by Scott, Shae
"Better late than never," I laugh as I take a seat next to her.
"Holy crap, that's strong," she says, as she sips the liquid from the tiny red drink straw. She's so cute with her nose scrunched up like that.
"No wonder everyone comes here," I laugh.
Even though we are sitting in the corner, our table is a constant hub of activity. Everyone wants to talk to Emery. They pepper her with questions and compliments and even though I was worried how she would deal with talk of Nana or questions about Gabe she seems to be taking it all in stride.
"When are you going to let me take you for a spin around the dance floor?" I ask. Finally getting a word in from all of her admirers.
"How about now?" she asks. Her eyes are already looking a little glassy and I'm thinking that she wasn't lying about the strength of the olive margarita.
"I think I should have fed you before I brought you here," I laugh as I take her hand and pull her to her feet.
"I think you're right. Maybe you can convince old Mr. Johnson to scrounge us up one of those specials later."
"I'll see what I can do," I say.
"We've got lots of cakes, too." I glance over to Nana's friend Peggy who had been sitting at our table. "It's Wanda's birthday!" Sure enough, when I glance over to the direction she’s pointing I notice there are about twenty covered pie and cake pans.
Emery shrugs, "I like cake for dinner!"
I pull my half tipsy date into the crowd of two steppers and take the position. One hand on her hip and the other wrapped around hers. We shuffle around the floor in rhythm and it's as if no time has passed at all since the last time we were here. We glide around the floor and the way she looks up at me makes me want to kiss her. And call me crazy, but there is a glint in her eye that says that she's thinking about kissing me too. I've seen that look a thousand times before. It would be so easy to simply lower my lips to hers, to feel the familiar connection. It would be so easy to simply give in to the pull and take what I crave.
"You grew up to be so handsome," she says. The smile tugs at my lips at her words.
"You're drunk," I tease. She laughs, the sound falling from her lips with ease. Fuck, it makes my heart squeeze like a vice in my chest.
"I'm not drunk, you just can't take a compliment," she says as I spin her under my arm and bring her back to my hold.
"Sure I can. Go ahead and tell me more about how sexy I am," I smile.
She rolls her eyes. "I said handsome. Not sexy," she clarifies.
"So you don't think I'm sexy?" I ask, feigning hurt. She laughs again.
"Stop. I mean I like seeing you all grown up. Cole the man. It looks good on you."
"Sexy man?" I try again.
"Is it important to you that I say you are sexy?" she asks and the slight blush in her cheeks spins my blood causing it to rush through my ears.
"Maybe," I admit. I know I shouldn't tease her like this. It's probably all kinds of inappropriate, but I can't help myself.
"Why?" she asks quietly. She's looking up at me with such innocent eyes and I swear it's like I see the battle there between the broken and the spirited.
I give her an easy, but honest smile, "Because, I'm dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room and I want to make sure she stays right here in my arms."
"That's a pretty good reason," she says shyly. The blush on her cheeks makes her even more beautiful. I vow to remind her just how pretty she is every time I get the chance.
We dance through one song and into another, people calling out to us as we pass. Everyone is so happy to see her. That's why I brought her here. She's been so worried about getting out and seeing people. Afraid of the judgement she thinks she'll find or that she thinks she deserves. But I knew better. I remember Emery James and I remember how many people loved her. She just needs to see that. To remember it and feel it deep down. People haven't forgotten her and they sure as hell never stopped loving her.
"I'm thirsty," she says as we dance our way towards the direction of our table.
"Let's take a break. I'll get you some cake," I offer and she nods enthusiastically.
Once we're back at our table I leave her in the company of the table and go to get us some dessert. Knowing Emery, she'll want a little of everything chocolate. I get her a sampling of almost everything and then carry the plate back to where she's indulging old Mr. Potter.
"Come on, Honey. You have to sing one with the band. For old time's sake."
"I'm sorry. I just don't sing much anymore," she explains. She smiling at him, but I can see the way her eyes pinch ever so slightly.
