom.
“Is there anything else bothering you?”
The Dating Arrangement Page 17