by Lake, C. J.
“Where are you going?” Bardo asked.
“I fold. I…need some air.”
In a different circumstance, the gamer in Tragan would have given Matt a hard time about leaving--would have reminded him that poker with less than four people completely sucked--but tonight he could see that Matt was beyond convincing.
Chapter 21
Matt got to Emma’s late the following afternoon to finish the new floors. She was working in her office most of the time he was there, so they kept to themselves for the most part. Now, Matt was cleaning up his materials as Emma walked into the kitchen. “Careful,” he warned her quickly. “Only walk on this section right here until tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, jumping to the left. Then she looked all around, eyes widening. “God, Matt, it is gorgeous! It looks so high-end--Stacy Creston’s favorite catchphrase. You saved me,” she added with a smile.
“Just doing my job,” he said humbly.
“Speaking of that…” Emma bit her lip as her eyebrows pinched together. “I guess your job is done now, huh?”
“Yep,” Matt agreed, but jerked his head toward the shelf below the windowsill. “After I install that light fixture, that is. Then I’m out.”
“Oh, that,” Emma said, casting a glance at the unopened light fixture, which sat beside the unopened cordless drill. “I was planning to do that myself.”
Matt gave a short laugh at that. “I know. That’s why it’s been sitting there in the box since the first day I walked in here.”
“Well aren’t you observant?” she said tartly, but there was a smile in her eyes.
“Look, this is the last day I’m going to be working here,” Matt reminded her. “You might as well take advantage of me--and I don’t mean that in a sexual way.” Shocked, Emma’s mouth curved open as he grinned, adding, “So don’t get your hopes up.”
At first it looked like she was about to protest, but then her mouth broke into a smile. “Fine, you can do it. But only if it will make you feel useful.”
Chuckling, Matt said, “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.”
Once he was done with the light fixture, now he really was done--with the job, with Emma’s house. With Emma…?
Just the thought made him tense with impatience. As it was, it had taken all his restraint not to ask her about last night. Not to engage in conversation about her date with that Parker guy. Because if Matt went there, it would probably take Emma all of five seconds to recognize that his causal interest was no such thing--that it was only prying, and a transparently thin cover for his jealousy, which had gnawed relentlessly at him all night.
Now, as Matt headed to the front door, Emma trailed close behind him and he sensed there was more she wanted to say. So he stopped and paused in the foyer, as she blinked up at him--with those goddamn seductive eyes.
“I really want to thank you--”
“Don’t,” Matt interrupted. “It’s not necessary.” She wouldn’t be so adoringly grateful if she knew how many times he’d entertained graphic sexual images of her since they’d met. How many times he’d thought about fucking her against the counter, or twisting his hand in her hair while she was on her knees, sucking him off right there on the new flooring. And, of course, how many times he’d stolen appreciative glances at her ass as she’d traipsed innocently in and out of the kitchen. He was a guy; he couldn’t help his thoughts. But that didn’t mean Emma would like it.
He kept his tone light. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”
With a deprecating laugh, Emma said, “Please, how nervy would I have to be to ask you for another favor right now?”
At that, Matt narrowed his eyes at her and gave her a knowing grin. “So what is it?”
~
“You want it here?”
“Yes, perfect, thank you,” Emma was saying as Matt set down the box he’d brought from the attic to the living room.
“While I was up there, I did another quick check for big spiders,” he informed her. “You’re all good.”
“Thanks!” Emma said as she peeled back the flaps on the box and started unpacking the artificial tree that she put up every year. Despite the fact that it was a small tree, which stood only about half an inch taller than she did, it managed to weigh a ton when it was broken apart into a heap of color-coded branches.
Emma explained to Matt how it usually worked at Christmastime: she would drag the heavy box down from the attic herself, wobbling and praying, as the box plunked down each step--loudly, like the ominous, booming footsteps of a slow-moving giant--and always with the implied understanding that, at any moment, the box could spring from her control like a runaway sled. Every year her sons were her captive audience, peering over from the couch where she’d instructed them to stay.
