Talk to Me

by Stephanie Reid

  Emily—the self-appointed umpire—called that ball three when the relief pitcher arrived. A much more formidable foe, she and Mac wouldn’t be able to resist swinging with Julie on the mound. Perhaps, it would be wise to forfeit.

  * * *

  “Hey guys!” Julie said breathlessly, rushing in with a diaper bag over one arm and lugging the baby carrier with the other.

  Three-year-old Jamie flung himself into Mac’s lap, climbing him like a tree, and narrowly missing his groin.

  “Well, hello there little man.” The sturdy blond toddler tried to use his stomach as a stepladder, and Mac grunted.

  “Hi, Mac!”

  He’d only met the boy a handful of times, so he was surprised—and oddly pleased—by this enthusiastic greeting.

  Julie worked at untangling baby Henry from his car seat straps. “Sorry, he’s on a bit of a sugar high,” she said, nodding toward Jamie.

  “I see that,” Mac said, smiling.

  Jamie jumped down from Mac’s lap and chased his older sister, Hannah, out of the kitchen and into the backyard, both of them screaming like banshees.

  Julie smiled brightly, evidently unfazed by the racket. “I’m so glad you both were able to make it to dinner tonight. Sean’s cooking, so it should be interesting.”

  Emily giggled, and Mac was pretty sure he heard her mumble, “It’s already been interesting.” Her giggle grew into a full-blown laugh, her baby blues went wide, and she covered her mouth with her hand. But the laughter wouldn't stop.

  Julie gave Mac a what’s-with-her look.

  He shrugged.

  Emily waved her hands in front of her face, which was quickly turning red despite her vigorous fanning. “I’m sorry. Sorry.” Another giggle hiccuped out of her. “I—I don’t know what’s so funny. I just—don’t mind me.”

  In a blatant attempt to bring Emily back to normalcy, Julie asked, “So, how was work today?”

  Emily’s laughter died down, ending on an aaahh sound, almost like a squad car siren tapering off. Hiding his amusement, Mac wiped a hand over his mouth to smooth out his grin.

  “Same old, same old,” Emily said.

  Julie turned to Mac, bouncing Henry on her hip. “Emily’s a counselor over at Evergreen Health Services.”

  “Oh, really?” He turned to Emily. “I bet we see a lot of the same people then.”

  “We do?”

  “Yeah, you know, after therapy doesn’t work and they turn to a life of crime,” he said, hoping to strike a teasing tone.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, all traces of laughter gone. “You don’t think therapy works?”

  “I’m sure it does for some people, but obviously not for many of the people that we deal with.” He glanced over his shoulder, hoping Sean would be there to back him up, but he’d conveniently disappeared through the French doors to the back patio, where Mac could see him putting steaks on the grill.

  “Well, there are some things that counseling can’t always overcome—like poverty and a lack of opportunities.”

  Mac raised his hands, palms out, in surrender. “I meant no offense. I’m just saying we both deal with crazies.”

  Her jaw dropped at the word crazies. Apparently, that wasn’t the preferred term amongst counselors. Inexplicably, her agitation made him smile.

  “Why don’t you two start chopping up some mushrooms and onions for the steaks while I change Mr. Poopy-Pants here,” Julie said, handling them the way he’d seen her handle her kids, diffusing a potentially explosive argument by means of distraction. She disappeared upstairs with Henry. And Emily, who was more familiar with the kitchen than he was, started getting out vegetables, knives, and cutting boards.

  He looked around and noted the kitchen was as cluttered as one would expect from a family of five. Mail sat in haphazard piles on the counter, along with chip bags and a bowl of fruit—food stuffs that didn’t fit in the cabinets or pantry. With limited counter space, he and Emily were forced to stand close to one another, their arms occasionally bumping as they chopped the vegetables.

  They soon fell into a rhythm, their knives making hypnotic tapping sounds on the wood cutting boards, and it surprised him to find the monotonous chore so relaxing. His heart rate synced with the steady rhythm of his knife and the ever-present tension in his shoulders eased.

