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“They haven’t, but I hope you didn’t order a whole pizza for me.”
He’s carrying three large boxes, and I highly doubt little twenty-pound Allie eats more than a slice of pizza, if that, in one sitting.
He gently sets the boxes down and pushes them to the back of the counter, pulling off the top one and setting it aside before opening the second. The instant the flap opens, I can smell chocolate and fudge and my mouth waters.
“Triple chocolate chip fudge bomb.”
“Fudge bomb!” Allie darts out of her castle and runs into the kitchen, arms reaching up for Emmett to hold her as soon as he’s within reach.
“Fudge bombafteryou eat some pizza, little monkey.” He plops a kiss on the top of her head and sets her down.
She scrambles to the table, climbing up into her booster seat like the little monkey she is.
High school Emmett was my first real crush, twenty-year-old Emmett gave me fantasy after fantasy, but Daddy Emmett? This isn’t quite something I was prepared for when I came over tonight. Seeing him fawn over his daughter is a shot to the heart—and ovaries.
He slides the bottom box over to me. “Hope you don’t mind sharing with Allie; she has the same weird tastes you do.”
I lift the flap to find my usual order—black olives, green peppers, and pepperoni, smothered with extra cheese. “There’s no way she eats black olives.”
He shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don’t know why anyone would.”
I don’t have to ask what’s in the top box. If we’re playing the memory game with our childhood friendship, I’d be willing to bet a thousand dollars that he ordered some sort of meat lover’s topping for himself.
My stomach grumbles at the smell permeating the room, and instinctively I reach up to the cabinet door above me to pull out plates, but as soon as my fingers curl around the handle I pull it back and tuck my hand into my chest.This isn’t your home anymore, Jenna.You barely know the man standing next to you. Now isn’t the time to make yourself at home.
Taking a step back, I let Emmett slide in front of me to open the cabinet I had touched, and sure enough, he keeps the plates in the same spot his mom did. He pulls out three of them, handing one to me, holding his grasp firmly when I go to take it from his hands.
“You are welcome to make yourself at home here, Jen. What’s mine is yours.”
I tug the plate a little firmer, pulling it from his grip. “I’m a guest here; it isn’t my place to go digging around someone else’s kitchen.”
He flinches a little at my comment, but I see it all the same. My words might be harsh, but I know he’s trying . . . he’s trying very hard to make it as comfortable as he can for me, which strikes the possibility in my mind that it might never be like it was between us.
That’s the thing about a betrayal. Even if someone is sorry, even if they spew apologies and the relationship can continue, there’s always that blip on the radar. The line in the sand that was crossed. We could pretend all we want that our past never happened, but it doesn’t undo what once was.
“What would you like to drink? I have milk and juice in the fridge.” He gestures behind him. “Otherwise, there are a few random cans of soda in the garage fridge that you can help yourself to; maybe a really old beer if you want.”
“Water is fine.” Liar. “I don’t drink soda anymore.” Double liar. But I know Emmett usually doesn’t drink soda unless it’s sitting right in front of him. Well, he didn’t used to, so if I open the garage fridge and find a case of orange soda, I’m going to be sad. So, for tonight, I don’t drink soda.
The ring of his phone echoes through the empty and tension-filled kitchen, he pulls it from his back pocket and pauses to read the number scrolling across the screen. With a tap on the side, he silences it, tossing his phone on the counter beside him.
His sister told me he has full custody, and that his ex-wife is gone, but she didn’t say if they still stay in touch, or if she comes to visit. I look around the living room walls, half expecting to see a lingering family photo of the three of them. Some beautiful blonde with Allie’s soft smile looking back at me, a memento hanging around to remind Emmett of what he once had. And though there isn’t a single picture or decoration on the living room walls, it makes my stomach churn the same.
With a rolling clatter, I set my plate on the counter. “I’m sorry, I think I have to go,” I mutter the words loud enough so Emmett can hear, but not loud enough for Allie to question what’s going on.
In a few quick strides, I’m out of the kitchen and down the hall to the foyer. I rip my coat off the hook, shoving one arm in and reaching for my boots with the other when Emmett comes to hover over me.
Big hands reach down to cover mine, stalling my movements.
“Jenna, please,” he begs, hovering so close I can feel the heat from his body through my thin sweater.
We stay in that position, both of us hunched over with our hands on my boots for a moment, unmoving.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper hoarsely. “It feels too weird.”
He moves his hand to my forearm, gesturing for me to release the death grip I have on my boots and letting them clatter to the floor.
“Don’t run. Don’t . . . just stay. We have to get over this awkwardness between us.”
