by Gray, Meg
“I did call earlier,” Emma explained. “But nobody answered.”
“It was right in the middle of her party.” There was a shout in the background, maybe Finn’s voice. “I gotta go, Em. Here talk to Mom, she and Dad are still here.”
“Okay, bye,” Emma said knowing Audrey had already passed the phone.
“Hi Emma. How’s Seattle?” her mother asked.
“Just fine, Mom. Is everything okay with Audrey?” She knew her mother wasn’t the person to ask, she wouldn’t get a true answer from her.
“Yes dear, she’s fine. Just a little tired from all the commotion today.” Her mother’s soft voice was always hard to hear over the phone.
“Alright, well I’m sorry I couldn’t be there today,” Emma said.
“I know honey we all missed you too, but you’ll be home in a couple of weeks.” Again, Emma strained to hear Lucille’s words. There was a lot of noise—voices, shouting, laughter, squealing—going on in the background.
“Yeah,” Emma said, hoping her agreement matched what her mother had just said.
“Chelsea loved the china tea set you sent,” Lucille said.
“I’m glad,” Emma replied and felt a wash of homesickness come over her again. Everyone was there, but her. She was really getting tired of this lonely single life. “I should let you get back to everyone. Tell Dad hi and kiss the girls for me.”
“Okay, bye-bye honey.”
“Bye, Mom,” she said and disconnected the call.
Something was wrong with her sister, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but all of her conversations with her over the last few months had been chilling. Tonight’s had been especially so, then thinking of everyone together without her reminded her of how much she missed home.
Emma saw the bag of peaches sitting in the corner.
I should really do something with those, she thought. Maybe she’d bring them up to Maricella in the morning and let her have them.
Emma went outside to her private patio and leaned on the railing catching a view of the lake. There were a few boats trolling leisurely along. The evening was still warm and she thought about walking out on the dock. But being out there by herself would only remind her about how alone she felt.
Instead, she went inside and reached for her novel, settling back against the mound of pillows. Her eyes crossed the pages, but the words didn’t stick. After she read the same page, three times she slammed the book closed. It was no use, she felt depressed.
What would she be doing if she were home? Home, the word made her sad now as she thought about her quaint little apartment. She would have to give it up at the end of summer there was no way she could afford it alone. Maybe she should call Stacy and have her start looking for some possible rentals, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Talking with Stacy required more energy and amusement than she could fake right now.
So, back to what she would be doing right now if she was home, alone and feeling sorry for herself? Baking something, the idea came to her. Nothing cheered her up like busying her hands in the kitchen, but she didn’t have a kitchen here and Maricella would probably have her head if she messed with the inside of her domain.
“Screw it,” Emma said aloud and bounced off her bed, grabbing her phone and the paper sack full of peaches.
* * *
Marcus walked down the stairs to grab his file from the office adjacent the great room where he’d been working this morning. Brayden fell asleep before his head hit the pillow and it was good to see his son welcome sleep tonight rather than fight it like he did most other nights. The entire day had been one of the best in a long time, except for Luke’s repeated inquiries about the moonlight dancing.
Marcus heard a cupboard door slam in the kitchen. Must be Maricella, he thought to himself, getting a head start on the cooking for next weekend when his parents would arrive home. He walked through the great room and stopped before he reached the office. Another noise came from the kitchen, music. It was Mozart—his Sonata in C. Maricella never listened to music when she was in the kitchen. Marcus walked to the door and pushed it open.
Inside Emma stretched up on her tiptoes to reach inside a cupboard. He said nothing and when she closed the cupboard door and saw him, she jumped.
“Oh shit,” she breathed, her hand fluttering to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said over the music. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”
Emma stepped toward him and lowered the volume on the music. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“What’re you doing in here?” Marcus asked truly curious. The kitchen wasn’t a room that guests generally entered.
“Therapy,” she replied, picking up a rolling pin from the counter and putting it in a drawer next to the oven. “How was the game? Did the Mariners win?”
“No, they lost one-to-three, but it was still fun.”
“Did Brayden have a good time?” Emma asked.
“I think so. He really enjoyed his hot dogs. And I know a guy who works at the stadium. After the game we got to go down to the locker room and meet a couple of the players.”
“That sounds exciting,” she said in an almost cheerful voice, but he noticed when she walked to the oven her shoulders slumped forward and her movements were limp, like a sail that had lost its wind.
“You doing okay?” Marcus asked with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Just having a little pity party for myself, that’s all.”
“Really? Did something happen today?” He wondered if her mood had anything to do with her roommate.
“I guess so.” She shrugged and dropped a measuring cup and two spoons into a drawer.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her golden eyes peered out from under her eyelashes that caught on her long bangs.
“Oh, you don’t need to listen to me complain. It’s not a big deal, really.” Her eyes grew misty and she turned away from him, using a rag to wipe up a circle of flour from the counter. Instead of pressing her, he decided to change the subject.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No,” she said, wringing her cloth out in the sink and pulling the drain. “I think I got everything cleaned up and put back where it belongs. I’m probably going to get in trouble with Maricella for this aren’t I?” she asked, walking to the oven and watching something through the glass.
