by Lynn Rae
“You want to fool around?” Her voice was low and blurry; she sounded like she was already half-asleep. Maybe his timing was off.
“I’d rather talk.”
Emily made a thoughtful sound and leaned back to look at him.
“That sounds serious.”
The caution in her eyes gave him pause. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to lose her, and had no idea how she was going to react to what he was going to say.
“It is serious. I’m serious.” He sucked in a breath. How to start?
“You want to break up with me.” Emily’s voice shook and she stared at him, her fingers gripping at his shirt.
“No! Why would you think that?” Her conclusion was so far from what he was trying to say, he reeled.
“When two people are involved, go to a party full of tension about their relationship, and afterward, one of them says they need to talk and it’s serious, it’s not a big leap to breakup.” Tears brightened her eyes, and he hated he’d caused her a moment’s distress.
“No breakup. At least not on my end.” His qualifier made his stomach plummet. Maybe she was having second thoughts. After all, she’d been the one to face Linda Good’s snide remarks and his daughter’s disdain. These pessimistic thoughts were driven out of his head when Emily pushed herself into his arms and kissed him hard.
“Not on my end either.” She breathed against his lips.
“Good. Excellent.” His lack of adjectives made him wince. At least he hadn’t said, “great.” Emily pressed another kiss against his lips and then settled back, gathering his hand in hers and waiting for him to start. The firelight made coppery patterns on her hair and he resisted his urge to touch the silky strands. “I want to talk about us.”
“But us together, not us apart.” Her eyes were wide as she waited for reassurance, and he squeezed her hand.
“Yes, us together. Tonight was rough.” He watched her nod. “I knew we’d face a lot of objections to us being involved, from people out there,” he waved at the windows, “but there are probably some in here, between us, too.”
Emily nodded again and tightened her lips. “I know you’re worried about our age difference. I’m not.”
She sounded so certain. “I’m older than you, by a significant amount. If we stay together, it’s going to matter.”
“If?” Emily frowned. “I thought this wasn’t breakup time.”
“It’s not. I just want us to be clear about things as we move forward.”
“Where are we moving?”
Paul sucked in a pained breath. This was the tricky part. It was too soon to declare he loved her, she’d think he was out of his mind. “I’m trying to figure that out. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks—”
“And I’ve moved way too fast. I understand that.” Emily clutched his hand and scooted as close as she could get to him. “Things wouldn’t be so awkward with Courtney if I hadn’t pushed you into bed that night, so that was my fault. It would be easier if she’d had time to get to know me, with my clothes on.”
“You didn’t push me into bed. I wanted to go,” Paul said, stopping himself from admitting he’d bought condoms for the first time in over thirty years for her. No matter how twisted things had become with his daughter, there was no way he was ever going to regret making love with her that night. “Although I did appreciate the effort you made. You are a wonderful seductress.”
She blushed like he wanted her to so he returned to his original point. “Seventeen years difference in our ages matters now, but it’ll matter even more down the road.”
“Are we going to do the whole ‘in ten years I’ll be forty-three and you’ll be sixty’ thing? I don’t want to count out my life like that. No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. I just want to hope it’s going to be good. Being with you is good, and I want that tomorrow.”
Paul paused. He had plenty of experience with losing someone before her time. Emily was right. No one should decide who to love based on chronology when bad luck or fate could turn every expectation on its head in an instant. This was love, it was new and tentative like an unfolding crocus in the spring, but the warmth that filled him couldn’t be anything less.
“You want me tomorrow, but will you want me in ten years?” The words tumbled out before he realized what he was saying, and Emily’s eyes widened. Something had been bothering him for a while and had solidified when he’d held baby Bella that evening. He cared for her too much to hold her back. “I can’t give you what you deserve. You’re going to want a family.”
It hurt to say, hurt like a stab to the gut, but this was the real sticking point for him. If anyone would be a good mother, it was Emily. She was sweet and decent and deserved a young man who’d be a strong father to her children. He knew he didn’t have the energy to start over with a baby. He’d barely survived the teen years with Courtney.
Tears welled in her eyes again, and with doom settling in his stomach like an ulcer, Paul knew she was going to leave him. He tried to tell himself it was better now than later, when he’d fallen even more in love with her, but this was still hell.
Paul was still on the sofa, his hand stiff in hers. Emily didn’t know what to say. Her emotions were running at such a high velocity she didn’t trust her reactions. Fear that he’d decided to end things when the party had turned out to be such a stressful event, dawning hope when he’d declared he wanted to be with her, followed by this new assertion. All the old pain returned, and she felt the air leave her chest in a sudden gust. It was too soon to have this conversation, too soon for her to tell him. She’d only revealed this part of herself to two other men, good men who she’d respected too much to waste their time with her.
“I don’t want children.” She’d long since trained herself to not want what she couldn’t have.
Paul shook his head. “Maybe not right now, but someday. You’re a loving person and your baby—”
“No, please stop.” Emily’s voice cracked as she interrupted him. If he said anything else, all her hard-fought composure would desert her. “There isn’t going to be a baby for me.”
Confusion gave way to comprehension in his gaze. “Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry.”
