Page 79 of Falling for Keeps

“What is it we’re doing exactly?” And why does her house always smell like warm baked goods, sweet and soft and like I want to sink into it?

Emma laughs. “Sorry. Braiding. Didn’t I mention that? I’m going to teach you.”

She plops one head onto a stand and twists something to tighten it into place, then does the same with the second one. She sits cross-legged on the sofa and pats the seat beside her.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. It’s really not hard. I figured it would be a fun surprise for Penny if you knew how to do a Dutch braid.”

“You only want to fix things so she doesn’t knock on your door at the crack of dawn, don’t you?”

Emma laughs. “No. I noticed she hasn’t asked in a week. I assumed you’d forbidden her, but it’s really not a bother.” She looks at me, and it’s clear she means what she says. I truly trust she doesn’t mind being woken up by my daughter during a self-proclaimed hair emergency. “But now you’ll know how to do it yourself.”

“Possibly.”

Emma bumps her shoulder against mine. “Come on. I have faith in you. So, we’re going to start with a single braid. Take a triangle section and split it into three parts.”

“Not bad,” Emma says, chuckling.

“Liar.” I drop the end of a braid that somehow got thick and puffy by the time I reached the bottom. The shapes are wonky. It’s not neat and even like Emma’s. I understand the basics, and I think I’ve mastered how to hold the hair to keep it separated with my fingers, but I’m a long way off from creating anything Penny would approve of.

She tilts her head. “It’s not terrible. You have the motions mastered. You probably need to practice a bit and you’ll have it down.”

“Can we do another braiding session?”

“Are you going to tile my shower walls, too?”

I glance at her sharply. The last thing I should be doing is thinking of Emma and showers in the same space. “If they need it, yeah.”

“I’m kidding. This one’s a freebie. Sloan doesn’t need these back until she has her next updo class. We have a few weeks.” Emma leans back against the sofa and yawns.

She’s tired, but she still took the time to find a woman she knows, ask for two doll heads with stands, set them up, and invite me over to learn something tricky. On top of all that, she’s taking the time to do the teaching, too. Maybe braiding hair isn’t a big deal, and maybe with enough time and the right YouTube videos, I could have done all this myself. But that’s not really the point, is it? This woman has proven through all these small actions that she genuinely cares.

I’m probably starved for affection, but I can’t get over how thoughtful she is. How much she considered me, my daughter’s emotional needs, my emotional needs.

Soon I’ll become a blubbering fool if I’m not careful.

I’ve never been the type to pin anyone’s worth on their relationship status. Being raised by my single mother taught me incredible people can remain single—it’s just how it is sometimes. Looking at Emma as she runs her fingers through the coarse doll hair and takes apart the braid, I can’t help wondering why she seems to think her best option for a man is Seth from the library. Really? Him? She deserves more than a guy who grinds all over some random girl in a bar, then immediately tries to get with Emma. Don’t tell me that’s not what happened, because I saw his jealousy that night when I was talking to her, and he immediately swooped in and took my place once the seat was vacated.

If he’s the sort to only want something when he thinks he can’t have it, if he’s turning Emma into a game, she’s going to be hurt. She deserves so much better.

“You okay?” she asks, looking into my eyes. I could bottle hers and drink them up like smooth chocolate.

“Yeah. Just thinking about how kind you are. That was…” I gesture to the doll heads, then run a hand over my hair. “It was so thoughtful, Emma.”

Her cheeks glow with a blush. “It was nothing.”

I lean my elbow on the back of the couch and rest my head against my hand, looking at her. “You know, I did tell Penny to quit bugging you for braids. Even if I could see how authentic and genuine you felt about helping her out, I didn’t want her taking advantage of your kindness. I didn’t want us to move in and throw ourselves at you time and again until you regretted the day you talked to me at the bar.”

Her body seems to freeze. “I couldn’t regret that.”

The air is charged, thick and wavy, like I can see colors in the light. It buzzes, ready to zap if we move wrong. Maybe that’s why neither of us are chancing it. We’re like marble statues with hearts racing and eyes locked in.

Would it be wrong to lean in? We’re obviously attracted to each other, and she’s looking for love. She already told me she was looking for her Prince Charming, and the reason we can only be friends is because I’m not looking for anyone.

She makes a really good friend. All those boxes that matter—thoughtfulness, compassion, showing up when I need her—she checks them easily.

But do I check them for her?