“A little freshening up,” Mom offers gently. “To highlight your natural beauty.”
“Start with a new bra,” Dani interjects, eyeing my chest in concern.
“I’m fine,” I tell them stubbornly, crossing my arms over my breasts self-consciously. “I’m not going to twist myself into a pretzel to try to compete with Hollywood actresses. That’s ridiculous.”
As if I even could. I’m a thirty-four-year-old woman, a mom. I have a little soft, rounded jiggle of a belly from carrying Gus, and my breasts aren’t as perky as they were before breastfeeding that little guzzler. I have some split ends because I keep forgetting to make a hair appointment. I’m pretty, but in a slightly tired, girl-next-door way, not Hollywood glamour and sex appeal. I know this is just who I am, and I refuse to try to make myself into a glossy magazine version of Emmie. Either Henry will like the real me or he won’t.
Then I glance at my dingy gray bra strap peeking out of my shirt, catch a glimpse of my chewed nails, brush back my slightly too-long bangs, and sigh. Okay, I get it. I don’t need to change anything for Henry, but maybe I want to change a few things for me, small things that could help me feel like the shiniest and best version of myself—still me, but a slightly less worn-out, tired me. It’s been many years since Paris. It would be nice to regain some of my joie de vivre. I make a mental note to buy some new, pretty matching bras and underwear, because saggy gray is not a good look onanyone. And I guess a bang trim wouldn’t hurt. And a manicure.
“I’ll make a hair appointment with Candace,” I agree reluctantly. “And another for a mani-pedi at the Nail Boat.”
Dani nods approvingly. “And don’t forget the bra. Go for maximum push-up,” she urges, making a lifting motion to illustrate.
“So where do we start on the list?” Dot asks with a frown. “That’s a lot to tackle.”
Mom clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in the hard folding chair. Sitting for any length of time gets painful on her joints. “Emmie needs to find a way to spend time with Henry,” she muses. “Everything else will come later, but they need a chance to get to know each other. Falling in love takes time.”
“Good idea,” Dani says. She purses her lips, thinking. “Emmie, did he tell you where he’s staying?”
“I know where he is,” Dot interjects. “Mary Beth Douglas told me last week that she’d rented her little beach cabin out to some cute British guy. It has to be him.”
Mom claps her hands in delight. “Oh, this is good news!” she exclaims. “Now we need to figure out a way for Emmie to see Henry as soon as possible.”
I swallow nervously. Are we really doing this?
“Okay, we have the first action point in our plan,” Dani says, handing me the napkin with the bullet-point list on it. “Step one, give Emmie and Henry a chance to fall in love.”
Chapter 8
Which is how I find myself standing on the doorstep of Henry Summers’s rented beach cottage at eight a.m. two days later. I’m sporting freshly trimmed bangs and a new lilac-colored lace bra (with just a little bit of push-up). I’m also holding our biggest sampler box of fudge. I knock timidly, heart pounding in my throat. What if he’s still asleep? Is he going to think it’s creepy that I’m on his doorstep? Probably. This suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Is it too late to back out and leave? I glance toward the car where Dot and Mom are giving me a big thumbs-up. They insisted on coming along.
“To make sure he’s not a perv,” in Dot’s words. I think they secretly want in on the action though. They’re hopeless romantics, and I suspect they want to see Henry in the flesh for themselves. I finally gave in to their constant badgering and said they could come if they promised to stay in the car and not cause trouble. They solemnly promised, but I’m not sure I entirely trust them. Mr. Butters is sitting in the back seat with Dot, grinninghappily and panting. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying the adventure. I smooth my hands down my cute summer dress, a sprigged spring-green cotton with ruffled pockets.
“Hello?” Henry opens the door, looking confused and adorably rumpled in a soft navy T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. Too late to change my mind now! I take a fortifying breath and paste on a smile.
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully.
Henry’s hair is mussed and he’s wearing round tortoiseshell glasses and a hint of a five-o’clock shadow. He looks delicious. “Oh.” He peers at me and recognition lights his eyes. “Emmie, is it?” He glances around, puzzled. “Can I help you?”
I think he actually means “How did you find me?”
“It’s a small town,” I say by way of explanation. “And to the best of my knowledge, you’re the only British guy in Poulsbo. I swear I’m not a crazy psycho stalker. I just came to bring you this.” I shove the box of fudge at him. “Welcome to Poulsbo.”
Ugh, smooth, Emmie, real smooth. I’m rusty at this flirting thing, and it’s obvious. “The fudge is from my mom,” I explain. “She’s a big fan ofSavor.”
Which is true. I don’t tell him I am too. I swallow nervously and purposefully don’t glance behind me where I am absolutely sure Mom and Dot are glued to the windows of the car, watching us. My palms are sweating. Henry makes me feel fluttery and nervous, like I just swallowed an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies.
“Ah, how thoughtful.” Henry smiles as though I’ve cleared up the mystery for him. “That’s very kind of her. Please thank her for me.” He takes the box of fudge.
We stand there awkwardly for a moment. He musses his hair with one hand. I hesitate. I don’t want to leave, but I’m not surewhere to go from here. It’s been a long time since I liked a guy this much, and I’m super nervous.
“How’s the writing going?” I ask him.
He winces. “Not that well, actually.” A pause, then he confesses. “Truth be told, your delicious caramel got me through revising one whole chapter. Now I’m stuck again though, I’m afraid. Maybe this fudge will do the trick.” He quirks a brow in an adorably self-deprecating way, then pauses a beat and looks at me. “Actually, would you like to come in for a cup of tea? I was just about to put the kettle on.”
I hesitate, thinking of Dot and Mom sitting in the car, but I know they’d insist I accept. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to spend time with Henry. “Sure, a cup of tea would be great.”
I don’t like tea, but I like the thought of Henry Summers brewing a cup for me. I glance back at the car just in time to see Dot and Mom waving cheerfully. Henry spots them too and frowns in a bemused way.
