It all seemed a little silly now. The intensity of nighttime tended to ease enormously in the light of day, and now she simply lay there in her bed with her dog and felt a little foolish, like she should apologize. Should she?
“What do you think, Dave?”
The dog opened his eyes, which had been closed in bliss at the belly rub he was getting. He shifted off his side and onto his stomach so he could look at Emily’s face. She grinned as it occurred to her that he was actually listening, interested in her voice.
“Did I make a fool of myself? I might have.” She caressed the side of his face, rubbed a velvety ear between her fingers. “Do I leave it alone? Apologize? Try to see her again?” With a groan of frustration she said, “God, she makes me crazy! Why does she make me so crazy? I should just stay far, far away from her. This will do nobody any good. Right?”
Dave still studied her, even cocked his head to the side as if analyzing her words.
“Seriously, Dave. Would I be any different than Clark if I went there? I mean, I would. Of course I would. I’m not a creep. But…it would still come down to how it makes the Foundation look, right? There’d be no way around that. People are horrible, and they’d immediately assume Junebug gets more money because I’m banging their accountant. Because people suck.” She blew out a huge breath, then said quietly, “My mother would be so disappointed in me.”
She stared at the ceiling for long moments, then—against her better judgment—voiced another thought. “There is one other thing to consider, though,” she said to him, holding up a finger. “That kiss. Did I tell you about that?”
In response, Dave army-crawled farther up the bed so he could lavish his own kisses on her face, which made her laugh, she couldn’t help it.
“Yes, you are a good kisser, Dave, I promise. But her?” Emily made what sounded like a growl as she shook her head back and forth on the pillow in wonder. “I have never been kissed like that in my life.” She turned to her dog. “In my life, Dave. God.” After a beat, she said, “I can’t think about this anymore. I’m going to drive myself insane.” Pulling her dog in close, she kissed his head several times in quick succession, causing his tail to beat loudly against the mattress. “Thanks for listening, pal. You’re the best.”
Their lovefest ended, Emily hauled herself out of bed, used both hands to scratch all over her scalp, then headed for the bathroom of her downtown loft. As she walked past the dresser where her cell sat charging, she raised her eyebrows at it, a notion tickling at the back of her brain. She shrugged it off and decided to revisit it after her shower.
***
“Catherine?”
Regina’s voice sounded over the intercom and made Catherine flinch guiltily in her chair, as if she’d actually been caught daydreaming. Clearing her throat, she responded. “Yes?”
“Can you come out here for a minute?” Regina’s voice held a smile. She was endlessly cheerful. Some days, Catherine thought it was nice. Today, it just grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard or a fork scraping against a plate.
“Be right there.” Generally when Regina called her to the front desk, it was for her to answer some inane question about the computers. Catherine was the most computer-savvy one in the building, and it was difficult to get their IT person on the line when there was an issue, so Catherine was the next best thing. “Stay,” she said to Mo, curled up on his bed in the corner. His tail thumped the floor once, but he obeyed. With a sigh, she pushed herself up out of her chair and headed to the front desk, her legs feeling heavy. She’d gotten little sleep last night—not surprisingly. Her head wouldn’t shut up. It insisted on analyzing and re-analyzing and overanalyzing every single thing that had happened last night. Everything that was said. She distinctly remembered, at one point, Mo was snoring comfortably at the foot of the bed and she had to consciously prevent herself from nudging him awake with her foot, so envious of his slumber she was.
Things were starting to pick up for the holidays, as was expected. There were several people wandering the lobby, a few in the gift shop, and the doors to the dog wing opened and closed regularly.
She saw the enormous bouquet of flowers before she even got close.
Oh, she did not…
“These are for you,” Regina said, smiling like she knew something even though she didn’t. “Who’s the Romeo?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows.
“There is no Romeo,” Catherine said, taking in the arrangement, which had to be nearly twice the size of the last one—which was still alive and flourishing colorfully on her desk.