"You have such a beautiful voice. I always look forward to hearing you sing," he pushes. Peggy agrees chiming in with examples of songs that Emery used to sing. Singing is something the people around here associate with Emery. She grew up singing in the church and growing up she would sing anytime you handed her a microphone. Or turned on the radio for that matter. It was a part of her. It was never about being in the spotlight for her though, it was about feeling the lyrics. She told me once that she fell in love with music because it made her feel everything at its deepest level. It was her therapy.
Since she's been back though, I've not heard her hum even a note. She always turns off the radio when we’re in the car so I’ve stopped turning it on. I've wanted to ask her about her aversion to music, but I’ve been afraid of the answer. She's done fine here, but I know there is something going on. The idea of singing clearly makes her uncomfortable. And while I agree with Mr. Potter and Peggy that I miss hearing her sing, I also want her to be happy. So as I set the plate of sweet treats down on the table I change the subject.
"Okay, so who made the peanut butter brownies? I'm going to need someone to make them for me every day." I know it was Peggy who made them. They are her specialty and she beams up at me clapping her hands just like I knew she would. And just like that the talk of Emery singing fades and drifts into recipes and bake sales. I don't miss the grateful glance she gives me. I slide a napkin towards her and lean in, my mouth brushing her ear. "Don't worry, I'll always have your back."
Emery hugs everyone goodbye. Twice. I can barely pull her away as she chats with everyone. I don't think she's talked this much since she's been back. She's talking pies with Martha Wilson and planning a time to pick out a quilt over at Nancy Johnson's. I finally pull her out the door after a ten-minute conversation about her new kitten and mashed potatoes. I'm not sure how those two went together, but I tuned out after they started talking about butter. How it ended up with talk of the cat I'm not sure.
We make it to the car and she's still chattering away. "Did you know that Mrs. Meyer was in a movie when she was young? She told me earlier tonight when I was getting some cake. She said that she left Darling and went to California to become a star. She probably would have kept making movies, but she fell in love with Tom and when they got pregnant she wanted to raise her family here." I help her into the truck as she continues. "I can totally understand that. I mean this town is great. I forgot how great it is.” I shut the door and head over to my side of the truck. I open the door and she's mid-sentence, never having stopped her story. ". . .small, but it has so much heart ya know?"
"I'm glad you like being back here," I say, starting the truck.
"Me too. I didn't think I would. I was so nervous to come home. It's hard, but it's been good for me. I don't think I could have stayed back there in that cold house. Dad was right to get me to come back here. And seeing everyone in there wasn't as hard as I thought it would be."
"They all love you," I agree.
"They loved Nana. I'm a part of her," she says simply.
God, she's beautiful.
"Are you hungry? I think you might need some real food to soak up those margaritas. I'm not sure what they put in them, but they seem to have knocked you straight on your ass," I tease her.
She smiles and it takes over her entire face. "It's the olives," she says confidently.
"Has to
be," I agree. A glance at the dash tells me it's only nine.
I pull the truck up to the drive thru and glance over at Emery, "What sounds good?" I ask her. She bites her lip as she ponders the big menu board behind me like it's the most important decision she's ever made. There are three cars behind us already, but I don't care.
"Can I have some French fries?" she asks.
"You can have anything you want." This makes her smile. I order her a drink and a burger, too, along with some for myself and we finally pull towards the payment window. Another look at Emery reveals an amused grin.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"This. It's late and we're going through the drive thru to eat bad food. Gabe would never do this. I mean like ever. He hated restaurants with drive up windows and he would never approve of eating fries this late. He would have given me that scowl of disappointment he was so good at." She tries to imitate the face, but she's still smiling as she relays the story. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I really hate that guy.
"Well, I don't care what you order or when you order it. And after all of those olives, I think you're gonna need something a little greasy to ease your pain tomorrow."
"Good. Cause I'm really excited about these fries," she announces.
