by Jenny Rabe
14
Dean
As they approached Gail’s front door, Dean reached for Emilie’s hand. Tingles crawled up his arm when she entwined her fingers with his. His mouth dropped open, and he flexed his free hand. If he caught a fish for every mixed signal he’d gotten since she returned, he’d have a bucketful.
She laughed when she met his eyes. “We have to make it convincing.”
Even though she confused him in every way, he didn’t mind one bit. The nearness of her alone was enough. She’d be worth the wait. Her long graceful fingers fit perfectly with his. He had to find a way to tell her how he felt.
He pried his gaze away from her and focused on Gail’s house. Identical to Emilie’s, except cream instead of white. A white picket fence lined the yard, and flowers spilled out of buckets.
They walked up the four steps. Emilie rang the doorbell.
He loved the way her face lit up like a dandelion in the sun when Gail opened the door. Love shone through a twinkle in her eye.
“Emilie, there you are.” Gail’s eyes fell to their entwined fingers, and she laughed. “What’s this? A joke?”
Dean held back a laugh. No way could they fool Gail.
Emilie didn’t budge. “You haven’t heard yet? We’re engaged, Miss Gail.”
Suspicion clouded the older woman’s eyes. “Right.” Gail opened the door wider and motioned for them to enter. “Okay, I want to hear this story. Come on in, you two lovebirds. And Emilie, stop calling me Miss Gail. Dean stopped a long time ago, but you make me feel like an old lady.”
Emilie giggled as Gail led them through a home bursting with plants, candles, and fake flowers. The enticing, craft-store smell reminded Dean of paper, perfume, and his mother’s cinnamon potpourri. Gail gestured to the bar stools and poured lemonade into two glasses. “Okay. Spill. Dean said nothing about this yesterday.”
Emilie turned in his direction, and Dean shrugged. “It didn’t come up. I was unpacking your car yesterday, and Gail brought over the cinnamon bread. I told you about it last night.”
“Oh, right.” She was not a good liar. “He wouldn’t unpack my car unless we were involved. Thank you for the bread, by the way.”
“Yes, he would.” Gail’s voice was matter-of-fact. Fat chance they could get something past her. “Dean’s just that way. That boy would fly over the moon for you. And you’re welcome.”
Heat rushed into Dean’s cheeks. The older she grew, the more dangerous her mouth got. They should leave before this got sticky. Before they could sit down, Dean reached for Emilie’s arm. Gail intercepted him and led them both to their usual bar stools.
“Sit down, please. You just got here.” She laughed again, making his nerves jangle. He hated lying, especially when the person knew the truth. “I’m having fun. Tell me, when did you get engaged?”
While they sat, he tried to catch Emilie’s eyes, but she avoided his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Three weeks ago.”
Gail’s eagle eyes scanned her left hand. “Where’s your ring?”
“Getting resized.”
Gail grunted. No holes for her to poke through yet. “How did he propose?”
“On one knee.” Two points for Emilie.
“Where?”
They hadn’t discussed an answer for this question. Dean glanced at both women. Emilie opened her mouth, but no words came out. Why couldn’t she think of things on the fly? Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence.
“In the park,” Dean said at the exact moment Emilie said, “In the kitchen.”
Why did he have to open his mouth, and why couldn't she think of a more romantic place?
Gail fist-punched the air and squealed. “Gotcha!”
Without thinking, Dean turned to Emilie. “The kitchen? How romantic does that sound? Here, hold the eggbeater while I pull out this ring.”
“I called it,” Gail cheered. “You two are not engaged.”
Emilie let go of Dean’s hand and spoke without batting an eye. “We’re fake engaged.”
Gail studied her face. “Fake engaged? Is that what kids are calling it these days? I told your mom I would always care for you, but what should I do about this?”
Dean turned to Emilie whose smile wavered. “We saw Finn at Busy Bees the other day.”
“That ruffian. I never did like him.”
