by Jenny Rabe
The memory of them laughing together replayed in his mind as he showered. Her soft cheeks. The way she smelled. The surprise on her face when he’d kissed her. He couldn’t help overanalyzing his impromptu attempt to get close to her. New ground for both of them.
Maybe if he told her how he really felt, they wouldn’t have to fake their relationship. His feelings were real, and it was about time he did something about it. Finding the right time would be the trickiest part.
After a somewhat cold shower, he felt and smelled better. He changed and iced his foot in the bedroom while Emilie walked down the hall in his clothes, a towel wrapped around her head.
Her lips pulled down in a pout. “You could probably wear my clothes.”
He couldn’t help smiling. The long sleeves of his shirt hid her hands, and the pants fit snugly on her hips but pooled at her feet. She was adorable, and he couldn’t help laughing. Somehow, she pulled it off well. “I won’t be trying your clothes on any time soon, so you’ll never have to find out. Let’s head over to the house and start unpacking.”
She bit her lip. “How’s your foot?”
He threw the ice to the side. “Fine. I’ve already done the hard work.”
She sighed and ran a hand through her wet hair. “I guess stalling forever won’t help. Yeah, let’s go.”
He studied her. Even though she’d put on a brave face, she wasn’t ready to face everything.
“Let’s go,” he said with a bright voice. Maybe the changes he’d made would cheer her up.
As casually as he could, he draped an arm around her shoulders on the way to the truck, but she wasn’t fooled and flicked it off in seconds. With some disappointment, he decided it was time to stop with any advances. If she pushed him away completely, he’d never get a chance to tell her how he felt.
After the short drive to her house, they started the process of moving things into the front room. Her happy mood changed, and sadness etched lines into her face.
When she started toward her bedroom with a box, Dean decided it was time. “Hey, before you start moving your things upstairs, I want to show you something I’ve been working on.”
Curiosity twinkled in her eyes, and she placed the box back on the floor. Dean smiled and headed for the kitchen where the basement door was.
Stepping in front of it, she said, “I don’t want to go through my mom’s stuff yet. It’s been years since I’ve been down there, and I’m still not ready.”
Dean nodded. “It’s a good thing I cleaned the place out.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
As she glared at him, he rubbed the back of his neck. “If you hate it, I’ll undo it. I’ll unpack the boxes and throw everything back where it was.” After a pause, he wondered if he could actually do that. “At least I’ll try.”
Emilie pursed her lips together and headed for the basement. She grabbed the knob, turned it, and swung the door wide open. Then she gasped.
9
Emilie
Dean had completely transformed the basement. Instead of a single light bulb hanging from a chain, he flicked a switch on the wall and a small chandelier lit up. The lights were tiny and beautiful, and instead of rafters full of cobwebs and other critters Emilie didn’t want to think about, there was a white ceiling. The unforgiving hardwood steps that were too steep for any normal person had been replaced with carpeted, normal-sized stairs, and two white banisters led to the bottom of the staircase.
Her throat tightened as she met Dean’s eyes. “What? Why?” She didn’t finish either of her thoughts. Instead, she ran down the steps and didn’t stop until she hit the bottom. She spun around, hiding her face with one hand.
“The old bumper pool table—” She pointed to where it had been. In its place, in the corner of the room, was a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a closet.
Dean took a seat on the bottom step and massaged his ankle. “That thing was warped and falling apart.”
“And right there”—she pointed past the stairs—“is where Dad set up his woodworking bench.” Instead of a wall of tools and a large table saw, Dean had made a sitting area, complete with a couch, an end table, and a TV stand.
The other side of the room was missing its usual wall of boxes, and there was a small room with a door. “What’s—”
“It’s a full bathroom.” Dean answered her unasked question. “This space is huge now that I’ve cleared everything out, and hopefully it’s as bright as you could want. I wanted you to have a place in your house which had no connections to your past.”
