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“We can go out to eat instead.”
She rubs my arm, presses a gentle kiss over my heart, and peeks up at me from under her lashes. “But I like cooking for you. And I want to be alone with you as long as possible. Not worry about someone taking our order and talking over noisy customers.”
How can I say no to that? “Okay.”
By the time we’re dressed, Emily still hasn’t gotten a “pick me up” text from Libby. She scowls at her phone as if willing a message to come through.
“We can stop by the apartment on our way downstairs,” I suggest.
“No,” she sighs. “She expressed some rather strong feelings about me ‘smothering’ her since the accident. I want to give her space. And she did text me earlier to let me know what she was up to. So, it’s not like I haven’t heard from her at all.”
When we get to Emily’s house about a half hour later, she dashes down to the end of the driveway to open the mailbox. While she flips through a short stack of envelopes, I examine a few cracks in the blacktop.
“You should have this seal-coated before these get worse.” I tap my boot next to a small, jagged line at the edge. Another harsh winter will leave this two times as wide next year.
“I had it done…” She tilts her head in the cutest way as she tries to remember. “Last year…no, two summers ago? I don’t know.”
“Well, it doesn’t last forever. Especially with the winters we have.” Shit, the closer I examine it, the more damage I notice. It might be easier to have the whole driveway repaved. “I have someone doing the parking lot at Crystal Ball this month. Your driveway’s not that big. Let me see if I can get him to come out and take a look—”
“I’m not exactly next door. He won’t give you a neighborhood discount.” She shrugs. “I can look through The Clipper and find a local place.”
“I’d rather not have some high school kids slap a bit of tar down and call it good,” I grumble, following her into the house.
She plops her purse on the entry table. “If you really don’t mind, I would appreciate you asking your friend,” she says in a hesitant voice. Asking or accepting help doesn’t come easily to Emily, and that it didn’t take her too long to get to this point feels like progress for us.
I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.”
“Thanks.” She glances down as if she’s about to say something she’s not proud of. “It’s not something I ever think about.” She waves her hand in front of her eyes, then turns and heads toward the kitchen. “I don’t even see it, really.”
I chuckle as I follow her. “I get it. The only reason I’m having CB’s parking lot done is because Teller pointed out that it looked like a ‘dystopian bomb shelter’ or something obnoxious like that the last time he gave me a hand on amateur night.”
She snort-laughs and sets the stack of mail on the end of the counter where it looks like she normally leaves stuff she’s not ready to deal with. “Was that his way of getting even with you for making him work there?”
“Probably.” I let out my own laughter.
She moves to the refrigerator and starts pulling items out. “Eggs and ham steaks?”
“Sounds good.” Wanting to stay out of her way but feeling weird about sitting at the table while she cooks, I lean against the counter. Far enough that I’m not in her way but close enough to watch her every movement like the lovesick sap she’s turned me into. “Also, I didn’t make Teller do anything,” I add with an indignant chin lift. “I told Rock I needed extra bodies, and he made Teller do it.”
“Ah, presidential authority.” She laughs as she cracks an egg into a large blue glass bowl. “Can’t say no.”
“Right.” I grin at her, happy she understands that small dynamic about club life.
“Wait. Amateur night?” She taps another egg against the bowl. “That’s a real thing? Not something you see on TV?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “It’s real. Real annoying. I need twice the number of bouncers to secure the place.”
“So, just anyone can come in and give stripping a whirl?”
“Any woman, yes.” I narrow my eyes at her. Where’s all this curiosity coming from? “Don’t get any bright ideas.”
“Me? Pfft. I think the fuck not.” She stops laughing and adds pinches of several different spices to the bowl of eggs. “But seriously. Do your regular girls get mad about that? I mean, you’re basically holding interviews for their jobs, right?”
God damn she’s smart and perceptive. “Yeah, some of them don’t love it and aren’t real welcoming to the newbies. Others recognize it’s an incentive to bring in customers. Those girls seize the opportunity to work the room and make some bank.”