The familiar, faint ache in her soul eased. At least he knew now. Paul tugged her close and she folded her stiff limbs into his arms, grateful for the contact. She listened to his steady heartbeat, listened to him breathe, and told her body to relax and match his.
“Do you want to tell me?” His quiet question further decreased her tension.
“Remember I told you how I missed that first semester at college? I got sick, an infection, and it damaged me. I’d never really craved children, but knowing I’d never have them threw me for a loop back then, especially when my friends started having theirs.”
“You could adopt.” His gentle suggestion didn’t irritate her the way it might have coming from someone else.
“No. I’ve had about fifteen years to adjust to the realization a family wasn’t in the cards for me. I’m actually okay with it.” And she was. Sometimes there was an tug when she saw a laughing child and she regretted what she might have had, but she was centered enough to know even if she’d never gotten sick, she still might have remained childless for a whole host of other reasons.
He rubbed his hand down her back in soothing strokes, and she sighed and let herself mold to him.
“So that’s part of why you’re alone.”
She nodded against his chest. “Not a big part, but a part, I suppose. I like nice men, and nice men often want nice families of their own.”
Paul nuzzled her hair, and she craned back to look at him, hoping she wouldn’t see pity in his eyes. There wasn’t pity there, just kind attention and she let herself bask in it.
“I’m a nice man.”
“You are.” She punctuated her statement with a soft kiss.
“Maybe. I don’t have the nicest family, though.”
Emily drew
back and peered at him, unsure if he was making a joke or not. “I’m sure they’re just fine. I just haven’t met some of them under the best circumstances.”
He smiled at her and tugged her closer, leaving her nowhere to go but his lap. It was a perfectly good place to be, so she relaxed into it, resting her head on his shoulder and willing to listen to him talk for as long as he liked.
Paul cleared his throat and furrowed his brow like he was going to recalibrate some voltage. “So, to cover the main points. We are not worried about the age difference.”
“We are not.”
“We went to a party together, in front of everyone.”
“We did.”
“Courtney talked to both of us.”
“She did.” It was grudging and uncomfortable, but there hadn’t been any tears or screaming, so she’d count it as a win.
Paul went quiet for a moment. She suspected he was thinking about her infertility because rubbed her back in the most mesmerizing manner possible. “So, I’m thinking we should probably make this official.”
Emily stiffened in surprise. What was he saying? Surely he wasn’t—
“I’m sorry, did I pinch you?” Paul’s genuine concern made her stammer out she was fine, nothing was wrong, even though her stomach was twisting into a nervous knot. Sure her cheeks were flaming; she pressed her face to his shoulder, convinced if she looked at him she’d combust.
“Anyway, I’d like, if you’re willing, to consider us a couple. I only want to see you and I hope you feel the same. Exclusive, isn’t that what they call it? If I said going steady, it would be obvious how terminally unhip I am.”
His voice was low with sincerity, and she shifted back to look at him. He stared at her, his hands holding tight like he was afraid she was going to bolt away, or suddenly jerk again. “I already thought we were.”
He blinked once. “We never talked about it, so I just wanted to be sure.”
So he hadn’t been talking about that. Emily shoved that thought away to be considered in privacy, when she had time to figure out why she’d jumped to such an outlandish conclusion. “Be sure of it. Be sure of me. I don’t want anyone else.”
Gusting out a sigh, he smiled which inspired her to shift against him, moving up to nuzzle his neck before he leaned over to give her a kiss. With a little groan, she responded, nibbling at his lips as she lifted herself up to straddle him, tucking her knees into the sofa cushions on either side of his hips. She rocked against him, the soft haven between her thighs rubbing along his stiffening penis. Somehow he managed to touch her in just the right way every time.
“Don’t you want to go to the bedroom?” Paul asked in a half-amused, half-husky voice.
She leaned back in his lap and shook her head once. “Not when you just got this nice fire started.”
“You have a thing for sofas, don’t you?”
“Not as much as the thing I have for you.”
Chapter 11
Emily couldn’t hide her smile as she opened the doors to the city hall, but since Angie was likely the only person who’d see her before she reached her office, she didn’t care. She’d just had a wonderful lunch with Paul at the Grille. He’d managed to get them into an isolated booth near the back, and they’d sat next to each other, his leg pressed to hers as they shared a meal. He’d made her laugh and given her such a seductive kiss before they’d left the safety of the booth she’d found it difficult to walk in a coordinated way when they exited the restaurant. Exclusivity with Paul Ellison was turning out to be a wonderful thing.
“You look like the heroine in a rom-com, with that big smile and shiny hair,” Angie complimented her as she entered the lobby. “All you need is your theme song and you’ll be all set. I don’t even have to ask if you had a nice time; it’s obvious. My guess is Paul had a good lunch, too.”
Emily nodded and lingered by Angie’s desk to collect her mail from the sorter. Not much caught her attention other than a couple of travel and tourism guides from other counties. Those she’d study thoroughly, with a cup of hot tea and a shortbread cookie.
“Oh, a package came in for you, too.” Angie handed over a brown-paper-wrapped cube about the size of a box of chocolates, and Emily immediately thought of Paul. What had he sent her? She knew she should wait until she was alone, but the anticipation was too much to resist.