The effort he’d put into remodeling was no joke. She dropped her hand. “You did this for me?”
A tentative smile cleared the worry lines that creased his forehead. “It wasn’t just me. Sammy and the boys helped, a plumber owed me a favor, and the electrical guy who worked on your dance studio volunteered some of his time.”
Emilie opened her mouth and then closed it again. Her heart melted at the thought of him moving boxes, installing carpet, and putting her room together. Every time she turned around, Dean surprised her. It would be extra hard to sell the house.
A thought struck her. “Where are Mom’s journals and books?”
Dean stood and led her under the stairs. A new closet had been installed. He opened it and revealed a small room filled to the top with boxes. He gave her a sheepish grin. “Just in case you wanted to ever go through them. Other than the obvious junk, I kept everything.”
Emilie hugged him tightly. “I can’t believe you did this.” Her voice broke as she thought of the many hours he must have spent slaving over the fine details.
“If we’re going to be married, you’re going to want a bigger bed, so it was bound to happen anyway.” After another second, strong arms wrapped around her, causing heat to rush to her face. Yesterday’s kiss was not a momentary flutter. She had feelings for Dean, and that scared her. Instead of excitement, fear pitted itself in Emilie’s gut. No one did these grand gestures anymore, not unless love was involved, and this was way beyond a friendly gesture. She had to stop this train before it crashed in a disastrous way.
Her phone buzzed with a text, giving her the perfect excuse to back out of his hug and retrieve it from her pocket.
She scanned the text, and her heart lurched. No way, it was too soon for Ava to contact her. She’d barely worked up enough courage to return home and unpack.
“Who is it?” He leaned over, but she snatched the phone away. “Is it Finn?”
Emilie reread the text, but the words didn’t change no matter how long or hard she stared. “Ava wants me to meet her for dinner at the Blackbean Diner in an hour to go over wedding details.”
He took her hand, patted it, and let go. “You don’t have to go. We don’t have to go to their wedding either. If this is too hard…”
Emilie flexed her fingers, remembering the touch of his coarse hands against hers. She needed to get out of the enclosed space with Dean, and even more so, she needed to make a decision about Ava. Meeting her would let Emilie know whether to call everything off or to tell Ava the truth and try to move on. “I moved back to deal with my past. Ava is a big part of that, and I have to test the waters to see if we can even be in the same room.”
“Ava hurt you pretty bad. It’s okay to give up on friends who stab you in the back.”
Emilie headed toward the stairs. “Don’t worry so much. I’m a big girl, but I’d better hurry and unpack the boxes if I want to meet her in time. You go back home and ice your ankle. I saw you nursing it a few minutes ago.”
Before she ascended the stairs, Dean caught her by the elbow. “Are you sure about this? I can go with you if you’d like. My foot is fine. Maybe having your fiancé there will give you a boost.”
Emilie turned around and met the hope and desire in his eyes. Her heart stuttered; it was too much. Their fake engagement was an unwanted speed bump in her plans, and she couldn’t lose him as a friend. “Thank you for the offer, but your fake-fiancé
duties aren’t needed. It’s something I want to do on my own.” She turned away before she could read any emotion in his face.
“Can we talk later?” he asked. She could tell he didn’t want to leave. “Let me help you unpack first, then I’ll drive you there. After all, you’re not in this alone.”
With some hesitation, she slipped an arm around his waist and led him toward the stairs. “I have to get ready, and I can’t if we’re unpacking. I’ll be fine; I promise.”
After thanking him and assuring him three more times that she’d be fine, she shut the front door, closing Dean out.
She sighed, a little from sadness, but mostly from relief. Meeting Ava alone would be best. Forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting, but she’d promised herself she’d give living here an honest try, and that meant dealing with how she felt about Ava.
She sent Ava a text and headed upstairs to dig through her clothes boxes. Without too much trouble, she found a pair of jean shorts, a black blouse, and a pair of old, brown sandals. It wasn’t the most put-together look, but it was better than the clown outfit Dean had lent her.