“Hey, how come you don’t get a real tree?” Matt asked, as she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the box, and began separating blue-tipped branches from red- and yellow-tipped.
“Are you kidding?” she said, giving him a wry look. “I can barely handle this little one.”
“Do you like real trees? Some people are into the artificial,” he commented with a shrug.
“No, I love real Christmas trees! We always had one growing up. They were beautiful; they always made the house smell so good,” Emma said, stacking more piles. “This is a practicality thing for me now,” she continued. “Getting a real tree each year is just too unwieldy. Setting it up myself and then taking it down…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, as though burdened even by the thought.
It gave Matt an idea. “So, if there was a real tree that didn’t weigh a thing, you’d be interested in that?”
At that, Emma scrunched her forehead, while she continued sorting through metal-and-acrylic tree branches. “Of course. I mean, who wouldn’t be? But as with many things that defy the laws of physics…I try not to spend much time contemplating weightless evergreens.”
“All right, wiseass,” Matt said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”
Emma looked up at him with wide eyes. “Go where?” she asked, even though she took Matt’s outstretched hand without hesitation, letting him tug her up to her feet.
“Get your coat,” Matt said on their way to the foyer.
“But it’s freezing out,” Emma protested--but she was still holding his hand tightly, which gave him hope.
“Hence the ‘coat’ part,” Matt said.
“And I’m the wiseass?” she remarked with a smirk. “At least tell me where we’re going.”
“We’re going to the tree lot.”
“What! Why would we do that? There’s a perfectly good tree over there,” she said, pointing to the box sitting in the living room.
“No, there’s a perfectly adequate fake shrub,” Matt countered.
“Same diff,” she quipped.
“No,” he insisted. “Not ‘same diff.’”
“But--”
“Emma, c’mon, don’t you want to surprise the boys with a big, awesome tree this year?”
“Well, I…”
“Look, just pick whichever tree you want, and then I’ll carry it for you, okay? I’ll bring it back here in my truck and set it up for you. Then, when Christmas is over, I can haul it away. You won’t even have to worry about it.”
Now Emma’s eyes were searching his as her expression showed a look of either wonder or concern--he couldn’t tell which. “No, Matt, but that’s way too much to ask.”
“Think of it as a service, not a favor,” he told her.
Immediately her pinched forehead relaxed. “Oh, wait, that makes sense. Is the Christmas tree thing a service that Winter Contracting offers during the holidays?”
“Hey, why not?” he said, evading the precise question. “It’s simple enough, from our perspective.”
“True,” Emma agreed, seeming relieved that she could pay him for his time. “Okay, let’s do it!” she added brightly, then glanced down, as though just realizi
ng they were still holding hands. When her eyes traveled up, they found Matt’s, and their gaze held for a moment. Braving a smile, Emma said, “I guess we should go before it snows.”
Chapter 22
Luckily the wind let up as they walked through Crib’s Tree Lot--an expansive plot of evergreens, arranged in haphazard aisles and illuminated by strings of white lights that crisscrossed overhead. So far Emma hadn’t found a tree she wanted. Now they wandered into a section of thick Alpine Spruce that seemed to close in on them, leaving only a narrow strip of aisle to walk.
Matt kept his tone casual as he asked, “So where did Parker take you last night?” Emma shot him a surprised look, and he explained, “I happened to see the personalized plate on my way out.”
“Oh. We just went to a little French bistro in Newton,” she said offhandedly, reaching out to touch the needles of the tree directly in front of her. “I’ve been there with Andy before.”
Nodding, Matt kept his eyes fixed on Emma’s profile. “And you had fun?” he asked.
“I guess,” she said with a noncommittal shrug.
“How were his table manners?” At that, she angled her head to eye him askance. “You know,” Matt explained, “was he getting sauce everywhere or…chewing with his mouth open?”