  Working away on a large onion, his eyes started to water. He sniffed and used his sleeve to dab at the moisture.

  Emily looked at him from the corner of her eye. Barely turning her head toward him, she tucked a stray lock of caramel-colored hair behind her ear. She smiled, still chopping. “You okay there, champ?”

  “It’s the onions,” he said. “I’m not crying.”

  She laughed softly. “Hey, you don’t need to defend yourself to me. I’m a counselor. I’m completely comfortable with displays of emotion.”

  He knew she was teasing, but he answered defensively anyway, enjoying their sparring. “I’m not crying. It’s the friggin’ onions.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s okay. Not all men are secure enough in their masculinity to cry in front of others. I understand.”

  She baited him, and he bit—he couldn’t help himself. “I’m not crying. And trust me,” he said, injecting his voice with as much machismo as possible, “I’m more than confident in my masculinity.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Sure.” He resumed slicing the onion. “For example, I’m totally comfortable admitting to you that I love the fourth hour of the Today Show.” When she smiled, he continued, hoping to hear her laugh again. “I could kick back with a mimosa, watch me some Kathy Lee and Hoda, and not feel any less manly.”

  “Kathy Lee and Hoda?” she asked, disbelief in every word.

  “Yeah, sure. I think it’d be fun to hang out with those two boozed-up cougars. You just never know what inappropriate thing they’re going to say next, you know?”

  And there it was again, that sexy low chuckle of hers that he’d first heard at the coffee shop.

  A long-forgotten warmth began to expand within his chest. A nascent spark, struggling to become a flame, if only he would allow it some oxygen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced this sort of connection with someone. The intimacy of their private banter, the teasing, and the shared laughter filled him with a panicked need to smother the spark. It was too much. And certainly more than he deserved.

  He frowned, struggling to tamp down the long-forgotten yearnings fighting to surface. The tears from the onion may have blurred his vision, but one thing was crystal clear. This dinner would be the last time he saw Emily Simon.

  * * *

  Emily sobered, watching Mac use his knife to deftly slide sliced onions onto the plate she’d placed in front of him. He’d just retreated from her somehow, as if he’d disappeared behind a mask of cool detachment. It was the same expression she’d puzzled over while people watching. The same expression that drew her to him.

  Her curiosity to peek below his surface-calm into the murky depths below felt anything but clinical. She didn’t want to study him, to analyze the inner workings of his mind, or even to help him. She wanted to know him. To be let in. To get closer to this man who could tease her, raise her hackles, and make her laugh, all in the space of minutes.

  And that was dangerous. Because if Sean was right—if Mac was taking unnecessary risks with his life—then she would be a fool to get close to him. If there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that she could not handle another loss. Another death.

  Pulling herself from her dark thoughts and attempting to revive their earlier light-hearted mood, she fixed a bright expression on her face. “So, how long have you harbored this obsession with older women?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call it an obsession.” He smiled, grabbed the last few mushrooms from her bowl, and started slicing. It wasn’t a genuine smile though. It was an I’m-smiling-because-it-is-socially-appropriate-to-do-so smile and one that made her own disappear.

  She to
ok her time slicing the last mushroom, searching for something to say, something to restore levity to the room and distance herself from the path of her thoughts. To her relief, Julie saved her the effort.

  “Oh wow. You guys are done already, huh?” She came into the kitchen with a sleepy-looking Henry, his head bobbing up and down on her shoulder. “Here, Mac, could you hold him a sec while I take care of these veggies?”

  “Oh, I—sure,” he said, though Julie really hadn’t given him a choice. She’d placed the infant in his arms before he could object. He looked down at Henry, who looked back with a pouty lip, and shot a panicked look toward Emily. “Is he going to cry?”

  She chuckled and passed Julie a frying pan for the onions and mushrooms. “No, but I think he’s tired.” On cue, Henry yawned and rubbed his tiny fists into his eyes.

  “Hey little guy,” Mac said. “Do you need some of your Auntie Em’s coffee to stay awake?”

