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“Emma.”
She stared at his trash can.
He stared at her toilet paper.
Admittedly, it was a lot for one person.
She held up her key and lifted her eyebrows. He stood to the side, although once her wrist had twisted the lock open he stepped forward to hold the door open for her.
“My toilet paper thanks you,” she said, moving into the apartment.
He followed her inside uninvited, still holding the trash can.
Emma dropped the toilet paper by the door, along with her purse, then heaved the grocery bag onto the counter as she turned to face Cassidy.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s with the trash can?”
Also, what are you doing here?
Also, you look amazing.
Also, please love me. But don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.
He ignored her questions, both the verbal and silent variety, and set the trash can on the ground by his feet as he watched her pull her junk food out of her bag.
“You’ve got the makings of a balanced meal there,” he said, nodding at the chips in her right hand and the M&M’s in her left.
She gave him her best Don’t fuck with me glare and put the food in the cupboard that doubled as her pantry. The wine bottle went into the fridge to be consumed—possibly in its entirety if this interaction went south—after he left.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Finally she relented. She’d never been any good at moments like this. Whatever this was.
“Okay, seriously, help me out here with the trash can.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay. But I’m no good at this. And I need you to . . . I need you to not say anything until I get it out.”
Her heart began to pound. “Okay.”
This conversation was starting a lot like the horrible one last Tuesday, and yet there was something different about him.
He pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder, set it on the bar stool at her counter, and dug around until he pulled out . . . a magazine.
The upcoming Stiletto magazine, to be precise.
Emma glanced at the Hollywood starlet on the cover whose name she’d already forgotten. The star of some new vampire TV show, if she remembered correctly.
“That’s not supposed to be out on the shelves until next Monday,” she said.
He gave her a withering look, and she made a waving gesture. “But, of course, you probably have access to an early copy. Camille?”
“Yup.”
“Damn it,” Emma muttered. “Julie did warn me that she’d find a way to interfere in all of this. Did you read my article?”
“Oh, you mean this one?” he said, pointing at her “Twelve Days of Exes” headline had nabbed the prime upper-right corner of the cover.