She was in good company. Dean felt the same, and Gail had every right not to like him. “Anyway, he had the gall to invite Emilie to his wedding.”
Gail took a sip of her lemonade and her face puckered. “I heard he was engaged. He’s always had a knack for bad timing.”
He needed to wrap up the conversation without upsetting Emilie. “He asked if she’d be having a plus one, and I couldn’t take it. I lied and said we were engaged.”
Gail raised an eyebrow and pushed the drinks toward them. Dean picked his up and drank half the glass, but Emilie left hers on the table. She had to be struggling with how to tell Gail about Ava.
Dean looked over in time to see Emilie stab her fingernails into one leg. He wanted to stop her, but held back.
Emilie cleared her throat. “Turns out, he’s engaged to—”
“Ava.” Gail finished her sentence without a flinch.
“You knew?” The relief was apparent in Emilie’s voice.
Gail reached over and pried Emilie’s hand from her leg. “Nothing to claw yourself over, honey.” Her legs were red but thankfully not bleeding.
“And you’re not mad?”
Gail shrugged. “Why should I be? Finn has taken care of her since she left. Oh, she’ll say I kicked her out, but when I refused to pay for her shopping sprees and all of her debt, it was her choice to leave. She’s my daughter, and I’ll always love her, but I don’t agree with how she’s living her life. Tons of debt, living off her fiancé, constantly using people. I’m surprised Finn hasn’t seen past her dishonesty.”
Guilt pricked Dean’s conscience. He’d been a part of Ava’s bad decisions.
“So how long are you going to let this fake engagement go on?” Gail’s question tore him from his thoughts. He didn’t dare answer that one.
Emile took a taste of her drink and shrugged. “We’ll probably have some dramatic breakup after the wedding.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, glad her playfulness had returned. “And miss out on ruining Ava’s wedding?”
Gail smirked. “Now, don’t do that. You’ll look like trash in front of the whole town.” She turned to Emilie and sighed. “Dean told me you met with Ava yesterday.”
After another long drink, Emilie pushed the glass aside. “This Thursday Ava has her final dress fitting. She’d like you to be there.”
Gail sniffed and wiped at the clean counter. “She wants my money, you mean.”
Emilie propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her hand. “I hoped she’d changed.”
Gail reached across the bar and caught Emilie’s hands. “I do believe people can change, but some things never do. I know how much she wants me there, or else she wouldn’t have gotten you involved. Let me think about it, okay?”
A smile tugged at the edge of Emilie’s perfect lips. “Thanks for considering it.”
“Now,” Gail said, “let’s talk about something more pleasant. Tell me about your plans for the dance studio.”
Dean smiled when the conversation steered away from Ava for the remainder of the visit. Emilie shared her to-do list for the following week, and Dean’s mind wandered. If Gail couldn’t be fooled, how would they be able to convince others? If rumor got out they’d lied, that wouldn’t help Emilie’s new start. He had to make things look real.
After Dean endured a long session of girl talk, they said their goodbyes. He led the way to their vehicles. “It’s dinnertime. Do you have plans?”
She put her hands in her dress pockets and turned to face him. A surge of attraction rolled over him, and he fought the urge to take her in his arms and embrace her.
“Since my
kitchen is fully stocked now...”
Dean frowned. “You saw that, huh? Glad I didn’t wake you up.”
“Thank you. You even bought the right kind of apples. Did you bring them this morning?”
He pulled out his keys and dangled her house key. “You want to take it back? I have been a little intrusive.”
She rubbed a hand down his arm playfully. “No, you’ll need it to finish the repairs on the house. And I kind of like you having it, you know, for an emergency.”
Tingles rippled along his arm. Could she be developing deeper feelings for him, too? He was too scared to even hope, but he did anyway. “I’m going home to fry up some fish, but if you don’t want any—”
“I never turn down free food,” she interrupted.