Regina did a lousy job of hiding her disappointment and Catherine felt bad. Forcing a smile, she thanked Regina in as friendly a tone as she could muster, hefted the vase (no easy feat), and carried it back to her office where she set it on her desk and sat down in her chair. The flowers completely obscured her view of the door and they were beautiful—carnations and lilies and daisies and black-eyed Susans and white roses and snapdragons. A huge assortment, gorgeously full of color, enough to brighten the room and the five closest other rooms on this dismal and gray winter day. It must have cost an arm and a leg.
The white envelope containing the card seemed to taunt her as she tried to keep herself from grabbing it. She had a stare-down with it until it won, and she snatched it off its little plastic fork with a growl and tore it open.
I know I surprised you and probably shouldn’t have.
I know we discussed it all and made a decision.
But I had a great time last night. I hope you did, too.
SorryNotSorry
Emily
God, she was frustrating! When Catherine realized she was smiling, she had to work hard to wipe it off. This was ridiculous. They had talked about it. They’d decided together to back off, to keep the relationship strictly business. They’d agreed.
They were failing miserably.
She made a sound that apparently caused Mo some concern, as he came over from his place in the corner of the office and put his front paws on her thigh. Catherine swiveled slightly so he could jump, and he did, curling himself into her lap. She stroked his fur, felt the warmth of his body heat as she continued to gaze at the flowers.
“Well, I have to say thank you, don’t I?” When Mo lifted his head to look up at her, she shrugged. “It’d be rude not to, right? I’m not a rude person. I mean, look at these. They must have cost a fortune and a half.” She gestured at the flowers, the arrangement bigger than the dog. He settled his head back down and sighed, evidently unimpressed with her line of reasoning. Stretching her arms over his body, she reached for her keyboard and typed up an e-mail.
***
Emily unwrapped a block of extremely good cheddar—the kind with little crystals of joyous flavor in it—and set it on the cheese board alongside the smoked gouda and the baby Swiss (which she hated, but she knew Sandy loved more than life itself). Crackers went into a basket. The oven timer beeped as she was setting stuff on the four-seat high-top table near the windows in her loft, and she slipped her hand into an oven mitt and pulled out a tray of jalapeño poppers.
She loved Girls Night. Due to uncooperative schedules, they hadn’t had one in over a month—and it was odd for them to meet mid-week, but it was time. She hadn’t seen her girls since that lunch before Thanksgiving—and lunch didn’t count as Girls Night since there was no alcohol. Now it was careening toward the middle of December faster than she could keep track of. The onslaught of the holidays took up everybody’s time and Emily knew she probably wouldn’t see them again until after the first of the year.
“Unacceptable,” she said aloud to Dave as he followed her around the house, hoping with all his doggie heart that she’d drop something delicious. She rewarded his poor behavior by giving him a cracker. “Hi, I’m Emily and I’m an enabler,” she said to him as he chewed happily, taking his time and apparently savoring, despite the fact that he could easily swallow it in one gulp—and often did. As he munched, she took a last l
ook around the loft. She had tons of food, she had wine, she had water, she had Pandora playing the Katy Perry channel she’d created for Michelle. She had Christmas gifts for each of them. She was so ready to have a night with her friends.
An hour later, they were laughing around the table, wine glasses in hand.
“So,” Michelle said to Sandy, gesturing to the colorful streak in her blond hair. “Green?”
“You don’t think it’s festive?” Sandy asked, self-consciously raising a hand to her head.
“I do,” Emily said. “I love it.”
“Thank you, Em.” Sandy stuck her tongue out at Michelle.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Michelle said, defensive. “I just wondered why green? I assume you had to color somebody’s hair recently?” She and Emily were both familiar with Sandy’s habits involving her work. She often tended to mimic what was hot in her salon at any given time.
“Exactly. We did a bunch of different people recently and Jonathan and I caught the color bug. He did his a really deep maroon color. But not a streak. All of it.” She sipped her wine and shrugged as she spoke about her coworker. “It looks really cool on him. Actually, we should do yours with a streak, Em. A bright purple would look so cool in your dark hair.”
