by Avery, Joy
“Of course I’m okay. And for the record, I’m not in love with the groom. What we shared was over a long time ago. I’m happy for him and wish them both the best. He’s marrying a lovely lady whom he seems to care for very much.” Emory’s chest tightened. God, she really wanted to mean what she’d said—the part about her being happy for him—but she wasn’t so sure she was.
“I don’t care what you say. I’m not allowing you to do it.”
Emory rested a hand on her hip. “Uh, who is the older sister here? And have you forgotten about mom’s medical bills?” she said in a hushed tone. “I don’t really have a choice. We need the money.”
“I told you I would quit school and get a job to help out.”
“And I told you no.”
“But—”
“Absolutely not, Jordyn.” Emory closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I know you’re worried about me, but I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
“And Christian getting married... Is that fine, too?”
Emory sighed heavily. “It’s been two years. I’m over Christian St. Claire. He’s moved on and so have I. So, yes, it’s fine.” She returned to placing ornaments. “Fine, fine, fine.”
Jordyn tilted her head. “Moved on? Really? You haven’t been on a date since the two of you broke up. Two years without getting your—”
Emory pointed a gingerbread ornament at her sister before the rest of the sentence escaped. “Watch your mouth,” she said, because knowing her sister, something inappropriate was sure to follow. “I haven’t been on a date because I don’t have time to date. I’m too busy keeping your fast behind out of trouble.”
Jordyn pressed her manicured fingers into her chest. “Who me?” She batted her eyes. “I’m an angel.” Holding a tinsel covered ring above her head, she said, “See, I even have a halo.”
They shared a dose of much needed laugher.
Jordyn draped her arms around Emory. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
Emory cradled her in an affectionate embrace. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Promise.” But honestly, she wasn’t so sure.
Even though she’d told Jordyn she no longer loved Christian, truthfully, she’d never stopped loving him. In fact, she still loved him like they’d never spent one day apart. And his presence in her shop earlier only intensified the sentiment. But he’d made it perfectly clear that she was the very last thing on his mind.
Getting through this event would be the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but she would do it. She had to do it. And not just for herself. For everyone depending on her. For everyone she loved. Maybe this was just what she needed to finally purge Christian from her system once and for all.
“Emory, baby?”
Emory turned to see her mother shuffling down the hall, her frail body a potent reminder of what the once vibrant woman was going through. Second hardest thing, she corrected. “Mom, what are you doing out of bed?”
Her mother’s eyes scanned the room. “Baby, where’s your father? He was supposed to be home from the factory hours ago. I hope every things okay.”
A worried expression spread across her mother’s face. Emory’s heart broke a little more every time she had to deliver the same devastating news. Maybe Jordyn had seen the pain in her eyes, because she stepped in.
“Mommy, daddy died, remember?”
“Died?” Their mother rested a hand over her collarbone and rubbed frantically. “Oh, Lord, Jesus. My Larry died. I have to see him. I have to see my Larry.”
Jordyn took her mother’s hand. “Mommy, daddy died six years ago.”
“And nobody told me. Why didn’t anybody tell me my Larry was gone?”
When Emory tried to cradle the agitated woman, she swatted her away. There were good days and there were bad days. Today was clearly the latter. “Calm down, Mom. Please.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Please,” she repeated, tears burning her eyes. Please, God. I can’t take any more today.
Just like that, their mother calmed and rested a frail hand on Emory’s cheek. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Emory bit back a sob. “I’m just so happy.”
“You were always such a happy child.” Her mother patted her cheek, then neared the Christmas tree, lifting the gingerbread man. “Emory, baby, where is that good looking fella you’re about to marry? I sure do like him. He brings me the best gingersnaps. Will you tell him I need more? I ate the last one yesterday. It was so delicious.”
It always amazed Emory what snippets her mother remembered. Big moments like their father’s death escaped her, while small things like cookies that Christian used to bring her stayed in her mind. Emory swiped away a tear. “I’ll tell him, Mom.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” She drew her girls into her arms. “You two take such good care of me.”
“Because we love you, Mommy,” Jordyn said, whipping away her own trail of tears.
“I love you girls, too.” She smiled, but then frowned. “Emory, baby, where is your father? He’s supposed to bring me my coffee. He knows exactly how I like it. Four sugars, three creams.”
Emory held her tight. “I know he does, Mom. He’ll be here any minute.”
Chapter 3
It’d been exactly one week since Christian stood face-to-face with Emory, and every day since, he’d seen her face in his dreams. Sleeping and awake. He sat in his SUV and watched her through the oversized window of her shop. The Bloom Bloom Room. He chuckled. Catchy.
This really could be considered creepy as hell. When he’d left the site where his new office building was being constructed, he’d set a course for home. Somehow he’d ended up here, idling outside the place of business of the woman he’d once believed was his soul mate. What would Emory think if she knew he was stalking her from his vehicle?
He laughed at himself. Stalking was a stretch. Observing. Yeah, that sounded better. Regardless of whatever term he used, he shouldn’t have been there. Maybe it was everything Chauncey had told him Emory was going through. Maybe it was his guilty conscious gnawing at him. Or maybe he’d just felt the urge to see her one last time, because he damn sure refused to step foot in that shop with Yasmin again.
