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I hold her gaze for several seconds, but before I can answer, Mack walks into the kitchen.
“I came to save you, Emmy,” she says. “From Three-Date Owen.”
Emmy laughs, softly, and looks away.
“I’ll get the pie,” Mack grabs an oven mitt. Then, to me, she says. “Grab the ice cream. Jeannie said she got cinnamon yesterday from Scoops.” She picks up the pie and walks back into the dining room.
We’re alone again.
“Emmy. I’m not—” I start, but she holds up a small spatula, cutting me off.
“She forgot this.”
And she leaves the room so quickly, I don’t have time to tell her that Mack’s wrong about me.
Which is probably for the best, since I’m not actually sure she is.
Chapter Fourteen
Emmy
Well, I never want to do that again.
“That was wonderful,” Mom says as she opens the dishwasher to start loading the dirty dishes.
“Uh, no. It wasn’t,” I say.
“What? Why?”
“It was totally embarrassing!” I drop onto the stool on the opposite side of the counter and let my head fall into my hands.
“Apart from the spilling of the water on—”
“I beg you not to finish that sentence,” I say.
“Apart from that. . .I think it went wonderfully.”
“Mrs. Larrabee thinking Owen and I would make a good couple? And saying it out loud?” I groan.
Mom starts rinsing dishes. I should be helping her, but I feel spent. Maybe the trauma is catching up to me. “I think you’re being a little melodramatic.” She files a plate into the dishwasher and looks at me. “Unless your feelings for Owen are back. . .?”
I glare at her. “Mom.”
“I don’t know,” she says, a bit sing-songy. “Sexy firefighter pulling you to safety,” Mom says with a sigh. “Nobody would blame you if your romantic imagination was working overtime about that one.”
“Mother.” I put my hands on the counter in front of me. “First, ew. You’re my mom and he’s. . .” I stall. “He’s. . .Owen. He showed me his true colors the day he left town.”
“Yet you’re the one who downplayed being friends tonight at dinner.”
“I apologized for that,” I say.
“Sounds to me like you have some unresolved feelings you need to sort out,” Mom says.
“I’m going to go for a walk.” I stand. “Unless you want my help.”
Dad walks in with a stack of dishes. “She’s got me. You go.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And thanks for dinner. With the exception of my utter humiliation, it was really nice.”