Emily scoffed and popped a hunk of cheese into her mouth. “You want my mother to have a coronary?”
Michelle launched into her uncanny impression of Cheryl Breckenridge. “Now, Emily, see here, young lady. We have a reputation to uphold at The Breckenridge Foundation, and though I have no problems with your chosen sexuality, I’m afraid I cannot abide your lesbian hair.”
They all laughed and Emily took no offense. She knew Michelle and Sandy both loved her mother—and she them—and this was just in good fun. It was true; Emily’s mom didn’t really understand the “choice of lifestyle” versus being born gay debate, but to her credit, she tried her best and always had.
“Speaking of the Foundation,” Michelle said, biting into a crostini she’d slathered with spinach artichoke dip. “How are things going with work?”
“And more specifically,” Sandy added, “with the hot accountant chick at the animal shelter. The one who hates you.”
Emily knew by the twin expressions of curiosity staring back at her from across the table that they’d been talking about things to each other. She raised her eyebrows and called them on it.
“We may have had a…small discussion.” Michelle shrugged and chewed, maintaining eye contact with Emily, a half-grin on her face. “You can’t stare me down, Brecks. Stop trying.”
Emily groaned and gave up, reaching for a popper. “Things are fine.”
“Things are fine,” Sandy echoed. Glancing at Michelle for support, she said, “I don’t think that’s an acceptable response. Do you?”
Michelle snorted. “Hardly.” She sipped her wine and ordered, “More.”
“More what?” Emily asked.
“Details. Give ‘em up. Does she still ‘hate you?’” Michelle made air quotes to show what she thought of Emily’s earlier assessment of Catherine’s opinion.
“I don’t think so, no.” Emily used a large hunk of cheese and a cracker to buy herself some time, as she knew she’d end up telling her friends the truth about all of it—including what she had begun to refer to as The Hottest Kiss in History. She just wanted to figure out the right approach.
“You don’t think so.” Sandy set her chin in her hand and studied Emily. “Interesting.”
Michelle then mimicked the position so Emily had two weird versions of The Thinker staring at her. Intently.
“Fine!” she said after a moment. “Fine. You win. I kissed her.”
Two sets of eyes widened in surprise. Two pairs of eyebrows rose up into hairlines. Two gasps sounded in the room. Emily said nothing more, sipped her wine, and waited. The silence must have bothered Dave, as he left his spot on the couch and wandered over to the table as if checking to make sure things were okay. He went from one woman to the next, sniffing and accepting pets on his head
Sandy spoke first. “Um…can we go back for a second? How did things go from ‘she hates me’ to ‘I kissed her’ in the space of about, what, a week? Two weeks? Not a lot of time, is my point.”
Michelle simply nodded and Emily gave herself an imaginary point for rendering her loudly opinionated friend speechless. At least momentarily.
Looking down at her plate, Emily used her fork to push around the pile of hummus sitting next to the baby carrots and stalk of celery, trying to decide how best to approach the subject of Catherine with her friends. Hell, she barely knew how to approach the subject of Catherine with herself. Finally, she took a deep breath, said, “It’s a situation that’s completely new to me and…I think I’d really like your thoughts. You guys know me better than anybody and…” She stopped, looked from Michelle to Sandy and back, picked up her glass and took a sip of the peppery Cabernet. “I’m kind of at a loss here.” She tried to smile at them but was pretty sure it came out as a weird grimace instead.
And she told them the whole story. From the beginning, through the kiss, including the talks with her mother and Catherine’s boss, to Emily sitting at the bar of Joplin’s for nearly four hours, and ending with the flowers she’d sent on Monday. When she finished, she picked up her wine, took a very healthy mouthful, and waited for her friends to comment, pass judgment, or have her committed. Whatever they decided.
“Wow,” Michelle said, then reached across the table to snag a popper. She glanced in Sandy’s direction. Sandy looked back at her. It was like they were communicating telepathically and Emily didn’t like that she didn’t know what they were saying to each other.