Yasmin. Wasn’t he supposed to miss her? Or at the very least think about her more than he had. Instead of his thoughts lingering on his bride-to-be, they rooted on the one person whom he should have been eager to forget.
The tap on his window startled him. He whipped his head around to see Emory’s sister Jordyn grinning in at him. Shit. He’d been busted. When he lowered the window, a gust of cold air rushed inside, and an instant chill raced up his spine. Damn, he hated cold weather. “Jordyn? Hey.”
A half-smirk, half-smile played at her lips. “I thought that was you. Longtime no see.”
“Yeah, it has been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”
“I have, thank you. So, whatcha doing?”
Christian glanced toward the brick building, then back to Jordyn. “I... Uh… I was… I mean, I was about to—”
Jordyn rested her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. “Christian St. Claire, are you spying on my sister?”
He released a boisterous laugh. “Spying?” Another chuckle escaped. “No. I was just about to go inside. Emory’s doing the flowers for my upcoming w…” He couldn’t say the word. Why in the hell couldn’t he say the word? “We’re working together,” he settled on saying.
“On your wedding, right?”
Why did she have to put so much emphasis on the word? He nodded. “Yeah.”
Jordyn tugged at her gray bomber coat. “Well, come on. I’ll walk with you.”
Shit. “Um…” Fine mess he’d gotten himself into. He couldn’t just leave. That would make him look suspicious. Well, more suspicious than this current situation already looked. “Yeah. Okay. Let me just grab my coat.” Shit.
After the way he’d acted the last time he’d been there, he was surely the last person Emory wanted to see.
He’d just say hello, ask a few generic questions about their order, then leave. Simple as that. He could even say Yasmin sent him. This wouldn’t be so bad after all. The statement felt like false bravado.
Two minutes later, they were standing inside Emory’s workroom. Bunches of fresh flowers littered nearly every inch of the space. Vases and ribbon were also scattered about. Emory did a double take when her eyes settled on him. Beyond his initial shock, he wasn’t sure what to expect next—though he visualized one of the cobalt blue vases slicing through the air and clobbering him in the head.
To his delight, Emory didn’t lash out at him, but her scrutinizing eyes questioned his presence. “Hey.” That seemed like the most logical thing to say.
“Hey,” she supplied in return.
Emory’s attention shifted to a grinning Jordyn, before shifting to him again.
“Are you two hanging out now? BFF’s?”
She laughed, but he could sense her discomfort.
Jordyn smirked. “No. I found him…crossing the street to come inside.”
Thank you, Jordyn. All he needed was for Emory to know he’d been…observing her.
“Oh,” said Emory.
“Yasmin sent me,” he blurted like a fool. So much for sounding convincing.
“Huh.” Emory folded her arms across her chest, her forehead wrinkling in a sign of confusion. “I spoke with your fiancée earlier. She didn’t mention anything about you stopping by.”
If he were standing in front of a mirror, he knew his image would reflect the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights. He shrugged. “I…guess she forgot.”
Emory eyed him for a silent second. “Yeah. I guess so.”
When her attention slid to Jordyn—who was ping-ponging glances between the two of them—he took the moment to chastise himself for being there.
“You’re early,” Emory said to Jordyn.
Jordyn glanced at her watch. “You said four, right?”
“No. I said five, Jordyn.”
“Shoot. I have a class at five, Em.” She turned to Christian. “Christian, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind taking my sister home, would you? Her car won’t start. I keep telling her to junk the heap.”
Christian nonchalantly shrugged one shoulder. “Sure, I—”
“I can take a cab,” Emory said, cutting him off.
“That’s silly, Emory. You have a ride right here,” Jordyn said, resting a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “Wow, Christian. You’re solid as a rock. Have you been working out? Cop a feel, Emory.”
Emory tossed Jordyn a narrow-eyed scowl. Whatever that look represented, it wasn’t anything good. For some reason, it humored him.
When Emory’s eyes returned to him, he shrugged again. “I really don’t mind.” Besides, it was the least he could do after how he’d treated her.
“Then it’s settled,” Jordyn said, moving toward the door. “Welcome back to North Carolina, Christian. I’ll call you tonight, Em. Love you both.” With that, Jordyn was gone.
“Still the same vivacious, Jordyn,” Christian said. When he faced Emory, her arms were pulled even tighter across her chest, and the soft expression she’d flashed moments earlier had morphed into a hard frown. Uh-oh.
“What are you doing here, Christian? Because I vaguely remember—no, distinctively recall—you telling me to stay away from you. Yet, here you are. In my shop. And don’t insult my intelligence by saying your fiancée sent you.”
Why did she keep saying fiancée that way? He thought it in his best interest not to ask. “I…wanted to stop by to say I’m sorry to hear about Ms. Anne.” When her brows furrowed, he added, “Chauncey told me.” He didn’t want her to think he’d been checking up on her or anything. ’Course, she still could think that.
Sadness filled her eyes and her hardness softened.