After changing, she found a brush and ran it through her damp hair. She scanned the front room. There were still a few boxes in her car and in the front room to unpack, but if she started on those, she’d be late. She picked up the borrowed clothes and headed to the kitchen for a bag.
Before she knew it, she was sniffing them, remembering the fun they’d had earlier. The smell of Dean’s laundry soap clung to his clothes. The water fight from earlier was still fresh in her mind. It was hands down the best part of her day. Why couldn’t things with Dean always be simple and fun? He’d made coming home a dozen times easier. Guilt rested on her shoulders for giving him a hasty goodbye. After all he’d done, he deserved a lot more than that. Maybe, if there was time after dinner, she’d bring him a package of his favorite cinnamon bear candy.
After locking up the house, she turned to her disaster of a car. Most of the bigger boxes were gone, but the little odds and ends she’d wedged in between them stuck out like sore thumbs. She glanced up the street. It’d only take her fifteen minutes if she walked.
She shoved her keys into her pocket and headed toward Main Street. It would feel good to get this burden off her shoulders. Once she said what she needed to say, she could move on and not look back.
10
Dean
After Emilie left, Dean drove to her house and brought the last of the boxes down to her room. It had hurt when she pushed him away, but he chalked it up to nerves. He needed to clean out her car, and then she’d be set. Some papers lay crumpled to one side. He gathered them and a few odds and ends to put in a box for her to go through later.
As he organized, he whistled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. Having Emilie around improved his mood greatly, but it was more than that. Being fake engaged to her felt like the closest he’d ever gotten to being out of the friend zone. He’d imagined what it would be like to date her, but here was a real chance to test it out.
His hard work in the basement had paid off. It was enough to see her genuine excitement.
As he leaned into the car to grab a box of bobby pins, something tapped his shoulder. He backed out of the car quickly and spun to see Gail.
“I thought that was you.” Gail swept her long, black hair over her shoulder. She had the same features as Ava: dark hair, beautiful tanned skin, and long legs, but there was a softness to her face and wrinkles at the corner of her eyes when she smiled that Ava didn’t have.
Dean released the breath he’d been holding and nodded, glad Emilie hadn’t caught him cleaning her car. “Gail, how are you?”
She smiled and patted his arm. “I’m great. I saw Emilie’s car and wanted to welcome her home.” She lifted a loaf of cinnamon bread wrapped in red plastic wrap. “Made it fresh.”
“Oh, I bet she’ll love that.” From his own experience, he knew exactly how the bread would taste. Gail always made the best breads. “She went to have dinner with—” He paused, not wanting to bring up Ava.
Gail nodded. “My daughter.”
This woman was as sharp as a fishhook.
“You guessed it.”
“That’s too bad.” She clicked her tongue and looked in Emilie’s car with a longing expression. When Emilie left six years ago, Gail mourned for the loss of her adopted daughter. She’d been there during the last days of Emilie’s mother’s life, and she cried when Dean gave her the news of Emilie’s abrupt move.
After grabbing the bags of odds and ends, he shut the car door and motioned to the front door. “Do you want to come in? I’m helping Emilie clean and unpack.”
“Sure, I’ve got a minute.” She followed him inside. He gestured to the table where she could put the bread while he excused himself to bring the rest of Emilie’s things downstairs.
By the time he returned, Gail stood by the door, staring out at the yard. “I’ll come back another day.” She opened the screen door and stepped outside.
He followed quickly behind and caught the door with his right hand. “Gail, before you go, can I ask you something?”
Instead of meeting his gaze, she pulled at a stray thread at the end of her shirt. “What is it, Dean?”
“The two of them have a past, but do you think Ava wants to hurt Emilie again?”
Her concern turned into bemusement. “Why, Dean, it seems to me you should know that answer. Don’t you have your own past with Ava?”
