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Twenty-Eight
Then
From: Emilia Bonacci
To: Emilia Bonacci
Subject: …
I’m marrying Anthony.
Somehow, he always wins.
By the time Blaine leaned against the kitchen doorway, the sky outside the window had turned black, and he allowed Emilia one final moment to take in the results of their handiwork. “Like what you see?”
She stood ahead and whipped around to face him, her eyes shining like the glossy surface of the best kind of coffee. “The mahogany doors are beautiful. The beveled edges and frosted glass are a perfect match to the cottage’s old-time feel.” Her gaze washed over him, followed by a smile. “I used to look at my old kitchen and think, ‘House from hell, enter if you wish to die,’ but this, this says, ‘Welcome to my kitchen, would you like a cup of tea?’”
He jolted with a short stab of laughter at her “house from hell” joke; she’d even put on a screechy “evil doll” voice. “That’s the best endorsement I’ve ever had, though you do deserve some credit.”
She wandered closer, the scent of her flowery shampoo and perfume warming his blood. “You did most of the work.”
“And you caught on fast. I’m proud of you.” He couldn’t keep from touching her any longer and ran his thumb over the delicate pink of her cheekbones, her soft lashes fluttering as he did. “Maybe you should join me at work every day.”
She laughed and pushed him away. “I’d love to, but I have a strong suspicion you wouldn’t get much work done. Besides, having me on your turf all day isn’t exactly a professional look for either of us.”
“Screw professionalism.”
“Oh, come on.” She giggled, nudging him on her way to the stove. “Our dinner’s going to burn, and my kitchen’s been through enough heartbreak without us actively setting it on fire.”
A smirk pulled at his lips, and he let her go, their game of cat and mouse making him feel nineteen all over again. She seemed less jittery, more open to his touch and willing to make small talk, just as she’d been back then. That knowledge alone made him want to know how long it would be before he learned the last of her secrets; because sure enough, her story lacked details, her small moments of hesitancy indicating she had more to say.
He caught up to her and helped ferry plates to the table, making a point of brushing against her as they found their seats. He wasn’t even sure what game he played at, only that he found himself caught between wanting her and wanting to protect her, though the two things went hand in hand.
Her eyes glinted, and she glanced up at him from where she sat. “Are you going to keep giving me moon eyes and bumping into me like a house cat, or do you think you can manage to get through this meal? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Sure.” He dropped into a chair and pierced a vegetable with his fork.
First things first, feed the lady, then see where the night takes us…
“So, have you got any new ideas for work besides filling in at Aggie’s?” His mouth tugged, but he bit the insides of his cheeks to hide a smile. Even the simple act of sharing a meal gave him a long-lost sense of connection with her. “You know, aside from being my apprentice.”
She peered down at her plate, cutting into her meat, movements short and jerky. “I have one idea floating about, but it’s still early days.”
“Let me guess.” He lowered his cutlery and made a show of thinking through his reply. “Sales assistant, utilizing your experience to give Ally some healthy competition… or at least inspire her to slack off a little less.”
“Experience, huh?” Emilia chuckled. “You remembered.”
Of course, I remember.
“It’s how we met, right? You, working in your dad’s main store, and me moseying in like an idiot thinking I could afford anything there.” He gave a genuine chuckle, but not genuine enough. Truth was, there’d been so little he’d forgotten through the years and way too much he’d replayed over and over again, just so he could keep something of her alive and with him.
Her shoulders bounced with new laughter while her gaze pointed down in a hint that her mind also snared somewhere between past and present. “My plans for the future did involve some sales, though not the sort done behind a counter. I thought maybe you and I could work together, just not in the way you’ve suggested.”
He sat taller. “Well, now you have my attention.”
She gave him a side glance, eyes glittering again, obviously finding the intended humor in his not-so-smooth moves. “I have a friend who’s originally from LA, but living in New York now. Actually, she’s more an acquaintance, really. Her name’s Rochelle, and she deals in handmade furniture. I thought… I thought, maybe if you don’t mind, I could pitch some of your pieces to her. You know, help your business while dabbling in mine.”
“So, you’d be a go-between, like a sales consultant for Oak Tree?” He sank back in his chair, thinking over the business offer, nodding to himself. Her idea didn’t sound half-bad at all, and he had nothing to lose from letting her try. “Do you think your friend would be interested in a small country business nowhere near the West Coast?”
