How cozy the two of them had become during the past fifteen or so minutes, Emma thought. Uncomfortable now, she pulled away from Sam, pushed her glasses up on her nose with one hand and then ran both palms along her thighs.
“Don't,” Sam directed, reaching out to catch one of her hands in his. “There's no need to get all stuffy just because you've suddenly realized we were getting along fine together.”
“It scares me,” she said, accidentally blurting out the truth. Cutting a quick look in his direction, she got up and headed back into the kitchen. It was clearly time for her to leave.
Glancing at her watch, she gasped. Eleven thirty? Where in the world had the time gone?
“Thank you for dinner. The stew was delicious,” she called over her shoulder while sliding her arms into her coat. “If your grandmother were alive, she would be proud of you, I'm sure.”
“Grandma Ellie was proud of me before I made stew,” Sam said from behind her, his warm breath fanning the tiny hairs at her nape, sending tingles along her spine while his hands joined hers as he helped her with her coat. He tugged her around for a brief yet somehow lingering kiss. “Thank you for coming tonight, Emma. I've really enjoyed these past few hours with you.”
Reaching into her pocket, Emma made sure she hadn't forgotten to put her keys in there. She nodded. “I enjoyed tonight, as well.”
Sam walked with her to the door, then leaned against the jamb and waited until she reached her car to ask the question he'd wanted to ask before she got all antsy in the living room and decided to leave. “Will you come by the One Shot tomorrow, Emma? We're officially closed for the next few weeks, but Elliot will be there to break ground on the cozies. You could mention those tweaks you pointed out to me a few minutes ago. See what he says...”
She opened the car door and slid inside. “Not this time. I have to work. Goodnight, Sam. Thanks again for a lovely evening.”
Watching her leave, Sam felt the chill of the night close in around him but he waited until he could no longer see her taillights before he went inside, locking the door behind him. Silence settled in, enveloping him in a sense of loneliness that seemed heavier now that Emma was gone.
Shutting off the lights as he went through the kitchen where they'd shared Grandma Ellie's delightful stew to the living room where they'd spent more than an hour chatting about the renovations at the coffee cafe and her ideas that he'd decided to incorporate, Sam wondered why getting her involved had come to mean so much to him. All he could figure was that he hoped if she were invested in the cafe, in his business even if only in a small way, she would somehow become invested in him.
Was it wrong? He wondered. Maybe he shouldn't use the book and the construction of her ideas as bait to lure her to him. Maybe he should just lay everything out on the table with her and let Emma decide. Dropping onto the sofa, Sam stretched out his feet to one side and blew out a harsh sigh. If he weren't so afraid she would ignore him and walk away without giving the two of them a chance, he probably would.
Obviously, Emma Riley had a superpower where he was concerned. It seemed she alone had the power to eat away at his confidence until he was left yearning and yet too unsure of himself to let her know what he wanted. What he felt.
It scares me, she had said, and Sam wished he knew why. What had happened in her past to make getting close to someone a thing she feared? Who had hurt her so badly she'd come out of the episode skittish and closed and utterly relationship-shy?
“Her father. Hello? It was her father, father, father! ” Mortianna called to Sam in the scrying dish before glancing over her shoulder at Serephina. “Why are guys so blind when it comes to their ability to see this stuff?”
“Possibly because it wasn't her father?” Serephina pointed out. Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she held up a set of keys. “I'm going to the library.”
“Nope!” Recognizing the set her sister held from a time when there were no such thing as revolving doors, or even sliding ones that did not operate on magic alone, Mortianna leaned back and leveraged up, scooting backward several inches to do so, given how close she'd been sitting to the coffee table, and bounced hastily to her feet. “No, no, no Feeny. You don't need to do that. Give me the keys.”
The glare her sister gave her should have scorched her eyeballs from the sockets but luckily, Mortianna's eyeballs were fully anti-scorch at this point in her life. “Serephina, don't glare. It makes you look—mean.”
