by Nina Bocci
It was my turn to sigh as I parked. “Yes?”
We got out of the car and walked quickly into the mall. The weather app said that it might snow today. Judging by the glaring white sky, it would be happening soon.
“I spoke to Clare earlier.”
No surprise there. They spoke all the time. They’d been friends all their lives, and even though she was the governor, Clare spoke to her hometown friends often.
“And?” I asked, wondering why there was a dramatic pause in this story.
“We spoke as mothers. Not as Governor Campbell and the mayor’s wife. She’s concerned about her son. Much as I’m concerned about you. This whole thing . . .”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I interrupted as we walked into the department store, because I did know what was going to come next.
“Emma,” she began, but I held up my hand.
“Mother, I love you, but sometimes you needle and needle me until I want to snap.”
“We just don’t understand why you and Cooper never—”
I rubbed my chest, feeling a familiar ache well up. The cold sensation that always seeped through me when I thought about the unanswered why.
“Listen.” I took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I’ll say this once, and I should have probably brought it up ages earlier, but I don’t like to talk about it. Basically, at one point, I probably was in love with Cooper.” I paused when her hand flew up to her mouth.
“Stay with me, Mother. At least the teenage version of what love is. The overwhelming feelings, the sleepless nights, the walking past his house a hundred times. It was so much worse for me because we were friends. The four of us were a unit, and I was hoping that Cooper and I—”
“And did you?” she asked tentatively, reading into what I was trying to say.
I swallowed, closing my eyes behind my sunglasses. Tears welled up, but I blinked them away. “Once, but not in the way you’re thinking, calm down. It was the Christmas before we graduated high school.”
It was clear by the widening of her eyes that she knew what I meant. When I meant. “Your last party at the Manor?” she asked tentatively.
“Yep. It was the first time I witnessed Cooper the Casanova. I’d thought maybe we could be more, starting with that night. But I was wrong. I would unfortunately make that mistake again.”
“With Whitney?”
I nodded, again getting that flashback of her looking up at me when I opened the dorm room door. She had smiled before tapping him on the shoulder. She’d wanted to have him look at me standing brokenhearted in the doorway. “Let’s just say Whitney was the proverbial last nail in the particular coffin of any potential romance between me and Cooper.”
My mother looked upset. Not at what I had revealed but at her role in making me relive it. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” she finally said after gathering herself together. “I understand now. I wish, I guess—I wish I’d known sooner so that I didn’t keep pushing the issue. I just always thought—”
“Trust me, I thought so, too. I just learned to ignore it and realize it for what it was: a childhood crush that had no steam in making it into adulthood.”
“So you don’t have those feelings for him anymore?”
That’s the million-dollar question.
I shook my head. “There just isn’t a Cooper-and-Emma happily ever after, Mom.”
She pulled me in for a hug. “As long as there is an Emma’s Whatever Makes Her Happy Ever After, that’s all I care about. But no more meatballs for Cooper.”
“Ma, you can’t withhold the meatballs. It was a long time ago. Besides, that’s just cruel.”
“Fine. I’ll just make them smaller.” She linked her arm in mine, and we walked over toward the dresses.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked.
“I’m fine. We’re fine. There isn’t anything for anyone to worry themselves over as far as Cooper and I are concerned. I just want to get through this party and the election and be done with it. Then maybe I can move on with my life, too.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Don’t frown like that, Mother,” I said, “or you’ll deepen your wrinkles.”
Her finger flew to her forehead. “Don’t tease me like that, Emmanuelle,” she mock threatened. Lifting her hand, she cupped my cheek. “You’re worrying me.”
“I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.”
She tapped my temple. “This is fine. I never worry about that.”
Then she lowered her hand to my heart.
“I’m worried about this.”
• • •
TWO DRESS BAGS were hanging in the backseat of my car when we drove home. My mother, surprisingly, had picked out a semitasteful one for herself. There was, of course, a questionable amount of cleavage, but I couldn’t expect a miracle. I even listened—well, partially listened—to her advice and chose a simple off-the-shoulder lace dress that she’d suggested (although I went with the tea-length version instead of the one that barely came to midthigh). It wasn’t what I normally would have chosen, but I had to admit, the deep wine color looked gorgeous with my complexion. It had a swishy, flouncy skirt that danced around my knees and gave it a flirty, feminine look that I loved.
As I was dropping my mother off at her house, my phone pinged with a text from Cooper. My stomach did a little flip. Had he caught me staring into his house earlier?
Maybe, but if so, why wait to confront me about it?
I waited until my mother closed the front door before I opened the notification.
JACKASS: Need to talk. Have a second?
ME: In Barreton shopping with my mom. Gotta be off my phone. Email and I’ll respond later?
A little white lie never hurt anyone. I was both mentally and emotionally exhausted after shopping with my meddling but well-meaning mother. I just wanted to draw a bath, have a glass of wine, and crawl into bed early. It was going to be a long night at the party on Tuesday, and I needed to get some rest now.
JACKASS: You’re back already. I saw you driving up the mountain. It’ll be quick and my house is on the way to your apartment.
Does he have cameras everywhere in town?