Score! She’d taken the bait without more prompting.
He pictured sitting across the dinner table from each other. Eating meals together for the rest of their lives was his dream come true.
15
Emilie
Emilie returned home from her first day of work completely exhausted. Thirteen previous families re-enrolled in dance classes, and she still had a lengthy list of potential clients to call. She needed a nap.
Hours later, she woke hungry. Sunlight filtered through the windows by the time she made it upstairs. The last thing she wanted to do was cook, but she reluctantly pulled out onions, peppers, and chicken, sliced them, and threw the mix into a frying pan to sizzle. She covered the pan and found a notepad.
After a walk around the main floor, she had a small list of improvements. Without going upstairs, she wrote on the list Demolish bedroom. It didn’t matter how Dean did it, as long as the room never looked the same. She couldn’t sell the house in good conscience unless renovations were completed.
She returned to the kitchen to see her dinner on the stove completely charred. She sighed and lifted the lid, letting out the smoky air. Her mother’s frequent burned dinners came into her mind. “Maybe it’s hereditary.”
A knock on the back door drew her attention, making her drop the pan. Once the clang subsided, she scooted to the door, opened it, and peered out.
Dean waited on the other side, a bag of takeout in one hand. She grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him inside. “Good timing.”
“Are you okay?”’ Dean coughed as he waved away some smoke. “Let’s open the door and air the room out.”
She laughed and looked around for a hidden camera. “How did you know I burned my dinner?”
He looked at her sideways. “Lucky guess.”
She gave his arm a playful slap, and they took a minute to clean up the kitchen before sitting down. She opened the bag and sighed. “Sub sandwiches from Friendly’s. Yum. I’ve been meaning to go there.”
As they dug into their sandwiches, Emilie told him about the progress at the studio. “I focused on going through a list of contacts and making calls. Then I went to the office supply store and picked up some basic office supplies and ink for the copy machine. Student enrollment will be the highest priority. By the way, can you put up some fliers at the docks? I doubt many people will see them, but I’m desperate.”
He reached over and squeezed her free hand for a brief second before dropping it back to his lap. “Sure. I’ll pick them up tomorrow when I pass through town.”
It had only been a day since they were together, but she’d missed him. She found herself thinking about him throughout the day and wanting to call him. Her goal was still to return to Boston the next fall, so where did that leave them? She could easily train a manager to run the place and still own it. Long distance could work. She slammed her sub down on the table. Why was she even thinking about dating him?
Dean took her hand again, this time holding on. “What are you thinking about so hard?”
A rush of adrenaline coursed through her hand and up her arm, and the words flew out in a flurry. “I’m fine. Just fine. I can drop the fliers off at your home. Or at work? Whichever’s best.”
He watched her silently. If she wasn’t careful, he’d figure everything out. She cleared her throat and pushed the list of improvements over to him.
“Here’s a list of things I want done on the house.” She left out the part about selling it. Staying an extra year didn’t mean she had to stay in the house.
Dean let go of her hand and took the list.
“Since you miraculously finished the basement and started the renovations on the main floor, there’s not much to do. We can keep mom’s pink fixtures the same. Who knows, someone might love those. The upstairs will take the most time. I want the whole thing redone. I don’t have much of an opinion except to start from scratch. And of course I’ll pay you the same rate I’ve been paying you for the repairs.”
He frowned and rubbed an eye with one hand and held the list in the other. “I had an army of men before. This might take all year when I’m working by myself.”
All year. “I can hire people, if that’ll help.”
Dean held a hand up to stop her. “No. I want to do it alone. It’s my busy season now, but when things slow down, I’ll have more time.”
She shrugged. A year is what she expected to put in at the studio. It couldn’t hurt to stay in the house for that long. “All right. Thanks for sticking with me so far.”
Dean put the list down. “You’re really going to leave?”