“He knows where she is, Morty,” Serephina declared. “Maybe the CHG did not take Esmerelda at all. Have you thought about that? What if Alastair has her locked away in one of those chambers off the catacombs down there?”
“Why would he? Come on, Feeny. You know what happened as well as I do. We botched yet another assignment and Merry got the pinch for it. The CHG—”
Serephina shook her head adamantly. “No. It's more than that, Morty. I've been having dreams. Nightmares, actually, ever since Merry disappeared and I think something is wrong—so wrong I no longer believe her disappearance has anything to do with the CHG.”
“You didn't tell me you'd been having dreams. What were they?”
“Just silly dreams about Cupid being attacked by his own bow,” Serephina shrugged. “But it's so terrifying, Mortianna, so real.”
Flipping the keys into her palm, she turned toward the door. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Mortianna caught her by the shoulders, halting her. “You're dreaming about Cupid, bows, and attacks. You think they're a sign, that your dreams have something to do with Esmerelda's disappearance, but not the Cupid Heart Guard?”
Holding up both hands, she waved them about in front of Serephina's worried eyes. “Cupid? Bows? Hello?” Leading her sister away from the door and toward the sofa, Mortianna urged her to sit. Returning to her cross-legged seating position but this time on the couch instead of the floor, she continued. “Put the keys away, Feeny, and tell me what you dreamed. And don't leave out any details, no matter how silly you think they might be. One of them could be important.”
“You're patronizing, aren't you?” Serephina accused, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, but Mortianna hurriedly assured her she was not.
“Absolutely not patronizing. I'm as worried about Esmerelda as you are but I don't want to rush out ill-prepared to storm the Keeper's gates with accusations of kidnapping without something a little more substantial to lean on.”
“Alastair was the last person to see her, Mortianna. If we reported this to Michael Leavy, who do you think would be the first to end up in cuffs?”
“Alastair, probably,” Mortianna admitted. “Or Airrick. Or both and I shudder to think where Hawthorne Grove would we be if both our Keepers were suddenly incarcerated. But we aren't sure Merry's been taken by anyone, remember? When we went to the library, Alastair said he'd seen her but then she disappeared. He didn't mention her being with anyone. He didn't say he'd seen her meet with anyone outside. What if she decided to do her research into the missing Cupid Pact thing somewhere else?”
“Where, Morty? Another country? Even if she had, she would have known we would worry about her when she didn't come back. She would have found a way to get in touch, to let us know she is okay, but she hasn't. It has been days without a word from her. Not a single word. That isn't like Merry and you know it's not, Mortianna. She would have let us know.”
Much as Mortianna hated to admit it, Serephina was right. It wasn't like Esmerelda to disappear for days on end without a word, and if the CHG didn't have her—which was Feeny's current worry—then someone or something surely did. Was Esmerelda in danger?
A chill chased its way down her spine, making her shiver, but she hid her reaction under a little wiggle as if she were merely trying to make herself more comfortable on the sofa. “Dreams. Tell me about your nightmares, Feeny. If there's even a hint in them that says we should be worried about Esmerelda, I promise we will leave immediately for the library. I will personally help you interrogate Alasta
ir and he will tell us everything he knows—even if we have to use a little dirty magic.”
Chapter Seventeen
At nine thirty the following morning, Emma's phone rang. It was Sam.
“Are you sure you can't break away from whatever you're doing this morning? They're arguing and neither of them really have a clue what they are talking about.”
Emma was still caught up in the research she was working on, her thoughts so deep into the thread she'd been following, she barely caught a word he'd said. “Huh? Who is arguing? Sam, it's not even ten o'clock yet and I'm working.”
“So am I, Emma, or I'm trying to, but your friend won't leave Elliot alone and let him do his job.”
Emma thought she heard a note of humor in his voice, and distracted as she was, she decided he was just having a go at her to try and get her to come to the One Shot although she had specifically told him last night she wouldn't be available today. “My friend? I don't have any friends in—oh, wait. Lindsay is there?”
Emma knew she was. She could hear her chattering in the background but it sounded like normal talk, not arguing.
