“What’s that about?” Jack asked.
“I’ve heard you call women hot, sexy and a string of other words. But never beautiful.”
Jack shrugged.
“Man, you’re in deep already.”
Jack had no idea what to say to that. He didn’t know if he was in deep, but he was completely aware that he was interested in Emerson Dewitt. He wanted to get to know her more. He wanted to kiss her again.
But there were so many unknowns in his life right now. What would he do with the bar? How long would he stay in Alexandria?
The one thing he did know was that he was damn glad he was in that alley the day she fell out of the window.
He looked to his friend. “Any advice?”
“You’ve already committed to this fake stuff.” He pointed to the table where Jack and Emerson had their earlier make out session. “But what I walked in on today was definitely not pretend. In fact, it looked about as real as it comes.”
It felt real, as well. And what was he going to do about that?
Chapter Seven
Almost a week had passed since Xander had uttered those unforgettable words to him.
It looked about as real as it comes.
Jack knew Xander was right. Because in that moment with Emerson on his lap, his arms around her, his mouth against hers, there was no other place he’d rather be.
At least things were less awkward between him and Emerson. Possibly because they hadn’t talked about that kiss. Either kiss. Avoidance might be the key to their relationship.
She was at the bar today, armed with paint supplies. At her insistence, Jack had closed the bar for a week. Emerson hired professional cleaners to come in and work their magic. She’d also had him order new light fixtures, fix a few odds and ends, and rearrange some of the tables. Minimal changes and already it felt like a brand-new place.
Not to mention that he’d had a chance to go through inventory and meet with his dad’s accountant. The bar wasn’t in great financial shape, but it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d originally feared either.
“This paint color is really going to pop. Between it and the new lighting, you’ll really see a difference. Everything will be brighter and more inviting. But don’t worry, it will still retain that old-school pub vibe.”
“The way you rearranged the tables already gives the space some new life.”
She shrugged as if it were nothing. “Minor detail.”
He grabbed her hand as she started to walk away from him. “It is a big deal, Em. You’ve done a lot.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really.” He would make her realize how amazing and talented she was if it killed him. “You’re really good at what you do.”
That brought a big smile to her face, which was followed by a sweet pink blush. “Most of what event planners do is behind the scenes. Trust me, we always hear if something goes wrong. But when everything runs smoothly, it usually goes unnoticed. It’s just part of the job.”
She started rifling through one of the bags she’d toted in. “Aha, here they are.” She produced four black frames with black-and-white photos inside them. She laid them out on one of the tables.
Jack moved closer to take a look. The first photo was of King Street. Only, something seemed different.
“It’s a photo from the year your dad opened the bar,” Emerson said. “So is this one.” She tapped a purple-painted fingernail at the second frame.
The photo was the front of the bar. “Where did you get these?” he asked.
She smiled. “I found them in that box we noticed in the corner of your dad’s office the other day. He’d already blown them up. I just bought the frames.”
Jack studied the next two photos and felt something clench inside his chest. One was a picture of his dad behind the bar, wearing a huge grin, with his hand poised on top of the beer tap. It was such a familiar pose. How many times had Jack looked up at the bar as a child, and there was his dad in that exact position?
But it was the last photo that had the air choking up in his throat. His mom sat on a barstool, with her long legs crossed and angled off the side of the chair. She looked like a pinup girl from the fifties. Next to her was a ten-year-old boy with too-skinny legs, wearing too-high socks, ratty sneakers and a ball cap, and he was grasping a baseball glove. A Shirley Temple with extra cherries was on the bar in front of him. His dad was standing behind the bar with a dish towel flung over his shoulder.
“Do you like them?” Emerson asked, with her voice betraying her nerves.
He still couldn’t speak. Jack was moved beyond belief. A myriad of emotions floated over him, and for the life of him, Jack didn’t know which one to focus on.
He actually felt tears welling up, but he coughed a couple of times and willed himself to come back to reality.
“Jack?” Emerson asked.
Finally, he turned to her. In a soft and emotional voice, he said, “I love these.”
Relief saturated her face. She let out a breath. “Yeah, me too. It’s special touches like these that make a place extraordinary. After we paint the walls, I think you should hang them over there.” She pointed to one side of the room as he suddenly closed the distance between them. “Whatcha doing?” she asked coyly.
His gaze landed on her mouth. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re about to ask me about paint samples.”
“Not exactly.”
“You’re wondering if I picked up paint rollers?”
“Definitely not.”
He reached for her just as his phone rang. He looked down at it, cringed, pressed a button and then shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Emerson let out a little laugh. “Who was that?”
He frowned. “That was the pushiest bride I’ve ever met.”
The moment was over, and Emerson pushed away from the him, all business once again. “You must not have met many brides then. Trust me, the pushiest wouldn’t be calling you. She would be in here, talking about Pinterest boards and accent colors. Why is a bride calling you anyway?” She strolled to one of the tables, where she’d dumped about twenty different bags from the local home-renovation store and began rummaging through them.