“You like to send the girl flowers,” Sandy commented.
Emily grinned. “She thinks they’re a waste of money, so yeah. I send them.”
“I see.”
“What does that tone mean?” Emily asked, furrowing her brow.
“You’re sending flowers to somebody who doesn’t like them.”
Emily looked to Michelle, who shrugged and bit into a cracker. “I didn’t say she doesn’t like them. I said she thinks they’re a waste of money. I’m pretty sure she likes them a lot. I mean, who doesn’t like to get flowers?” She turned back to Sandy. “If you got flowers every day, would you hate that? When somebody sends you flowers, aren’t you happy?”
Sandy nodded. “I love to get flowers.”
“Exactly. I’m just trying to make her happy. That’s all.”
“Interesting,” Michelle said, then chewed some more as she squinted at Emily.
“What’s interesting?” Emily asked.
“The ‘I’m just trying to make her happy’ statement.”
“Oh.” Emily honestly hadn’t realized she’d said it, but now could see why it might cause eyebrows to raise. “Well, I don’t really mean it like that.” It was lame. She knew it.
“Screw that,” Sandy said, leaning farther across the table. “I want to know how the kiss was.”
Emily felt her face heat up and was powerless to stop it.
“Wait.” Sandy squinted at her, then her face lit up with glee. “Are you blushing? Actually blushing? Oh, my God, you are. You’d better spill all the details right now. And…go.”
Emily was torn. Seriously torn. On the one hand, she wanted to tell them everything, every teeny tiny thought and feeling she’d had during that amazing make-out session with Catherine. After all, these were her very best friends in the world. They knew everything about each other and they were always there for one another. She could tell them anything. At the same time, she felt protective. Protective of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Protective of herself? Protective of Catherine? It was all so confusing and she knew she needed to find some middle ground, something that would satisfy Sandy’s curiosity, but that wouldn’t compromise the personal joy of the moment. It was then that she noticed Michelle was strangely quiet.
“Talk to me,” Emily said to her f
riend.
Michelle shrugged and looked as though she was hesitant. After a beat, she pushed forward. “I just…I see where your mom and Catherine’s boss are coming from.”
“You do?” Sandy asked.
Michelle turned to her. “You don’t own your own business, but I bet if you asked the owner of your salon if she was okay with you hooking up with her biggest client, she might have some…reservations. I do own my own business and I can tell you, I’d have an issue.”
Sandy squinched up her face and looked like she was considering it seriously.
Michelle went on. “So, you have two sides here, neither of which is terribly positive. What if you hook up with Catherine and then things go public? And then other organizations that The Breckenridge Foundation gives money to start talking? ‘Oh, sure, Junebug Farms gets all kinds of money because their accountant is fucking a Breckenridge.’” When Emily opened her mouth to protest, Michelle held up a hand. “I know, I know. That’s harsh. It was meant to be because, let’s face it: people suck. Especially in this age of Twitter and Tumblr and Facebook. Trolls. They exist, and they talk. A lot. Do you really think nobody would have an issue? That nobody would say anything?”
“But—”
“No buts. Sorry. The Internet gives people license to be assholes and believe me, they take it.”
Emily took a slug of wine, not liking this conversation anymore.
“Now,” Michelle went on. “Let’s go the other way. You guys hook up and it falls apart. You crash and burn badly. It could happen. I know it probably wouldn’t. You’re not really a crash-and-burn kind of girl. You’re more the ‘crawl into a hole and whither away quietly’ type. But it could crash and burn, and that’s the point. You guys implode and it’s horrible and you don’t want to have anything to do with her or her shelter anymore. And now maybe the Foundation stops donating to the shelter altogether. Or they have to appoint a different liaison because you can’t stand the sight of the accountant any longer, and that ends up awkward and uncomfortable for everybody. Not to mention unprofessional. That’s the point Catherine’s boss is making.” She paused and looked intently at Emily, then softened her voice. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”
Run To You (Puppy Love Romance Book 2) Page 16