We get the food and I pull into a nearby park. "Moonlit picnic?" I ask.
"Of course!" We used to do this all the time. Grab some food and sit under the night sky and talk for hours. When your kids you don't always want to go home, so you find places to make your own. This was one of ours. Emery scrambles out of the truck with our sodas and I follow her with the bags. She takes a seat at one of the concrete benches and waits as I pull out all of the food and place it on some napkins. The moon is bright tonight and it provides a perfect light.
Emery steals a few fries, impatient. "Man, I forgot how much fun moonlit picnics are. We always had so much fun," she recalls.
"They're the best," I agree.
"I wonder if our names are still here," she ponders, leaving her food to lean over and peer beneath the table top. "Oh my gosh! They are. Look -- Cole loves Emery." She looks up at me and smiles. "It's still there." She settles back on her bench across from me with a satisfied grin.
"Eat your fries," I smile. God, I love seeing her this way. She's so free. Free of worry and doubt. She's enjoying every moment and she's so much like the girl I used to know that I'm afraid to rock the boat and break the spell.
Her silly grin remains as she nibbles on a French fry. Her eyes take in the dark park and her legs swing beneath her. "When we're done here can we go swing?"
"Of course. We can do whatever you want," I say. I'll do anything she asks if it means she'll keep smiling like that.
I let her talk as she eats. She's telling me all about the stories she heard back at The Lodge. I think this might be the most she's talked in one sitting since she's been back. Those margaritas are pretty powerful.
As promised when she's done eating we walk to the swings and each take a seat. They creak from the lack of use. Kids today are more video game than they are city park. It's kind of sad really. If I'm ever lucky enough to have a family I'm going to bring them to the park all the time. One glance at Emery and the child in my fantasy looks just like her. Every family I've ever dared to imagine has had her in it. Even when she was far away with someone else's name. My heart has always clung to her. It never stopped believing she'd come back.
As we sit at the swings I can tell that she's starting to come down off of her tipsy high. Her eyes start to take on that weary look. I should probably get her home before she crashes completely. When I suggest it she agrees and takes the hand I offer to help her out of the swing. I don't let go as we make our way back to the truck. I like the way her skin feels against my own and the way she leans into me as we walk. She's so close I can still smell the light floral smell of her shampoo. It drifts over me like memory, like hope. Having her so close to me has me wanting so much more. I'm falling for her all over again. And despite my warnings to take it slow and not rush her, all I want is to take back what was once mine.
Her heart.
Emery
MY HEAD STILL FEELs a little fuzzy from the margaritas. I'm thankful for the impromptu dinner picnic, because I'm pretty sure if I'd stuck to olives and cake I'd be losing the contents of my stomach by morning. I haven't been this tipsy, okay drunk, in a long time. Well, aside from my self-pity party with the bottle of wine at the old house. But that was no fun.
This was fun.
Fun. It has become such a foreign concept to me that it almost surprises me.
"I had a good time tonight," I say as I stare out the window.
"Good," he says. His voice is so warm it melts across my skin and leaves me feeling like a puddle of melted caramel in my seat. Maybe I should have stopped at that first margarita. How do all of those old people drink like that?
"You take really good care of me, Cole Bennett."
This makes him look over at me and I catch the satisfied smile before he hides it away in favor of his normal calm collected expression. "I think all of those olives have you seeing things through your happy glasses."
I smile at him and my cheeks hurt a little from being out of practice. "I like happy glasses. It makes it so much easier to breathe when you have on happy glasses," I admit.
His brow furrows a little and I can't help but notice that his hand tightens on the steering wheel slightly. "Numbs all of the crap a little?" he asks with a quick glance in my direction before focusing his attention back on the road.