JACKASS: She isn’t here if that’s why you’re stalling.
ME: Who?
JACKASS: You know who.
ME: Voldemort?
JACKASS: Let’s try this again, smart-ass. Whitney isn’t here. If that’s why you’re stalling . . .
ME: It’s not.
It is.
JACKASS: Front door is open
I took the longest way to his house that I could. It involved a trip that had me circling the block twice and parking halfway down the street so that anyone who recognized my car wouldn’t know where I was headed.
Even though Cooper had said the door was unlocked, I still knocked as I pushed it open.
“Cooper?” I called out, standing awkwardly in his foyer.
“In the kitchen!”
“Okay, I’ll wait by the door, then.”
I’d been there before, but not in the past two years or so. Not much had changed since the last time I’d been invited over. He’d extended the invite often, but I’d always found a reason to bail. Game night, football night, birthday celebrations for one of the guys—if a party wasn’t in town, it was here.
“Come on back, I’m in the middle of making dinner.”
“Oh, I can come back later. No worries,” I shouted, backing up against the front door. “Just . . . call me when you’re done, and I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here!” he called.
“Shit,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes and padding across the rustic hardwood floors that ran throughout the house.
Cooper’s house was homey, not a bachelor pad by any stretch of the imagination. He took pride in it. It felt like him, with warm-colored walls and antiques strewed about over old-world-style furniture.
A white swing door hung between the dining
room and kitchen. I took a deep, calming breath before I pushed it open, revealing Cooper dressed in a quirky plaid waist apron and low-slung jeans. His tattered gray T-shirt said DREXEL CREW and had the dragon mascot in the center. It had seen better days, but it looked just as good on him as a thousand-dollar suit.
“It’s hot,” I blurted out, and immediately closed my eyes to pray for the ground to swallow me whole. “In here.”
What was wrong with me? This was Cooper. Nothing had changed. This whole notion of attraction was ridiculous.
Except that my heart was pounding, my breasts felt heavy, and my mouth felt dry. Whitney’s words came racing back.
When he looked over at me and smiled, I had to lean against the counter.
“Hey, how was shopping?” It was a simple question. One that I couldn’t find the words to answer.
“Good. Fine. Super. Dress,” I rambled, feeling clammy and feverish. This is all in your head.
But it wasn’t just my brain shorting out. My stomach was gurgling like a swirling drain, my heart was stuttering, and as for the rest of me, I was keenly aware that he was affecting my southern hemisphere.
It’s like you’ve never had a conversation with a man before.
This isn’t a man. This is Cooper.
Who is a man.
EMMA THOUGHT: Stop overanalyzing.
“So what’s up?” I asked, looking around the kitchen. Nice rug. Cute blinds. Modern tools. I catalogued everything, refusing to look at Cooper. Or Cooper’s jeans. Or how Cooper looked in his jeans.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come over.”
I rocked back on my heels. “I figured to talk shop?”
“Something like that,” he said casually, fiddling with whatever was on the stove. “You asked to meet me the other night at Dr. Bishop’s before everyone else came, but then you didn’t show.”
“I had a thing.”
“Always a thing with you lately. Curious.” A heavy silence hung in the air between us. I knew he should lead the conversation since he was the one who had invited me over, but I couldn’t take the tension for much longer.
“We have to talk,” I sputtered, sinking down on the counter stool. Four words that translated into I am so fucked.
He laughed. “I know. That’s why I asked you to come over.”
Clearing my throat, I inhaled and had to swallow a moan. How I hadn’t noticed before was beyond me: the kitchen smelled incredible. I needed to get this over with, or I might faint from a combination of nerves and hunger. “I’d like to go first.”
“Okay. Sounds serious. Do we need wine?” he asked, and I heard the glasses clinking as he reached into the cupboard to grab some.
“Yes! I mean, sure,” I corrected after his teasing laughter. Squeezing my eyes closed again, I counted to twenty.
Slowly I opened them, squinting as they readjusted to the bright kitchen lighting. He had poured two glasses and was sliding one over to me.
“Thanks.”
“If I remember correctly, you liked this one.”
I took a long sip, glancing at the label of the wine bottle on the counter. I did like this one. A lot. I had two bottles of it in my apartment right now, as a matter of fact.
“Maybe you should go first. You said we had to talk?” I asked quickly, losing my nerve. Whitney’s words circling around in my brain had caused it to short out. After taking a large swig of wine, I felt myself relax. Slightly. “Is it about the numbers? Because it’s looking really good. I don’t want to sound confident, but—”
“No, no, be confident. It’ll be close, but I have a good feeling. We’ll talk after dinner.” Cooper smiled, and the flutter in my belly turned into a tidal wave.
“Did you eat?” he asked, stirring something on the stove. “This is nearly done. Just a few more minutes.”
“Smells good.” It did, and my stomach noticed, too, choosing that second to rumble loudly. He laughed.
“You’re distracting me.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t mean to invite myself over for dinner. I had an agenda.”
“You always do.” Cooper chuckled, coming around the island with two bowls and silverware. “Mind setting up?”
Nodding, I took the place settings and set the table near the window that overlooked his backyard. How was this going so off course? Focus.