  Emily’s heart stuttered at the familiar use of her nickname. A name she hadn’t been called in almost ten years. Her dad had been the only one to call her Em. But instead of bringing the sadness she might have expected, she found herself soothed by the precious memory.

  Emily wasn’t the only one comforted by Mac’s words, offered in a deep baritone. Henry’s head began to droop until Mac gently pulled it down to his shoulder. Swaying back and forth in a gentle rocking motion, cupping the baby’s head with his palm, he whispered words of encouragement, and Henry’s eyes fluttered closed. “That’s it little man, close your eyes.”

  “Looks like you’ve got a knack with babies.” Her voice sounded husky to her own ears.

  Mac lifted his wonder-filled eyes to hers and continued in the same baby-soothing tone. “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but if he stays all warm and snuggly like this, I’m good. If he starts crying though, he’s all yours.”

  “Fair enough.” Emily smiled. Except it wasn’t fair really. Not fair at all for a man with a baby to tug on a woman’s heart strings like that. Not fair at all. And because it was so unfair, she couldn’t resist teasing. “Um, did you just say snuggly?”

  Mac smiled, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners, and that was how she knew it was a real smile this time. “No, I couldn’t have. Snuggly is not a manly word. I would never say snuggly, would I Henry?” Emily wasn’t sure if the smile was for her or for Henry, but she didn’t much care, she only knew she wanted to see it again. And that scared the crap out of her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Well, that was fun. Yeah?” Julie fell back against the front door after she’d closed it behind Mac. She looked like a love-struck teenager who’d just come in from a first kiss on her parents’ front porch, all wide-eyed and breathless.

  “Julie, if you tell me that you were in on Sean’s little plot tonight, you will no longer be my favorite sister-in-law.”

  “But, I’m your only sister-in-law.” Julie smiled, tilting her head and causing her blonde ponytail to swing with an enthusiasm equal to its owner.

  “Exactly. My only sister-in-law and still not my favorite. Not a good place to be.”

  Julie’s smile faded. “Oh, c’mon. You’re not really upset are you? It was just a casual meeting. It’s not like it was an official blind date.”

  Distracted from Julie’s question, Emily watched Sean descend the stairs. He’d returned from putting the kids to bed in time to catch Julie confessing to her part in bringing Mac and Emily together for dinner. He glanced around the foyer, looking everywhere but at his wife and sister—an obvious tell that he was preparing to flee the scene.

  “Se-an.” Emily’s tone rose on the second half of his name, making it two syllables, both of which clearly communicated explain yourself.

  He cleared his throat, stalling. “It’s possible…that I didn’t exactly tell Julie everything I told you earlier today.”

  Julie stared at Sean, her brow crinkled in confusion.

  Sean addressed Emily, avoiding his wife’s questioning gaze. “Julie’s been bugging me to set you two up since the day she met Mac, but he’s not into…I didn’t really think it would be a good idea…but then after what happened last night, I started to think you might be just what he needs.”

  “What do you mean, ‘after what happened last night’?” Julie asked.

  A wave of sympathy washed over Emily, and her annoyance with her brother got sucked away in the undertow. Sean had likely thought he was protecting Julie by not telling her about last night’s standoff, but now Julie was going to hear just how close her husband had been to being seriously injured or—God forbid—Emily stopped herself, she wouldn’t think about how wrong last night could have gone.

  He reluctantly filled Julie in on the details, and Emily watched a slideshow of emotions play across her sister-in-law’s face: confusion, surprise, fear. His recounting of the event was succinct, his tone professional, and Emily knew he was attempting to dial down the drama of the scene. It was ineffective. Like Emily, Julie was undoubtedly aware that with one slight arm movement, it could have been Sean on the wrong end of that man’s gun.

  Julie’s eyes shone with unshed tears and she cleared her throat, making a valiant effort to sound unaffected when she spoke. “I don’t understand. How did that make you decide Emily was perfect for him?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Aside from the fact that she’s a professional counselor, she’s also a go-to person. You know? Anytime anyone has a problem, they talk to Emily.”