He inhaled sharply. If Gail had found about their relationship and was planning to tell Emilie, he saw the crash and burn coming sooner rather than later. He should’ve expected as much.
Right as the panic settled in, she held up her hands in surrender. “I don’t share other people’s secrets, but yes, I’ve heard the two of you have had some... interactions in the past. It’s not my place to tell Emilie, though, so let’s focus on the heart of the matter. In the last few years, have you ever known Ava to be trustworthy?”
The answer came immediately. It had been a few years since they’d spent time together, but people didn’t change that fast. Her attitude didn’t seem any different when he’d stopped by the restaurant.
Not waiting for an answer, Gail continued. “Seems to me you already have the answer. Emilie’s been hurt by Ava more than once. Even if Ava wasn’t aware of Emilie’s family situation, she didn’t take the time to ask.”
Dean slapped his forehead and grabbed the key from the table beside the door. Why had he let her meet Ava in the first place? He could’ve told Emilie everything, made her believe that Ava wasn’t who she thought she was.
“Thanks, Gail. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
He locked up the house and followed her down the driveway. Even if it surprised Emilie, he had to try.
11
Emilie
By the time Emilie reached the diner, sweat dripped from her face. She made a beeline for the bathroom to freshen up before she ran into anyone. It wasn’t how she wanted to meet Ava, so she hid in a stall and dabbed at her face, fanning her shirt away from her. Why had she chosen a black shirt?
After inspecting herself in the mirror, she headed back to the main part of the restaurant. Ava was seated in the furthest booth in the back.
“There you are.” Ava stood and motioned for Emilie to join her. “I was worried you wouldn’t show.” Instead of her usual confidence, Ava’s expression was hesitant. She wasn’t the type of person to worry.
Emilie’s heart thumped wildly as she passed booth after booth. It wasn’t that long of a walk, but it seemed to take forever. There was still time to turn around and run. Maybe digging up skeletons wasn’t the best idea. Ava seemed welcoming enough, or at least anxious and as fragile as Emilie was feeling. But the time when Ava snubbed her in school and talked about her to others stung her good memories. Just as she was about to pivot on her heel, Ava stepped forward.
“Emilie, I’m glad you came.”
Without
hesitation, her old friend hugged her, her dark, earthy perfume filling Emilie’s nose. Emilie held her breath before the noxious scent could send her into a coughing fit. The woman must’ve bathed in the stuff, it was so strong. Ava pulled away after a couple of seconds.
Had Ava forgotten everything she did to her? Emilie forced her mouth to move. “Good to see you.”
It was as if Ava had walked right out of a fashion magazine. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, ebony and shiny as ever. Her makeup was spot-on, her outfit, a white blouse with a flowery skirt, flowed as she moved back to her seat. And there Emilie stood in her too casual, frumpy outfit, messy hair, and no makeup. A hobo next to a model. Everything about Ava’s look made Emilie self-conscious about the three minutes she’d spent getting ready.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Ava leaned back against the booth and gestured to the chair opposite of her. “I ordered drinks for us. You still like Coke, right?”
Emilie nodded and sat. It was unreal that so much time had passed, yet Ava looked timeless. That was talent. And completely annoying.
A waitress came to take their order, giving Emilie a break to make sure she had her ducks in a row. She wasn’t sure how to start the conversation.
“Minestrone soup bowl for me.” Emilie handed her menu back to the waitress. “Sourdough bread for the bowl.”
“And I’ll have a garden salad.” Ava patted her stomach and frowned. “Can’t gain too much weight before the wedding. The dress fits just right and is non-refundable.”
Emilie tried for a smile, but it felt like more of a grimace. “Before we talk about your wedding—”
Ava held up her hand to stop her. “First, let me get this out.” She took a deep breath, and talked faster than Emilie had ever heard her speak. “I’m so glad you told Finn you’d help with the wedding. I thought for sure you’d hate me after the terrible things I did to you in high school.”