“Well, that depends,” he said and leaned against the countertop.
“On what?”
“On what you’ve got inside that oven.”
“It’s just a peach pie,” she replied.
“Peach pie, really? What’s the occasion?” he persisted.
She smiled when she crossed the floor closing the distance between them. “I already told you. I’m having a little party.”
“That’s right, your pity party. Well, here’s the deal. I’ll take the blame for the kitchen invasion if you let me join your little party and have some of that delicious smelling pie.” He held out his hand and waited for her to shake it. When she did he didn’t want to let it go, but after one pump and her affirming nod the timer on the oven sounded. Pulling the oven door open, Emma withdrew her pie, using a kitchen towel to protect her hands against the heat of the plate. She set in on the stovetop before she closed the oven and turned it off.
“It needs to cool for a few minutes before we cut into it,” she said, folding the towel.
“I can wait,” he said, thinking how much he enjoyed her company. “So, now that I’ve been invited to the party, can I know exactly what it is that we pity about you?”
“That’s a bit of a dirty trick, don’t you think?” She tried to look offended and Marcus just shrugged. Emma leaned one hip against the counter, facing him, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, let’s just say at the end of the day, I’ve found myself at the top of the world’s worst aunt list according to my sister and homel
ess.”
“Homeless? How did that happen?” Marcus asked truly surprised.
“Seth’s taking a job in Los Angeles and he’s moving out. So, I’ve got to start looking for a new place as soon as I get back.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered even though selfishly, he was glad to hear the roommate relationship was ending. “And why are you such a bad aunt?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “My sister gave me the riot act about not calling my niece earlier today. It’s her birthday and she was in bed by the time I called this evening.”
“Well, that sounds a little unreasonable. I’m sure your niece would be just as happy to talk to you tomorrow as today.”
“Yeah, probably,” Emma agreed, but didn’t sound so convinced. Her eyes were distant, like she was thinking about something else.
“So, why a peach pie?” Marcus asked, bringing her back to him.
“It reminds me of home,” she said, staring down at it. “I grew up on a farm and we have a pretty good sized orchard. This is the first time I haven’t been home in the summer to help with the harvest.”
“Oh,” Marcus said, seeing the longing in her eyes. He yearned to reach out and hold her close, but she turned away too quickly.
“I think we can cut into it now,” she said and picked up the knife. She gently inserted it into the center of the latticed top, rocked it back and forth until she reached the edge, and then did it again, licking the crumbs that had stuck to her thumb. She pulled down two plates from the cabinet above her. “I think I saw some vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Do you mind getting it?”
Marcus moved from his spot and found the ice cream. He set it next to her and rested a hand on her back while he leaned in and inhaled the aroma of the pie. It was wonderful, but he was more captivated by the closeness of his body to hers. She didn’t seem to mind him standing so close as she scooped the ice cream onto his plate. When she turned to hand him his plate, they were only inches apart and he could feel his heart jump inside of him.
“Here you go,” she whispered. He used all of his will power to step back, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss her softly parted lips. She turned away quickly and put the ice cream back in the freezer. He sliced into the warm pie with his fork and added some ice cream to the bite. The peaches dissolved in his mouth and the crust was light and flaky.
“It’s delicious,” he said as he set his plate down and hopped up on the counter. Emma took up an awkward stance, leaning against the pantry door, a safe distance away from him. She must have felt it too, he thought, the attraction between them.
Feeling emboldened he patted the counter next to him. “There’s plenty of room here,” he offered.
She looked at him and then walked across the space. He was glad she accepted his invitation and held her plate for her while she hopped up next to him. There wasn’t as much room between him and the sink as he had thought and they were sitting so close their thighs touched. The silence was comfortable and awkward at the same time.
“Have you called your friend, the real estate agent yet? She might be able to help you find a new apartment.” Marcus cut into his pie again and turned to look at her feeling his heart pound at their proximity. He was close enough to catch a whiff of coconut from her skin and it reminded him of their dance on the pier.
She shook her head and her ponytail swung like a pendulum, grazing his cheek. “No, not yet. I’ll call her sometime this week.” She kept her eyes on her pie.
“Why can’t you stay in your apartment, if you don’t mind my asking? It seems like a great location."
“Yeah, it is,” she said and pushed her fork into her pie. “But I can’t afford it by myself. Not on my salary.” She chuckled a little.
He nodded. “What are you saving up for?”
She looked at him this time and their eyes locked, he could read the confusion in them. “When I offered you this job you started to say something about saving up some money? What are you saving for?”
“Oh,” she said, waving her fork over her plate. “A car.”
“A car? What kind of car?”
“Something sensible and reliable, nothing like my last one,” she said.
“What did you have before?”