“She and her fiancé met at this bar. They want to have a joint bachelor/bachelorette party here. I told them no—”
She dropped a paintbrush and spun around to face him. “Are you for real? Of course they can have it here.”
“Are you for real? We’re not ready for something like that.” He waved his hand around to the bar, most of which was covered in drop cloths, since they were going to begin painting today.
She sighed. “Not yet. But we will be. And that’s the perfect way to get this place back off the ground. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”
“They want the whole place to themselves.”
“Even better. Do you have any idea how it will look on social media when I say the bar is closed for a private event? Exclusive. Desirable,” she answered for him. “People will be strolling by on the street and hear the noise, see the party through the windows. This is perfect.”
He waved his phone in the air. “Perfect is exactly what Trina wants.”
Emerson froze again. “Trina Mitchell?”
“How did you know? You have a psychic side business you aren’t telling me about?”
“My best friend, Grace, is planning her wedding. And Grace owes me a favor because I’m helping her out with a different event. Not to mention a million other things from over the years. Let me give her a call.”
She whipped her phone out, dialed and was already talking in excited tones before Jack could even protest again.
“It’s all set,” Emerson said five minutes later. “Two Saturdays from now.”
Jack paused in
the middle of opening up cartons of painter’s tape. “Excuse me? Two weeks? There’s no way in hell we’re going to be able to do that. Look at this place.” The Wright Drink was a pretty large space, as far as bars in Old Town went. “It will take the two of us days to paint everything.”
“Oh ye of little faith.” There was a twinkle in her eye and Jack had to wonder what she was up to.
As if on cue, the front door of the bar swung open and Emerson’s parents and sister entered the bar, with big smiles on their faces.
“The cavalry,” Emerson explained with a smile. “I asked a couple of people to come help us today.”
“Reporting for paint duty,” Amelia said. Her face fell. “Charlie couldn’t make it. Sorry.”
“No problem,” Jack said. “I can’t believe any of you are here. Not a fun way to spend a Saturday.”
Mr. Dewitt slapped a hand on Jack’s back. “Anything to help out Emerson’s boyfriend.”
Guilt lodged in his throat. Not only was he monopolizing the Saturday of good, hardworking people, but he was lying to them in the process.
“Emerson, what’s happening with your hair?” Mrs. Dewitt asked, with a perplexed expression on her face.
Jack took notice. He liked her hair today. For some reason, it was extra curly. She had it piled on the top of her head, in a messy ponytail. Some of the curls had escaped to frame her makeup-free face. She looked natural, beautiful.
Emerson’s hand flew to her hair. “Who cares about my hair? We’re about to start working.”
“I think it looks nice, Em,” Amelia said. Making herself at home, she peeked into the bags of paint supplies.
Mrs. Dewitt pointed at her husband. “Give Jack the food, Walt.”
Before he could realize what was happening, Mr. Dewitt produced two large bags from the local deli across the street. He peeked inside to find a mountain of sandwiches, chips, fruit, and all of the napkins, utensils and condiments they could need.
“For lunchtime,” Mr. Dewitt explained. “We figured we didn’t need to bring drinks,” he said with a laugh.
“I think I’ve got you covered,” Jack said. “Seriously, this is really generous of all of you.”
Emerson waved a nonchalant hand. He wondered if she realized how similar it was to a gesture her mother had made.
“I invited my best friend, Grace, too. She’s going to be late though. She’s with one of her brides at an emergency dress fitting.”
“I told Grace not to trust that store in Fredericksburg. I knew they’d get it wrong,” Beatrice said from across the room, where she was surveying the ancient jukebox.
“You can remind her when she shows up,” Emerson said.
Mr. Dewitt engulfed Emerson in a big hug. Then he moved to the back of the bar with Mrs. Dewitt and Amelia as the door opened again and Xander strolled through, wearing a Georgetown Law sweatshirt that had definitely seen better days.
“What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from a certain event planner, saying my considerable talents were needed here.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you have painting talents?”
“I have talents the world isn’t even ready for...”
Jack was about to throw back a very sarcastic reply when the door opened and an incredibly gorgeous woman with thick black hair ran right into Xander’s back.
“Oh excuse me,” she mumbled.
But when she came around and faced Xander, something passed over her face. Jack didn’t quite understand it. However, he noticed that Xander had gone as still as stone.
“You must be Grace,” Jack said to break the ice.
She turned her gaze to Jack and a smile blossomed on her face. The woman was striking. She wore a cherry-red pantsuit with matching heels. Over her shoulder was an incredibly large red tote bag. Jack was pretty sure he’d carried something the same size when he had backpacked around Europe for a year.
“And you must be Jack. I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“No problem. We haven’t even begun yet.” Jack gave Xander a pointed stare, waiting for his friend to introduce himself. Or even to stop ogling Grace.
