Page 32 of Riding the Curve

Her breathy chuckle begins to slowly reel me back from the darkness. Sparking a new idea into my mind.

One night at dinner, Dad had mentioned wanting to get the cabins ready to start taking in guests. It warmed my heart when he’d reminded me it was Mama’s last wish to make sure we filled this land with life. It also damn near broke me.

Of course, I agreed to help.

Excitedly, he shared that two were already furnished and ready, but he needed help with the remaining ten, as well as a few other things he wanted to add to make it ready for guests by the fall. It was almost the middle of July, so we had just a few more months. More reason to acquire an extra set of hands. If I could move into the cabins, it would get me out of the house while also still allowing me to help and be there for Dad. Maybe even actually get some quality sleep.

Peeking up at the woman across from me, a grin spreads wide on my face. “I have a proposal.”

Her brow raises curiously, and for some reason I start to feel nervous.

“Why don’t you move in with me?” I wince, watching her mouth fall open. “I mean not with me—” I chuckle awkwardly as she shakes her head.

Well, hell. This is not the way I intended any of that to come out. Normally, I have a little more finesse around women. Around Hen, I’m failing spectacularly.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Emerson?” she asks. I catch a little mirth twitch through her lips. With a deep breath I settle in and try again.

“Do you remember those cabins that we started building, the ones for Mama’s dude ranch dream?”

“Of course. We used to talk about it while baking sometimes.”

“Well, now that I’m back for a while, Dad asked for my help to finish the rest of what we started. He’d like to start renting out to guests by the fall. There are two already finished and completely furnished. So, I was thinking—maybe we could each take one?”

Her face is calm, almost serene, leaving me struggling to determine her reaction. So, I keep going, hoping the more I say the more I can convince her.

“You could help us decorate it, too. You and Mama always had similar tastes. Dad also needs help with finding a chef for the guests or maybe creating menus that would fit the feeling of the space.”

A fire ignites in her eyes. There you are.

“I don’t know.” She sighs deeply. “I’d feel bad leaving my parents’ house. I mean, I just got back, and I feel I have so much to catch up on.”

“Our lands may be big, but in case you’ve forgotten, we are literally neighbors, Hen,” I scoff. “It’s just a short ride away. Trust me, I remember many trips to your house over the years.”

Her sweet smile shines through once more, and I hold my breath as she opens her mouth to answer. Unfortunately, a blast from my past bombards through the door and into our conversation before she can.

“My, my . . . Emerson Lane has once again graced us with his presence. How lucky are we?” The familiar high-pitched voice from high school purrs next to me. My glance shifts from Henley to Brittany Fawn, my off-and-on high school girlfriend.

Painful is the word that about sums up our relationship.

It took me a while to realize that she never really was interested in my mind, or my heart. She was only interested in the money and fame that came along with my suddenly blossoming racing career. I’ll never forget the day I took her to a race and caught her handing her number to another one of the drivers. That was the end for me.

Britt’s eyes flitter toward Hen and her smile drops. “Oh, Henley. Didn’t see you there.”

She shrugs quickly, then sets her sights back on me. “Since you’re back in town, you should really take me out some time.” Her bright red nails grip my arm as she leans forward and whispers into my ear. “My number’s still the same.”

Henley’s gaze sears into Britt’s hand that is currently wrapped around my bicep. As I struggle to hold in my laugh, I watch her fist tighten around the napkin she’s holding. The look in her eyes right now looks a lot like jealousy. And I’m not ashamed to say it affects me more than it should.

I remove Britt’s hand from my arm, but before I can stop her, she plants a kiss on my cheek and storms off to the front of the shop.

Crumpled cloth smacks me in the side of my head. I meet Hen’s seething glaze as she points to her cheek. The same spot where Brittany must have left some lipstick behind. My laugh breaks free as I wipe the offending evidence away.

“Jealous?” I tease. Trying my best not to show just how much I’m enjoying the way her eyes grow wide and her mouth falls open.

“Absolutely not,” she scoffs.

“Hmm, whatever you say, Trouble.”

I wince, the nickname flying freely from my lips before I could rein it back. This time, however, a pinkish hue warms her skin. From her freckled cheeks, all the way down her neck. There’s no hiding the shiver that ripples through me from her reaction.