“A nineteen sixty-six Ford Mustang. In a cool ice blue, with two hundred and twenty-five-horse power under the hood, a V8 engine, complete with an automatic transmission and a four-barrel carburetor. Oh, and an eight track deck, too.” She smiled again and looked down at her plate, swinging her legs in front of her.
“Wow,” Marcus said as he set his empty plate down in his lap, “I didn’t realize you were such a car buff.”
“I’m not,” Emma said and set her empty plate in the sink next to her before turning back to Marcus. “I bought the car back in high school to impress a guy who was really into cars and memorized those few facts, so I could talk to him about it.”
Marcus laughed, “Did it work?”
“Nope,” she admitted.
“Well,” he said, reaching across her to set his plate on top of hers. “It sure impressed the hell out of me.” They were nose to nose again and he was aware that she wasn’t pulling away from him. He let go of his plate and let his hand rest on her hip. She put a hand on his chest, but didn’t push him away. They stayed there for a moment and he could feel her take a deep breath before closing her eyes. Marcus leaned in to brush his lips across hers when the kitchen door burst open.
“Marcus, you in here?” Luke shouted and then froze when his brother’s eyes shot to his.
Emma immediately slipped off the counter. “Hey. Luke,” she said, running her hand over her ponytail. “We were just having some pie. Do you want some?”
Luke looked at his brother begging him for an answer. Marcus wanted to tell him to get the hell out of there, but the mood was ruined.
“It’s really good,” he said.
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at Marcus and Emma.
“Yeah,” Emma said. “Eat up. I’m going to head down to bed anyway. Good night.” She pushed past Luke.
“Emma,” Marcus said before she could leave. “Thanks for the pie.”
“You’re welcome,” she said and then was gone.
“Sorry,” Luke said, looking chagrined. “I didn’t know you were down here making out with Brayden’s teacher.”
“We weren’t making out,” Marcus said.
Luke cocked a brow at him and then cut a slice of pie. “More pie?” he asked.
“Why not,” Marcus said, extracting his plate from the sink and passing it to his brother.
Chapter Thirty-two
Emma tossed and turned the entire night. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to kissing Marcus and surprisingly how badly she’d wanted to. It didn’t happen just once either, but twice. The two of them so close, she could still feel the heat of his touch on her back and hip.
She liked Marcus, she knew that, and this wasn’t the first time he’d spurred the emotions inside her. After the earthquake, she’d welcomed his embrace. Dancing that night on the pier, she’d let the moonlight stir up romantic feelings. She had chalked those feelings up to the circumstances, not the man—now she wasn’t so confident.
But why? Why, why, why? she thought as she kicked the covers off. Of all the men in the entire world, why did it have to be Marcus Lewis that she was falling in love with?
She stared up at the ceiling for hours last night wondering when these feelings had set in. The first time she saw him she’d noticed he was attractive. He had a seductive, powerful way about him and she was touched by his love for his son and his vulnerability about wanting to be a good father.
Emma couldn’t imagine what would have happened if she let him kiss her last night. Thank God, Luke walked in when he did, saving her from herself. If she wasn’t careful she could fall hard and fast for this guy. It wouldn’t be good for her to step into those muddy waters.
Again, she was falling for another ma
n, she could never have. Marcus wasn’t just any guy, he was Brayden’s father. If she leapt, she would have to leap all the way. Once she started down the road of loving Marcus, there would be no turning back. He could crush her heart and she in turn would crush Brayden’s.
It wasn’t a simple matter of attraction for the two of them. Marcus came pre-packaged with a child and the wounds left by the loss of his first wife.
Groaning, she rolled out of bed and got ready for breakfast. Walking up the stairs she silently prayed that Marcus had left early for the office, but there he was dressed in his suit with the morning paper folded next to him. Luke was the one who smiled up at her a little too broadly, watching her like he was holding onto some secret.
Marcus smiled at her when she sat down and she met his eyes for only an instant. Butterflies fluttered around inside her and she pulled her napkin from the table. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, too many thoughts about what almost happened between them swirled in her mind. The next three weeks were going to be a constant battle for her, now that her attraction had been tapped.
“Good morning, Brayden,” she said, pulling her focus away from Marcus.
“G’morning Ms. Hewitt,” he replied, popping a piece of an English muffin in his mouth. Maricella set a heaping mound of Eggs Benedict in front of her. Emma wondered how she would ever go back to a normal bowl of boxed cereal in the mornings after all of these amazing breakfasts.
Luke had his hands wrapped around his mug and he was all smiles. Emma refused to look at him.
“Maricella?” Luke asked as Maricella walked around to gather his empty plate. “I would love a piece of that wonderful peach pie in the refrigerator, please.” He didn’t look at the housekeeper, but at Emma when he requested it. Emma ignored him, but she couldn’t ignore Maricella’s glare from across the table.
“Somebody sneak in my kitchen,” she said.
“Yes, I did,” Marcus said, staying true to his word that he’d take the blame for being in the kitchen.