“This would be my friend Xander. He’s here to help too.”
Grace gulped. Then she thrust her hand forward. “Nice to meet you, Xander.”
He accepted her hand and they shook for a moment. A very long moment. “Hi,” Xander finally said. “Do you live here in Old Town?”
Grace ripped her hand from his and clutched her gigantic purse. “Yes, I live with Emerson.”
“You seem overdressed for painting.”
“I came from work. I was with a bride. I’m a wedding planner.”
Xander emitted a snicker, followed by an eye roll. “I’m a divorce attorney.”
Silence, thicker and more potent than the paint, filled the air.
Jack stepped forward. “You guys seem to have similar professions,” he tried to joke. But something had changed on Xander’s face. If Jack wasn’t mistaken, it seemed a lot like disappointment.
“Yeah,” Xander agreed with a snort. “Couples go to you first and then find me when they come to their senses.”
Grace’s mouth fell open and she looked like she’d just been slapped.
Emerson had joined Jack at his side.
“Should we throw some cold water on them?” he muttered to her, only half joking. They exchanged a glance, neither seemingly wanting to step in between their two best friends.
Finally, Emerson let out an obvious cough. “Gracie, thanks for coming.” She walked up the steps and retrieved her friend, who offered one last hostile look at Xander over her shoulder.
Grace took in the bar. “This place is fabulous. I can see why Trina and Nick want to have their parties here.”
“Nice outfit, Grace,” Amelia said with a smile.
“I was with a client.” She tapped her oversize bag. “I have a change of clothes.”
“Grace, how are you? Emerson said you were having trouble with the wedding dress. You know, I told you about that shop.” Beatrice ushered Grace toward the bathroom to change.
“Lovely woman,” Xander said under his breath to Jack.
“Shh, she’s Emerson’s best friend.”
Emerson clapped her hands together. “Okay, everybody, time to get this painting party started.”
Emerson directed everyone to certain areas of the room. They passed out supplies, cranked up the jukebox and got to work.
They were all working in a good groove for about an hour when the music changed, and a slow, romantic song started. Jack recognized it as one of those overplayed, shmaltzy types of songs crooned by a popular singer that everyone played at their wedding.
He was about to make a joke about it when he noticed Emerson’s face had paled. In fact, she was holding her paintbrush in midair.
“I’ll change it, Em.” Amelia rushed to the jukebox. After Amelia had fiddled around for a few moments, a fast-paced country song began.
What in the world?
“You seem confused.”
He turned to find Amelia standing close, studying his face.
“Em didn’t tell you what happened with Thad last year, did she?” Amelia asked.
“I’ve heard plenty of references to last year, but no one has filled me in yet.”
Amelia glanced around the room. Everyone was once again busy working on their area of the bar. Someone was singing along, off-key.
“Come on, let’s get started.”
He followed Amelia to one of the walls, and together they laid out a drop cloth and filled their tin with paint.
“Emerson was engaged to this guy, Thad.”
Jack dipped his paintbrush into the tin. “I’m assuming by the use of past tense and the grimace you just offered that the engagement didn
’t end well.”
“Hardly. He backed out of the wedding.”
Jack tightened the grip around his paintbrush.
“Emerson was devastated. She had just started her business, and he left her with an overpriced townhouse. For a while, she thought she might have to give up the business and go work in a corporate job to pay the bills. She’s getting by now though. Em is very resilient.”
He agreed with the last part. Emerson was strong. The only problem was that she didn’t always see that trait in herself.
“So that’s why she freaked out when she was trying on wedding dresses,” he said more to himself.
“She told you about that?” Amelia asked.
Jack paused. A little too long, if the curious look on Amelia’s face was any indication. “Uh, right. She told me about it.” He needed to keep his lies straight. He couldn’t very well admit that he’d only met Emerson because she’d pitched herself out of that window, while wearing the wedding dress.
“The song that I just changed was their song.” She smoothed paint onto the wall. “Not getting married was bad enough,” Amelia continued. “But it was so much more than that to Emerson.”
“What do you mean?”
“She felt like she was letting everyone down.”
That was ridiculous. Her fiancé had broken up with her, and she felt like she was letting everyone down? He snuck a glance at Emerson. He knew her well enough by now to tell that the smile plastered on her face wasn’t quite reaching her eyes. She was still stuck on the song.
Maybe she was also stuck on her fiancé.
He was about to say something to Amelia when he noticed the twinkle in her eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“I know what you’re thinking.” She shook her head. “Emerson doesn’t have feelings for Thad anymore. That’s not what that was about.” She pointed at the jukebox.
“What was it about then?”
“Em’s hard on herself. It doesn’t make any sense to me, because I think she’s amazing and I really envy...well, she’s a great big sister. But not marrying Thad was a failure to her. And this year has been incredibly difficult.”
The Dating Arrangement Page 9