  Sean’s comment was nonchalant, as if it was common knowledge that everyone saw Emily as their own personal therapist. But for her, it was an epiphany. Was that the role she played in her personal life as well as her professional one?

  Sean turned to Emily. “I thought if Mac went out with you, maybe he’d start talking, and maybe talking about what happened a year ago with the shooting would help him get over it.”

  It sounded a lot less stupid when Sean said it this time. But is that what Emily wanted? To be the person that people talked to? That people relied on not just at work but all the time? Now that she’d acknowledged what she’d been doing, she realized she was exhausted. Hadn’t she noticed just today, while talking to Sandra, that it was taking more and more effort to stay focused on other people’s problems? Being in counselor mode and hyper tuned-in to a person’s every word and gesture was truly draining.

  She looked to Julie, trying to gauge what she thought of Sean’s matchmaking motive. Julie smiled and shook her head. “Sean, you really are sweet. And a meddler. And completely out of your ever-lovin’ mind.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I tried. It seemed like a good idea to me.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t.” She turned a hopeful face to Emily. “What if you just forgot the whole secret therapy bit and went out with Mac for fun. For yourself. Because you like him.”

  Did she like him? She couldn’t deny that her nerves had buzzed with awareness every time she’d been near him. And she couldn’t deny that her gaze had involuntarily sought him out over dinner, unable to look away as he and Sean discussed everything from work to baseball. And she couldn’t deny that she’d been disappointed when he’d stuck to polite surface conversations with her after their easy banter in the kitchen.

  But did she like him?

  It hardly mattered whether she did or didn’t. All that mattered was that she shouldn’t.

  “I don—”

  “Emily Renee Simon, don’t even try to tell me that you aren’t attracted to him. Because I was here. I saw the way you two were together.”

  “What? You mean argumentative?”

  “No. I mean flirtatious.”

  “I was no such thing. I do not flirt.”

  “Really? Because I haven’t seen that many sparks since the last time Sean thought he could fix the electrical in this old place.”

  “Hey!” Sean said, realizing his handyman skills were being impugned.

  Julie ignored him. “So, what do you say? Will you give things with
Mac a shot?”

  Emily sighed and sat down on the bottom steps of the staircase leading to the second floor. Her mental exhaustion now physical, she slumped against the banister. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Julie.”

  “Why not? Just forget Sean’s little plan.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “We’ll pretend it never happened.”

  Sean took that as his cue to leave and silently slipped out of the room.

  “You’re assuming that Mac is even interested in me.”

  “I think it’s a safe assumption after what I witnessed tonight.”

  “I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “Seeing Mac relaxed and smiling is not nothing,” Julie said. “But okay. I’ll admit we don’t know if he’s interested.” She sat down on the step next to Emily. “But if you’re interested in him, we can always arrange for you to see more of him. For you to get to know each other.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that. Care to elaborate?”

  “Well, as Sean pointed out tonight, I have a bad habit of falling into counselor mode—always being there for everybody else. And that’s not exactly healthy. Relationships only work if both people need each other equally.”

  “And you don’t think you need Mac?”

  “I think he’s going through a lot right now.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Julie asked. She shifted on the stair, turning to fully face Emily. “Listen, Sean’s right. Something in Mac changed after the shooting. He’s been more withdrawn, and I’m sure he’s struggling. But I don’t think it’s as serious as PTSD. He just needs time.”

  “That isn’t the only thing I’m worried about.”

  “What else then?”

  Emily sighed. “If you could have seen your face tonight—when Sean told you what happened at that domestic call—I don’t know how you do it. It’s hard enough worrying about my brother…” Emily ran a hand down her face. Fantasizing that Mac had been a dangerous international spy when she’d seen him at the coffeehouse was one thing. The reality of his job, however, made him considerably less appealing. “I’ve already lost my parents. I worry about Sean. I don’t want to worry about a…boyfriend, too.”