“Yep, good old Lindsay. Something about a charm bracelet she lost on the lot over the weekend. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”
Putting a hand to her forehead, Emma dredged herself out of her research long enough to think. Charm bracelet. Charm bracelet. Snapping mental fingers, Emma tried to remember the last time she and Lindsay had talked, and whether or not a charm bracelet had been involved. Yes, she remembered now. She'd given it to Lindsay right after she'd picked up the quilt at Seville's. It had been attached to some loose threads in a fold of the coverlet. “Let me talk to her, please.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Hello? Who is this? Sam, why am I talking on your phone? Wait, Sam?”
“Lindsay? Hello, it's me, Emma. Lindsay, are you listening?” For whatever reason, Sam had called her to resolve some issue Lindsay was having with his architectural engineer when he shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place. If Lindsay had lost the bracelet, he should just let her look for it until she decided it was nowhere to be found. She would have given up eventually, but now...
“Emma? Oh my God, is that you? This is Sam's phone, I know it is, so... Sam has your number? Wow. And I thought there were no secrets between the two of us. Were you going to tell me?” There was accusation in her tone, but Emma didn't have time to let her go there with the conversation. “I'm supposed to tell you you're holding up progress. To tell you to look for the bracelet wherever you last remember oooh-ing and aaah-ing over it. Yes, I'm telling you both of those. Now, I have to get back to work, so please, just find the bracelet and leave Mr. Drummond to whatever it is he is supposed to be doing.”
Laughter. Warm, genuinely excited laughter filled her ear. “Emma, the bracelet isn't lost. I mean, it was lost, but Elliot found it. He gave it to me this morning, but there was an extra charm on it—one that wasn't there when you gifted the bracelet to me. Do you remember?”
Emma blew out an exasperated breath and rested her forehead on her palm. “How can I remember what I've never even seen? If the charm is new, I couldn't possibly—”
“No, not the new charm, silly. The old ones. The ones that were there before. Do you recall how many charms were on the bracelet initially?”
“Five,” Emma blurted, knowing she'd never get off the phone otherwise. “There were five.”
“Yes! A flower, a ladybug, a lace glove, a ladies hat, and a book. But this morning, when Elliot returned the bracelet to me, there were six charms. The new charm is a lace fan, Emma. A Victorian lace fan! Well, it's pewter, actually, but isn't that exquisite?”
“Utterly,” Emma murmured. “Maybe a charm fairy took the bracelet and added a new one for you as a surprise? Look, I really have to get back to work now, so tell...”
“You have to see it, Em,” Lindsay declared without letting her finish, and Emma moved the phone away from her ear to stare at it in awe.
Had everyone at the One Shot lost their mind this morning? First, Sam wanted her to play referee between the engineer and interior designer he had hired, and now her best friend was insisting she simply must see a charm bracelet she had already seen. “Lindsay, I've seen it. I gave the thing to you, remember?”
“Oh, no, not the bracelet. The layout. Of these genius little coffee nook things Sam's having built at the back of the cafe. Whoever came up with the idea is pure brilliant!”
Sure Lindsay had meant to stroke Sam's ego with her praise, Emma still felt the heat of a blush slide over her cheeks because she knew who the genius was behind those designs, behind the entire idea. “Thank you.”
“Wait, this is you? Sam Huntingdon, you've been holding out on me! Emma drew those sketches? My Emma?” The rustling of paper could be heard over the line, and then, “Of course you did. How did I not recognize it immediately. You have a certain style that few, if any, could imitate. And now I'm hurt. If you've spent enough time with Sammy here to come up with sketches for blueprints, there's definitely something going on between you two. You aren't getting married, are you?”
Emma's head almost smacked her computer screen she lifted it from her hand so fast. “Married? Sam and me? No. Oh, no. Lindsay, I have to go now. Put Sam back on, please?”
“Here ya go, she wants you,” Emma heard Lindsay say, then Sam's low, huskily murmured “likewise” sent even more heat spiraling through her than the first sound of his voice had.