“Thank you.” She rested a hand on the side of her neck. “Look, you don’t have to wait around. I’m sure you have better things to do. I’m really okay with catching a cab.”
“You’ve made that clear.” He gave a half-smile. “Look, Em… I was out of line the last time we spoke. You deserve to be angry at me.”
“The truth doesn’t anger me, Christian. You simply spoke what was in your heart.” She ambled across the room. “Since you insist on staying, you might as well make yourself useful.” She passed him a pair of pruning shears.
Christian stirred at the sharp blades as if she’d asked him to perform surgery with them. “The only thing I know about flowers is how to order them.”
She picked up a long-stemmed white rose. “All you have to do is snip right about here.”
When she passed the flower to him, their fingers grazed. She snatched away, rubbing her hand as if something toxic had been transferred from his flesh to hers.
“I promise I don’t have cooties,” he said with a smile.
“Try not to cut your finger off,” she said, putting some distance between them.
Something told him she’d take great pleasure in watching him bleed to death. He eyed the rose. Cut the stem. Sounds easy enough.
Emory stood a couple of feet down from him, stripping thorns from another bunch of roses, lavender in color. Every few minutes, she’d tossed a glance in his direction, but turned away when he acknowledged her. The silence was deafening. Unable to take it another second, he said, “When did you get into floral design?”
He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of her responding. For a moment, he assumed the odds were against him. But she finally answered.
“About a year ago. I helped a friend decorate her wedding. I discovered I loved creating art with flowers. I applied for and received a small business loan.” She glanced around the room, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “Here I am.”
“Business good?”
She shrugged. “It has its ups and downs.”
Christian almost expected her to share her troubles with him, but she didn’t. Why would she? The days of her sharing with him were over. To be honest, he missed those days. The days they’d lie in bed for hours discussing any and everything under the sun.
He laughed to himself. Not in a million years would he have imagined being here with Emory, clipping flowers, of all things. And, being cordial to one another. He shot a glance in her direction. When they’d first broken up, he’d done his best to scrub her from his thoughts. Now here they were. At one point in his life, he’d have died for this woman. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure he still wouldn’t.
“What about you?” Emory said. “What are you doing these days?”
The inquiring surprised him. “Still tinkering with airplanes.” But she knew that already.
She smiled. “Figures.”
He chuckled at the comment. Some of the tension that’d thickened the air earlier dissipated. Things between them felt not so tense anymore.
“Are you excited about your upcoming wedding?”
Christian paused mid-cut. “I’m sure I will be. Closer to the date.”
“It’s only a few weeks away. How much closer do you need to get?” Emory stiffened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…be all in your business.”
He brushed off her words. “No need to apologize.”
Things grew quiet between them again. But the silence didn’t linger as it had before.
“Yasmin seems like a wonderful women. How did you two meet?”
So she was capable of saying Yasmin’s name, instead of fiancée. But what was this, question Christian hour? Well, he guessed he should have been happy she was actually talking at all. “Through friends. We’ve been dating six months.” Since he figured that would be her next question.
“Six—?”
Yep, he’d expected that reaction. It was the reaction most people had.
Dousing the surprise in her tone, she continued, “Wow. You proposed after only six months. Is she pregnant or something?”
She released an unsteady laugh, but he remained stone-faced.
Emory’s lips part
ed, but nothing readily escaped. “Oh,” she finally said, then snatched her focus away from him. “Congratulations. You really have a lot to celebrate. When… When is she due?”
“She…” His words trailed off. “We loss the baby.”
Emory rested her hand on her chest. “Oh, God. Christian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
When he met her gaze, an overwhelming amount of sympathy was present in her eyes. “How could you?”
Emory passed him a rose and smiled. “You and Yasmin have the rest of your lives to fill your home with babies.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”
For the next hour, they worked in perpetual silence that drained him. This wasn’t how things worked with him and Emory. When they were together, there’d never been a silent or dull moment between them. But things had changed. They were no longer the couple who’d planned to build a home on a secluded country lot and run around barefoot and naked in the woods. Or the couple who’d planned to drive cross-country in an RV, collecting shot glasses they’d never use because neither drank hard liquor. Or the couple who’d planned to have four perfectly cultured kids—three boys and a girl. Or the couple who’d vowed to spoil their grandkids rotten.
The memories beckoned a glance in her direction. Did she ever recall any of those things? He sure as hell did. More often then he cared to admit. His gaze raked over the pecan skin he’d caressed countless times, mulled over the plump lips he’d kissed a thousand times, ventured to the neck his tongue knew well. When gravity drew his focus to her pert breasts, he lost his train of thought—and control of the shears.
“Shit,” he said, dropping the metal onto the table.
Emory shot to him. “What happened?”
“I cut myself.” He glanced at the crimson color seeping from his wound. “Uh-oh.” The sight of blood was like his kryptonite. His stomach knotted and his limbs grew weak.
“Don’t look,” Emory said, obviously remembering his aversion. “Come on.” She guided him to a sink scattered with stems and leaves and placed his hand under the stream of cold water. “Stay here. I’ll get the first aid kit.”