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ALY
The first few days of living with Emmett went surprisingly well, though mostly because our schedules were absolute opposites.
My day started at 5AM so I could get to work by six, since the restaurant opened its doors at seven o’clock sharp. By the time I got home from work, Emmett was usually out or getting ready to leave. From what I understood, summer in the Hamptons meant nonstop fundraisers for fancy folks like him.
“These are all the people who write the biggest checks to my foundation, so I can’t flake on their parties without looking like an asshole,” he’d explained the night I came home to find him running late and looking sinfully good. He was wearing a crisp white shirt while knotting a black silk tie, and he looked so fucking handsome that I couldn’t have blurted a faster “no” when he asked me to join him that night.
“Aly. It’s all good,” he’d smiled a bit too knowingly when I launched into a nervous ramble about being tired, having nothing to wear, and a bunch of other excuses I was afraid he could see right through – especially since he’d caught me eyeing him through the mirror while he was straightening his tie.
But aside from that awkward moment, we were getting along great.
What little time Emmett and I did have together at the house was surprisingly good, because so far, it was just a half hour to an hour per day of work stories, Ozzy stories, and showing each other videos on the Apple TV. I mean if there was anything that bonded us as kids, it was the dumb shit we watched on YouTube while enduring our parents’ long weekly dinners. Back then, our preferences involved videos of people falling or suffering horrible bloopers while trying to report the news. These days, however, our taste had matured just slightly to prefer stupid SNL skits and compilations of people being surprised with puppies.
I was surprised with how well we were adjusting.
It felt so comfortable that I decided to say yes to Emmett’s dinner invitation on Thursday. I mean I had proposed that we’d be friends, and friends did sometimes grab meals together, so I reasoned that this was no different.
Though just to be safe, I made sure to wear a ragged old T-shirt and awkwardly long shorts.
It was like playing a mind trick on myself. If I didn’t care to look good while out with Emmett, that meant I didn’t see him as anything romantic. Also, if I wasn’t dressed nicely, that meant he couldn’t choose any nice restaurants for us to go to. Right?
Well.
Not exactly.
The restaurant Emmett chose was a beautiful place I’d heard of called Blue Harbor. It was a beachside restaurant designed to look like a cozy albeit super fancy living room. It had a gorgeous open view of the water, and it was high up on the list of Hamptons restaurants I desperately wanted to try, but I wasn’t so sure about it tonight.
“It literally says no flip flops or shorts, Emmett, and I’m wearing both,” I said dryly, pointing at the sign on the door and then gesturing down at my legs. I narrowed my eyes at him when he took a longer than necessary look. When his gaze returned to mine, he smirked.
“Yeah, I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” he said breezily, walking ahead of me through the doors.
“Yeah, except what makes you so sure?” I persisted on the sidewalk. Emmett called back from well inside.
“Because I own this place.”
I stared.
Of course.
After inwardly griping about the fact that Emmett secretly owned one of the most heralded restaurants in the same town as my comparatively dinky café, I sucked in a deep breath and dragged my flip-flopped feet in.
Inside the restaurant, I found that Emmett hadn’t made it far on his own because he’d apparently been stopped by half the staff and pretty much all the patrons at the bar – men and women alike. I couldn’t help but shake my head as I watched him get treated like royalty in a way I was actually quite familiar with seeing. The girls even used the same line they did twelve years ago – “Emmett, do you remember my name? I bet you don’t remember my name!”
Geez.
Even as we were seated, I watched with arched eyebrows as the manager glided over with two glasses of champagne, setting them neatly on the table before asking Emmett if he’d like the chef to “just send some things out.” When Emmett nodded, the manager gathered our menus, asked me if I needed anything beyond champagne, and upon hearing my “no, thank you,” gave an elegant nod and then glided away.
I mouthed wow as Emmett finally turned back to me.
“Guess some things never change,” I noted.
“What does that mean?”
“All that just now was pretty much what high school looked like from my vantage point,” I said with a laugh. “You walking down the hall, girls fawning over you, and then someone coming up and asking if you have everything you need – usually one of my friends making sure that she did your homework right.”
Emmett chuckled. “I still get attention from women, but I can pretty much assure you that everything else about me has changed since high school.”
“Really.” I lifted an eyebrow. It sounded to me like a severely bold statement. “That’s kind of hard to believe.”