She nodded. “Yes, after my year is up. You know I can’t stay here with all these bad memories. Every time I walk around the corner I see flashes of memories of my mom shooting holes in the closet with her BB gun or her strangling invisible people at the dinner table at night. I want a fresh start.”
“You can live with me.” His words came out suddenly. “We can find another apartment or house. You can start over in Danvers.”
The city’s name soured on his tongue. “I’ve already made my decision, Dean. I want to go back to Boston. I want to be on the dance team again. I was happy there.”
Dean powered through the last bites of his sandwich before speaking again. “I’m glad you’re staying a year. It’s going to take all three hundred sixty-five days to convince you to stay.”
“Funny.”
The next few days followed a pattern: work till dusk, eat dinner with Dean, clean and organize the house while he hammered and pounded away upstairs, and then fall asleep in seconds. Emilie avoided the demolition at all costs, but always prepared snacks for him during breaks.
On the way home from work on Wednesday, Ava called her. Emilie remembered what Gail told her and answered with some hesitation. “Hey, Ava. What’s up?”
“Still planning on tomorrow?”
“Yep. I’ve been working long hours so I can make the time.” Would Ava appreciate her efforts? Since Gail called to say she wouldn’t come, Emilie felt guilty about bailing. “Meet you there at one, right?”
“Yep. Sounds good.”
“Did you talk to Mom yet?” Ava asked in a tight voice.
Emilie winced as she turned her jeep onto Ava’s street. She gave Gail’s house a lingering glance, wishing it was her giving Ava the excuses. “Yeah, I did. She already knew about you two.”
“I’m sure she did. She doesn’t plan on coming tomorrow, does she?”
“I’m sorry. I did try.”
Her voice was calmer than Emilie expected. “Oh, it’s not your fault. She’s the one set in her ways, refusing to see how much I’ve grown over the years.”
Emilie pulled into her driveway and cut the engine. It wasn’t her place to correct Ava. “Don’t worry about what other people think. Just focus on your wedding.”
“That’s right. I’m getting married.” Her voice cheered some, but not enough to convince Emilie.
On Thursday afternoon, Emilie pulled up to Belle Bridal and looked through the shop windows. The front display was full of mannequin brides in beautiful wedding dresses and veils. A thrill of longing coursed through her. It was every girl’s dream to try a dress on for her big day,
but supporting Ava was a different matter. She wasn’t sure she could fake her enthusiasm. Hopefully, Ava would keep the attention on herself, and Emilie wouldn’t have time to try on a dress.
When she went inside the small, tidy shop, Ava was pacing in front of the door. “You’re here.” Her voice was more panicked than Emilie expected.
Emilie checked the clock on her phone. “Yeah, I’m five minutes early. Were you worried I wouldn’t show?”
Ava straightened up and stopped moving. “No, no, of course not. I’m just nervous. I’ve got to get the dress just right.” She turned to the shopkeeper. “Carly, I’m ready for my fitting now.”
Carly was a little thing, probably fresh out of high school and scared to death. She snapped to attention. “Yes, Ms. Smith. Right this way.”
Emilie suppressed a giggle. The poor girl. At one point in her life, Emilie had been scared of Ava, too, but not now. In the last few days, taking control of her past had given her an extra boost of confidence.
They followed Carly down a hallway and into a big sitting room with a platform facing three ceiling-to-floor mirrors. Two navy-blue plush couches were placed in front, and Emilie dutifully sat on one of them.
“You’re not going to help me?” Ava asked.
Emilie jumped to her feet. Wasn’t that Carly’s job? “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think you’d need my help. I haven’t done this before.”
“Get used to it. I’m bridezilla, and you’re my maid of honor.”
She had to be joking. Emilie swallowed the tightness inside her throat. She didn’t want to help with the wedding, much less be the maid of honor. “What about your other friends? Don’t you—”
“All my other friends moved away. I know we just started talking again, but I don’t have anyone else but you.”
Emilie wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or deflated.