"No. I've been numb. I've lived with that for a very long time. It works well enough. But happy glasses...well, tonight at least, they helped me let go of it for a while.” I hear my own words and I can't help but stop to think about them. It's strange, but they don't feel like they belong to me. But as I sit back in the seat I realize that I mean them. Tonight felt good and it surprises me because it should have been hard. I should be buried under an avalanche of painful memories of Nana and dealing with the insurmountable grief that has always threatened me. Instead, I feel closer to her than I have in years. It's almost like she is sitting in this truck with us and it feels amazing.
I never would have gone to The Lodge if it hadn't been for Cole. "I think it's you. You give me the happy glasses." I reason as I study his profile. His mouth twitches up at the side, but he doesn't look at me. He doesn't even acknowledge my observation. And the fact that he doesn't makes me like him even more than I already did.
Cole Bennett is completely different than anyone else I've ever known. It's an unassuming kindness that wraps itself around you and makes you forget to breathe. Kind isn't supposed to be so sexy. Ask any girl who has fallen in love with a bad boy. But it is. It's sexier and more swoon worthy than any other trait. Why would a girl fall for someone who only gives half of themselves? Someone who makes you doubt every decision. Doubt your own worth? Why would you choose questions over clarity? Chaos over safety? Being someone's option over someone's priority? Why had I?
I sigh at the realization as we pull into my driveway. Cole jumps out and rounds the truck to open my door. See? Kind. Gabe would have been halfway inside by now.
I frown at his memory and push it aside as Cole helps me jump to the ground. "Why do you have such a tall truck?" I ask suddenly.
He laughs, "I'm a tall guy." I look up at him, my neck tilted back in an exaggerated way.
"You are really tall," I agree.
He laughs again and then tugs at my hand as we walk to the porch steps.
Cole takes the keys from me after patiently waiting for me to successfully dig them from my purse. He gives me a small smile before turning to the door. I follow close behind him, taking in his broad shoulders and the curve of his back. My eyes travel down his body all the way to his ass and I giggle at the sudden need to squeeze it. He glances over his shoulder at me and I refrain.
Once we are inside I follow him to the kitchen. I'm not sure why I'm following
him around, but he looks like he has a purpose as he moves through the house. I lean against the island and watch as he opens the refrigerator door. I prop my elbows on the counter and clasp my hands together, using them to rest my chin.
The soft dreamlike feeling that surrounds me tells me I might be a touch more intoxicated than I thought. Cole finds what he's looking for and comes back to me carrying a bottle of water. I smile at the smirk that tugs at his lips.
He has really nice lips.
"Here, drink this," he instructs, unscrewing the lid and handing over the bottle. I do as he says. He seems to know what he's talking about. After all, I trusted him tonight and look how that turned out.
He watches me as I swallow the cold liquid. It stings a little against the heat that seems to be coursing through my body. I can't help but feel fascinated at the way his jaw tenses. Like he's grinding his teeth. If he's not careful he's going to give himself a headache. I lower the bottle of water intent on telling him just that, but he steps closer to me and I forget the words that were sitting on my tongue.
I can't read his expression. But the intensity in his eyes seems to sober me up a little. It's almost as if there is a battle raging inside him. I only recognize it because I feel the same one wreaking havoc inside myself.
I won't lie, it feels good to see it reflected back at me. It's also scary. Because I know that while I've been siding with caution all this time, tonight I'm rooting for the reckless.
I wonder which side he's rooting for. Moreover, I wonder which side will win.
What would happen if we both chose reckless?
He takes another step forward and my breath catches. I squeeze the bottle in my hands and the sharp crinkling of plastic cuts through the air. I feel his fingers across my own as he takes the bottle from me and sets it down on the counter.
I shift from foot to foot under the weight of his stare. It's making me uneasy, pulling at me like a magnet.
"How are you feeling?" he asks. His voice sounds rough. Masculine. Like gravel. I swallow hard before answering, because the sound of his voice alone sends a shiver through my body. The alcohol has cracked the guarded facade and it's letting in feelings I'm pretty sure that I'm not ready for. Feelings I'm not allowed to have. Not now. Not yet.