“Cooper, I’m sure you’re busy. I am, too, so I don’t have to stay for dinner. We can just get this over with and I—”
“Always in a hurry, Emmanuelle. How about this? Tell me about your day. I miss the office, you know. Any gossip?”
“You sound like Mrs. Mancini,” I said with a laugh. The nervousness of being there alone was starting to melt away. Could we do this? Be friends again?
Thinking about what I could tell him, I remembered my earlier conversation with Anne and Nancy just before I had left the day before. “Anne is pregnant again. She’s losing her mind because she thinks it’s another set of twins.”
His eyes went wide. “That’s a lot of twins.”
“Very astute. You’re taking math lessons from Nick, I guess.”
I sat, pulling up a stool at the counter while he tinkered at the stove. A sprinkle of salt, a pat of butter, a stir and a ladle of something from the other pot into the deep pan he was working over. “I got an interesting email today,” I said casually.
“Oh, yeah?” he said, dropping in a dash of parsley. “From?”
“Christopher Jackson.”
He tensed, and his hand stopped stirring for the briefest of seconds, white-knuckling the spoon. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s good. Want to read it?”
He exhaled deeply, a long, cleansing whoosh. “I do, but I don’t. I really don’t think I can take more bad news today.”
I chuckled. “I can appreciate that. What if I said it was good news?”
He lowered the gas and turned to face me, a wicked smirk on his lips. “There’s a good chance I would strip naked and run down Main Street.”
I looked at him in disbelief as I fought to ignore the way that made my heart speed up.
“That escalated quickly. While I’m sure many people would pay good money to see that, I think we need to keep you clothed until election day.”
“Wait, I mentioned getting naked and you’re not going to yell at me? Hold on, let me write this down.”
“I’m going to leave if you keep this up. This has already gotten off track.”
“Noted. So? Jackson?”
He had a hopeful look in his eye. It made him look so young. Like the Cooper of old, the one I remembered before our friendship faltered. “The Jacksons are bringing the facility to Hope Lake. After going around, they decided that even with some of the drama, it was still the best spot for them.”
“You got the deal?” he asked in disbelief, sounding both proud and elated. Still, though, I could hear the underlying wobble of relief in his voice. “Jesus, Emma, that’s incredible. You’re amazing. I knew you would do it. I knew it. I told Enrico that if anyone could do it, it was you. I’m so happy for you.”
“For us, you mean.”
“No, I mean you. Hope Lake. The whole office. It’s outstanding. I’m really proud of you. Of everyone.”
“What’s the matter? I can hear it in your voice, you’re holding something back,” I said worriedly.
He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “If I lose, I’m back at the office. We’ll have to work something out so that I’m not actively involved. If I win, I’m the mayor, and that presents a whole separate level of awkwardness.”
“Nope,” I said smugly. “In the negotiations with their team, I made one thing clear.”
“What’s that?” he asked anxiously, worrying the inside of his cheek.
I glanced down at my hands for a moment so I could focus on something other than Cooper’s eyes on me. What that was doing to me. “I told them,” I said slowly, “that the only way the deal would be done was if they
understood that you would play an active role in it. Either as my coworker at the office or as the mayor. It was either include you or a no-go.”
“Emma, you didn’t. Why would you risk that? What if they said no?”
I smiled as I sat down at the table. “You were the reason we had the opportunity in the first place. It was only right, Cooper. And the team agreed. It’s not like I just ran with it.” I felt self-conscious about the way he was looking down at me. Clearing my throat, I added, “You’d have done the same. You made one mistake six years ago, and you’re an incredible asset to the team. The Jacksons agree that they have to do what’s best for business here, and Hope Lake—and your involvement—are what’s best for business. Consider it forgotten.”
He nodded, turning back to the stove. “Emma, that’s incredible. I—thank you for that,” he said, his voice softer as he brought over the deep pan with a ladle.
Emma. For a simple four-letter word, it was wreaking havoc on my insides.
“What’s for—?” I began, but once I took a deeper inhale, I stopped in my tracks. Peering over the bowl, I gasped. “You made risotto?”
The tips of his ears were red when I looked at him. “Yep.” He sounded like Henry for a second there. Bashful and unsure. “I was in the mood for it, and I knew you liked it. So, surprise.”
I chewed on my lip and thought of something witty to say. Even something sarcastic at this point would have been better than what I was doing, which was sitting and blinking at Cooper.
And smiling.
“Hold on. You made this assuming I would be here for dinner?”
“Maybe,” he said, adding a shrug. Placing the pan back onto the stove, he joined me at the table.
There was that dry-mouth feeling again. I gulped more of the wine, straightening up on the seat. Cooper took that as a cue to serve up the thick, creamy risotto. In it were plump shrimp and diced asparagus.
“Where did you learn how to make this?”
“Your mom taught me,” he said bashfully. Pouring himself another glass of wine after both bowls were filled, he took a sip while I processed that information.
“She what?”
He nodded. “The three of us go over to your parents’ house once every few months, and she teaches us our favorite recipes. Nick had meatballs and vodka sauce, Henry wanted her lasagna, and I asked for risotto and some desserts.”