“Here’s a pair of scissors.” The admin assistant helpfully handed them over, and Emily cut away the wrapper to reveal a plain tan box. Realizing she had an audience and the contents might be provocative, she carefully lifted the lid in a way that prevented Angie from seeing inside. A thick layer of polyester stuffing sprang up and she lifted away to see a dark brown, wrinkled object about the size of her hand. Its strangely organic shape immediately set off warning bells and she hurriedly set the box on the edge of the lobby counter and drew her hands back to her sides.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Angie stood up from her seat and took a step away from the package.
“I don’t know. It’s weird-looking,” Emily said as she leaned toward the box and used the edge of the scissors to lift the padding up again. Whatever it was looked for all the world like those joke piles of dog feces made out of plastic. This object was much larger than any gag objects she’d ever seen, not that she’d studied them extensively. Surely Courtney wouldn’t have sent her something so crude.
Angie edged up to the box and stabbed at the batting with a sharpened pencil, lifting the stuff out and flipping it into the trash container beside her desk. She sniffed theatrically as she dropped the pencil in the waste can as well. “It’s not poop.”
“Thank goodness.” Upon closer inspection, the brown mass was vaguely familiar and following an impulse, Emily rotated the box, tilting her head to view it from different angles. It looked metallic and was heavy, judging by the way it pressed into the bottom layer of padding. There was also the edge of some yellow paper sticking out from under it.
“I’ve got some tweezers to grab that note.” Angie pulled open her desk drawer and retrieved them. “I can clean them with bleach wipes if it turns out to be something gross.”
She tugged at the scrap as Emily held the box steady. With a scraping sound, the folded bit of paper emerged. Angie held it up and shook it to open it.
“Here’s your proof. It’s the real deal,” Emily read out loud, noticing the included e-mail account was one that had previously contacted the ransom hotline. Realization dawned. “Angie! It’s Great-Great-Uncle Peter’s ear! I mean, it’s the Spanish-American War Monument’s ear!”
“An ear?” The admin assistant grabbed the box with her free hand and stared at the bronze remnant.
“Maybe it fell off when they chopped of his head.” Emily couldn’t stop the rush of excitement filling her. They just might have a chance to negotiate and reunite head and body. And ear. “Is Shelly here?”
With just a quick nod of her head, Angie dropped the box back on the counter and picked up the phone, handing off the tweezers still grasping the note to Emily as she called the mayor to the lobby. The thump of the cane warned them of her approach.
“Here I am,” Shelly announced as she limped over to the desk, her nod of greeting at Emily feeling lukewarm.
“We’ve got it.” Angie’s voice shook as she waved her hands at the box. Shelly frowned as she studied the ear, then shifted her gaze to take in Emily holding the tweezers and note.
“Looks like you’ve got the crazy.”
“It’s his ear.” Emily found her voice and she gestured at the box again with the note. It fluttered. “In the box.”
“Whose…” Comprehension dawned on Shelly’s face, and she made a grab for the note. Emily jerked it away just in time.
“Fingerprints!”
Shelly pulled her hand back with a comical grimace. “This is like the Scooby-Doo gang.”
“Mystery Incorporated,” Angie supplied with a bright tone. Shelly narrowed her eyes at the other woman. “What? My kids
watch it all the time on Boomerang. Maybe you can catch the monster and pull its mask off and the bad guy will be Mr. Szabo.”
Shelly shook her head and turned back to Emily. “Lay that down over here so I can get a look. I won’t touch it. Angie, get your nephew over here.”
Emily did as she was told and dropped the note on top of a blotter. It half folded onto itself, and Shelly made an impatient noise as she grabbed a letter opener. “Here, you hold down the bottom and I’ll get the top.”
Together they opened it up and Shelly scanned it rapidly. “I’m e-mailing them right now.”
“Shouldn’t you wait until Mitchell gets over here?”
“No. Come on Emily, bring the note back to my office where there’s some more privacy.” Shelly managed to pick up the box and maneuver her cane as she walked around the counter toward the corridor behind.
“What about me?” Angie asked.
“You stay here and keep an eye out for Mr. Szabo.”
Emily gave the admin assistant a commiserating look as she walked away but then concentrated on keeping up with the mayor. The woman could move fast, cane and all. They entered Shelly’s office, and she gestured for Emily to put the box on the desk next to the note.
“Was this all there was?”
“No, it came wrapped up in brown paper.”
Shelly told her to retrieve it, and Emily trotted back out to the lobby where Angie waited, the crumpled paper held up in a set of kitchen tongs. “Where did you get these?”
“I brought them when we had a potluck at the Fourth of July and keep forgetting to take them home.” Angie transferred the grip to Emily. “I don’t know why we’re being careful with it. Who knows how many people at the post office handled it?”
Emily took a closer look, wondering what the postmark said. Unsurprisingly, there was no return address, but there was also no evidence of postage paid. “This didn’t come in the mail, did it?”
Angie looked at the wrapping and shook her head. “It was lying on top of everything when I came back from lunch. I just assumed it was.”
