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“Really?” My brows rise, startled. I hadn’t expected that. “That’s quite a career. Impressive, honestly. I would have loved to meet him.”
Emma blinks at me, her turn to be startled now. “How did you know he’s gone? I didn’t say anything about that.”
I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Your voice, when you mentioned him. And my father passed away recently, too—well, about eighteen months ago. So not that recent, I suppose, although it feels that way sometimes. Especially considering the responsibility he left me with.”
Emma nods slowly, and something in her face softens. “Six months ago, for me,” she says softly. “Lung cancer. It was pretty fast. He left me the condo—” She lifts a hand, gesturing to the space around us, “—but not a lot of money to deal with it. Mortgage, property taxes, maintenance—it all adds up fast.”
She lets out a long, slow breath. “I was harsh last night, on the beach. I’m sorry. I don’t talk about these kinds of things with anyone—not even Brendan. My friend at the shop,” she adds, seeing the question on my face. “I especially didn’t want to tell you. These aren’t problems you need to fix, and I don’t want you to think that you do. Especially now that the…lines are blurred between us.”
That’s one way to put it.I don’t know what to say to her. Hearing all of thatdoesmake me want to try to fix her problems. And I could. I could throw enough money at them that they’d all go away. I could pay off her mortgage and never even notice a dent in my accounts. But looking at her face, at the worry creasing her brow, I know that’s not a solution. It’s not what she wants.
“At least let me give you enough of a tip to make things easier on you.” I let out a long breath. “I know you’re going to say that’s exactly what youdon’twant me to do, but you can’t let me be entirely helpless in this, Emma. I—”
I care about you.But the way her mouth tightens stops me from saying it.
“Please don’t.” Her voice drops, muted in a way that instantly puts me on alert. There’s something she’s not telling me. “And please don’t ask me why.”
I don’t need to ask. I’m almost certain, without her saying anything, that it has something to do with her asshole of a boss. But I also suspect that if I push, it’s going to ruin the fragile happiness of the morning.
Ishouldpress her on it. But I want to stay here a little longer with her, like this. That desire is too strong, and it wins out.
Even so, there’s a tension that wasn’t there before as we finish eating. “I’ll clean up while you set up your things,” I tell her as I stand, reaching for her plate, and she gives me a small smile. It’s not as relaxed as before, as if she has other things on her mind.
“Thanks.” That smile doesn’t leave her lips, but she slips out of the room, and I don’t see her again until I’ve finished washing up.
She was right to be surprised to see me cleaning, the last time she was here. I have a housekeeper for that, and I mostly live off of meals out or takeout, although I’m capable of picking up after myself in between housekeeping visits. But I’ve never stood at a sink and done dishes. I’ve rarely cooked my own meals. There’s a certain novelty to it, but I can already hear Emma’s voice in my head if I told her that I liked this, telling me that I’m just playing house. That if we tried to make this real, sooner or later, I’d realize that our worlds don’t mesh.
She’s quiet as she touches up the lines on my back after, set up with a chair in her living room. I can feel her sinking into the rhythm of the work, using it to soothe herself, and I stay quiet as well. I don’t want to say anything else to disturb the mood of the morning.
When she’s finished, I take out my wallet and get cash to pay her for the session and a tip. Emma looks at the wad of bills when I tuck them into her hand, her mouth twitching.
“This is too much,” she says finally. “I don’t even need to count it to know.”
“Just take it.” I let out a sharp breath.
Emma’s jaw tenses,and I can see her working through an emotion that she clearly doesn’t want to allow to come to the surface. “I don’t need you to save me,” she murmurs, her shoulders rolling forward. “I can handle this myself.”
“It’s just a tip, Emma.”
Her chin tilts up, and she glares at me. “Do you tip everyone this well? Every waitress who serves you at a restaurant? Every barista?”
“If they’re as pretty as you.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I see from the look that crosses her face that she didn’t take it that way. She bites her lip, skimming through the bills as she pulls several of them free and shoves them back into my hand.
“I can’t take it.” There’s a stubborn set to her jaw that tells me not to ask, but I can’t help it.
“Why not?” I cock my head, looking at her. “Tell me why, Emma.”
“No.” She shakes her head sharply. “Just leave it, Dante. Please.”
When she meets my gaze, I can tell that she’s not going to back down. Slowly, I nod, tucking the cash back into my wallet.
I hadn’t expected to part ways with her like this. I had imagined kissing her before I left, running my hands over her once more, leaving the feeling of her curves in my hands. I had wanted to leave her looking forward to the next time she sees me.
Instead, I’m left with a feeling that I don’t entirely know what’s going on. That I’m being intentionally kept out of a part of her life that I could easily fix.
And I have no idea what to do about it without crossing lines that I know could ruin the fledgling relationship that we have.
—