She gave a little laugh then turned back to the trees. “Uh, nothing comes to mind, so I’d say his manners were fine.”
“Well…did he pick up the tab?”
“Yes.”
Damn.
Matt stepped closer to her, leaving almost no space between them, nearly touching her back with his chest. “Did he pull out your chair?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. Being this close to Emma cast an erotic spell over him.
“I, uh, don’t remember,” Emma said, her voice cracking a little, making him think she felt it too. He was painfully tempted to run his hands around her waist right now, to pull her flush against him, to stop pretending.
Suddenly, Emma turned. “You seem very worried about Phil Parker’s love life.”
“Right,” Matt said, returning her sarcasm.
Giving him a mocking smile, she placed her palm on her chest. “Really--your concern for your fellow man is…heartwarming.”
“No, it’s not,” Matt stated flatly. “I couldn’t care less about the guy.”
“Hmm, seems like it,” she remarked, before rounding the corner into the next aisle.
“Look--it’s on the male DNA to size up the competition,” Matt explained to her back.
At that, Emma squinted at him. “How is Phil Parker competition? There’s no contest. You’re my friend. Phil Parker is a virtual stranger.”
“A stranger?” Matt echoed, acting nonchalant about the implication--even as a possessive sense of relief spread through his chest. So she hadn’t slept with Parker last night. Thank God. The thought of Emma touching another guy, or letting a guy touch her, was painful to him.
“Pretty much,” she went on matter-of-factly. “He picked me up, took me to the restaurant, we made small talk about the kids. He told me all about his divorce--with very little prompting from me--and then drove me home. See? A stranger, more or less.”
“I see,” Matt said, quietly assessing Emma, before motioning to the tree behind her. “What about this one?”
“Um…” She glanced back, then pursed her lips. “Too skinny. I don’t want any Christmas tree that’s thinner than me.”
Matt ignored her exaggeration and pointed to another one--a more majestic-looking one that he sensed was the winner. “How about that one?”
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” she started to say, but then shook her head. “But it’s too big.”
“Emma, I’m carrying it and setting up, remember?”
“I know, but I’m the one who has to decorate it.”
He couldn’t argue that point. “That’s true. I don’t decorate,” he told her honestly. Then, in a moment of weakness--what else was new when he was with her?--Matt said, “Though I suppose I could string the lights for you, if you want.”
Ten minutes later, the tree was purchased, tied up with string and settled in the back of Matt’s pickup truck. Before Emma got to the passenger-side door, Matt said, “Wait--you thirsty?” She paused and he added, “Let’s get a drink.”
“Where?”
“Lamplighter Pub. Ever been there?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, turn around. Now you have.”
Chapter 23
“So what are you drinking?” Matt asked as they approached the bar.
In an impulsive moment, Emma had agreed to a drink in the quaint-looking building that shared a parking lot with Crib’s nursery. Though it was nearly buried in a thicket of evergreens, with only an old-fashioned street lamp to set it apart, Matt had apparently discovered the Lamplighter years ago and it was a favorite spot of his. Tonight it was rustic with evergreen garland and festive strings of big colored bulbs.
Now Emma climbed up on a stool and said, “Um…I’ll have a Crazy Hat.”
Curiously, Matt asked, “What’s that?”
Offering a patronizing smile, she said, “Oh, nothing you’d like.”
Seeming amused, Matt lifted his eyebrows and challenged her: “Now you know what I like?”
“I don’t see you as a pink-drink guy,” she explained breezily.
With a nod, Matt admitted, “Good call.” Then he told the bartender, “A Crazy Hat and a Black and Tan.”
When he turned his attention back to Emma, she said, “So what’s yours?”
Imitating her condescension, Matt said, “Oh, it’s a rugged sort of drink,” and made a point of stretching back a little and patting his flat stomach. “Nothing a pretty little thing like you would be interested in.”
“Really?” she said with a laugh, tilting her head at him. As the bartender set their drinks in front of them, Emma went with another impulse. “Let’s switch,” she said.