For a minute, dream and reality blended so well in her thoughts it felt almost as if she'd truly known this man for months now. Shared intimate conversations with him. Gone for long walks, watched hours worth of chick flicks on DVD with him while he held her, shared the same spoon for ice cream.
For an instant, she could almost believe she and Sam had shared far more intimate things than a kiss or two, but in reality … in reality he was only the man in her dreams, not the man of her dreams. Was he?
“Thanks for outing me,” she grouched, frustrated now by the flip-flop turn of her emotions since he'd called. “Now Lindsay will never leave me alone until I tell her everything that's happened between the two of us since the afternoon we met at Seville's.”
“Not everything, I hope.” He chuckled and the sound of it coursed over her in waves, making goose flesh rise up on her neck and arms. Shrugging, she rolled her head on her shoulders to ease the sudden flare of heat in those places where she now imagined his warm breath had played a moment before. “Sam, I have to get back to my research. You didn't actually need to call me.”
“Sure I did,” he insisted. “How else was I to hear your lovely voice this morning? You refused to come by, and I did ask.”
“Hm. Well I hope you recorded this conversation for future reference,” she snapped saucily, “because the next time you interrupt me for something so silly, I'm going to send the call straight to voice mail.”
He laughed. “Are you always a grouch in the mornings?”
Emma made a face at the phone. “Wouldn't you like to know?” she said without thinking, then squeezed her eyes closed in horror because she knew exactly what his next words would be.
“Oh, absolutely. I want to know from personal experience, too. Not some second-hand news. Was that an invitation, Miss Riley?”
Another image flashed through her thoughts, this one of her waking up to Sam leaning over her in her bed, nothing but a sheet draped loosely over his hips, and a smile in his eyes as he kissed her good morning.
Turning around, she searched for Chloe, thinking the cat must be up to some mischief again. Had she somehow managed to drag the quilt into the corner of her living room she'd commandeered for her home office?
“No, and no. That didn't happen,” she murmured the last bit mostly to herself in an attempt to keep her dreams and reality straight in her head while bending down sideways to look for Chloe, but Sam still heard her.
“What didn't happen?”
Spot
ting Chloe on the sofa where she was not supposed to be, Emma remembered she had taken the quilt to Sam's last night. She got up and went to shoo Chloe off the couch and onto the floor.
“You never kissed me good morning,” she answered without thinking, then closed her eyes again and groaned in abject mortification. Could this morning possibly get any worse?
“I would have, but again, you refused my invitation, remember? And now you know what you'll be missing every time you turn me down for an early morning meeting at the cafe.” He sounded smug. “Good morning kisses are just the beginning, by the way.”
Emma couldn't help it. She laughed. She could only imagine what other little treasures Sam was dreaming up to torture her over the loss of even as she scooped Chloe off the sofa. “What do I have to do to get off the phone with you? I've got at least four more hours of work here and morning is about to collide with afternoon, in case you haven't noticed.”
“Promise you'll meet me for lunch and I will stop filling your head with thoughts of the two of us embracing at five a. m. in the early morning shadows outside your door.”
“Lunch?” Emma complained. “That's barely an hour from now!”
“An hour I will spend every minute of wishing you were here already. I don't think I can wait for you to arrive. As a matter of fact, grab your purse and meet me at the door in fifteen minutes. I'll come and get you,” he insisted, and Emma wished she weren't so tempted. She was. To steal away with Sam, to forget responsibility for a little while would be so nice. But it was also the sort of thing she had promised never to do once she'd decided to leave her parents place to make a life for herself.
“Absolutely not. I'm locking my door,” she threatened.
His sigh of defeat was loaded with pity-inducing sorrow. “What do I have to do to wring a yes from you, Emma? Show up on your doorstep and kiss you into complacency?”
Oooh, now that was too cruel, making her dream …
“Fine. We will do lunch, Sam. A late one, though.” Glancing at her watch, she asked, “Will you still be at the cafe around two?”
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