“What’s that now?” Matt said, pausing before he took his glass.
“Let’s prove each other wrong.”
“All right,” Matt said, and slid the dark, ominous-looking drink toward her, as she passed him the pink one. They both drank.
“Hmm…” Emma managed, trying not to purse her lips.
“Huh,” Matt remarked, after sampling the Crazy Hat.
“Interesting…”
“Different…”
Emma’s poker face was the first to crack. Her mouth distorted into a grimace. “Blech,” she blurted. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”
Laughing, Matt said, “That bad, huh?” Miserably, she nodded. “Switch back?
“Yes, please.”
“Thank God,” he said with a breath of relief. “This is straight-up fruit punch.”
Giggling, she happily took her Crazy Hat back. “So much for that sociological experiment.”
“Speaking of all your big words…” Matt began teasingly. “You seem like the type of girl who reads a lot. Am I right?”
“Actually, I read so much for work that I don’t do it as often on my downtime anymore.”
“So what do you like to do for fun then?” he asked conversationally.
Toying with the stirrer in her drink, Emma admitted, “Sometimes, after the boys go to bed, I really need to de-stress, so I go to my bedroom and…” Matt’s eyes seemed to sharpen in anticipation. “I like to do needlepoint,” she finished.
A beat passed before he said, “Needlepoint, wow.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Hey--my great-grandmother called. She wants her hobby back.”
Emma burst out an indignant laugh. “Oh, my God!” she said, giving him a shove. “What a jerk!” Matt laughed openly, causing a ripple of laughter in Emma, too. “Sorry,” she tsked playfully, “we can’t all be as young and carefree as you.”
“Emma, we’re practically the same age,” Matt stated. “Besides, I thought the crossword puzzles were to de-stress.”
“They are, but trust me: when you have kids someday you�
�ll understand the need to de-stress on a variety of levels,” she informed him. Quickly she amended: “I mean…I shouldn’t assume anything. I don’t know if you want to have kids or not.”
Matt nodded right. “Yeah, of course I do.”
Emma smiled gently at him. “I’m sure you’d be a great dad.”
“Matt?”
Both Matt and Emma turned at the interruption.
Emma’s heart dropped in her stomach when she saw who the voice belonged to--a girl with bright blue eyes, silky raven hair, and painted-on black pants that couldn’t have been bigger than a size 2. To make the horrible sight even more stomach-churning for Emma, the girl was ridiculously pretty--and her eyes were fixed on Matt.
“Keri,” Matt said after a stunned moment. His face broke into an uncertain, almost guarded sort of smile. “Hey…how’re you doing?” he asked as Keri reached over to hug him. Simmering with jealousy, Emma noted that Matt hugged her back. On the upside, his embrace appeared loose and sort of perfunctory, as though he’d given it out of obligation. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m out with a couple of friends,” she said and pointed to two other girls, sitting at a far table.
“I’m just surprised to see you around here,” he said, pulling back. “I thought you were living in Beacon Hill.”
“I was but…I moved. I’m not too far from here now,” she said vaguely, then gave him a smile that was almost flirtatious. But there was something tentative about it, too. She appeared to be gauging his reaction to seeing her. Emma absorbed the scene in silence, as her stomach churned acidly. Obviously Keri and Matt were more than passing acquaintances.
“This is Emma,” Matt told Keri, stepping back and returning to his spot beside Emma’s stool. Then she felt Matt’s hand on the small of her back and her heart jumped a little, both startled and oddly reassured by the intimate gesture. “Emma, Keri,” he added, finishing the introductions.
The two women exchanged bland hellos while each surely appraised the other with daggers in her heart.
Even though Matt appeared to be on a date, Keri was confident enough to linger. “So Matt, how have you been?” she asked, acting like Emma wasn’t even there. “This is so funny--running into you--because I sent you a message the other day. Just asking how you were,” she explained.