At Last

by Addison Fox

  Beyond their initial conversation, Emma still hadn’t confided much about her life. Her comments about the time in Chicago and her marriage were usually more abstract than defined.

  Bad marriage.

  Unsupportive husband.

  Ugly divorce.

  They were the broad strokes that made up her past, but the specifics—the things she’d lived through—had remained buried.

  None of your business, Kelley.

  The dumpster lid came down with a thud, an effective punctuation point to all the reasons he didn’t need to probe Emma about her past. Sleeping with her didn’t give him a right to pry into her past.

  Even if he’d spilled his guts the first chance he got.

  He’d put much of it out of his mind, but now that he thought about it, he had shared more than he’d intended. A light layer of grease swirled through his stomach at the remembered conversation. His father’s addiction. Discovering sports. Finding Landon and Fender, and, later, Mom.

  He’d shared all of it. But what did he know about her?

  Nothing.

  The thought slapped him upside the head as he wended his way back down the alley and through the back door of the End Zone.

  Was he really that fuckstruck? He’d never told anyone but his brothers about his father. He’d certainly never told a woman he was dating. So why had he told Emma?

  To be fair, she hadn’t pushed. She’d asked, but she hadn’t pushed. And he’d sung like the proverbial canary.

  The giggles broke through his mental fuckwittery a split second before he recognized the two women falling over themselves in the hallway to his office.

  “Can I help you?”

  “We hope so.” They giggled again and Nick tried to place them. Neither had approached the bar, but now that he got a second look, he remembered them holed up in a two-top by the door for most of the evening. A bottle of Chardonnay followed by a bottle of Pinot.

  “This is a private area back here.”

  “Your office is back here.” One of the women moved up into his chest, eyes hazed with drink as she dragged her forefinger over the neck of his T-shirt. “We’re yours for the asking tonight. A matched pair, if you get my meaning.”

  “Getting” their innuendo wasn’t his biggest issue at the moment, Nick thought wryly.

  “I’d like you to leave.” He took the hand tracing his chest and gently removed it from his body. “Now.”

  “But we planned for this,” the other one piped up. “Got new outfits and everything.”

  The woman’s hands returned to his chest, her lips in a full-on pout. Her friend joined her, the two of them crowding him against the wall.

  “I’m not sure why you thought you’d find it here.”

  “You’ve got a reputation around town. Big football player with a big cock—”

  “What’s going on back here?”

  Nick glanced in the direction of the voice. Emma’s eyes were narrowed and her raised tone practically echoed off the walls. The more brazen of the two women barely tossed her a look, hollering an order over her shoulder. “Get out of here.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Emma pulled the easier mark off of him, her tone firm, but something gentling in her eyes. “How much did you drink tonight?”

  “A few bottles of wine.”

  Landon came around the corner, his smile amping up as he caught sight of Nick’s predicament. “Look at you.”

  “L, could you help us?”

  His brother folded his arms and leaned on the opposite wall. “You look like you’ve got things well in hand.”

  “Landon!”

  When the first woman Emma had pulled away from Nick turned to take a swing, Landon leaped into action. He moved the woman away from Emma, his hold firm but gentle as he escorted her down the hallway. The other woman—the one still glued to Nick’s chest—seemed to have a change of heart. Tears replaced the heat in her words, and she crumpled in his arms.

  With a whimpered “I’m sorry,” she burst into an impressive round of drunk tears.

  “What did you do to them?” Emma shook her head as Nick walked the woman down the hallway, following his brother.

  Nick shrugged. “Refused a threesome.”

  At the mention of a threesome, Landon’s whistle rang out loud and low. As soon as they rounded the corner into the bar, he waved over his friends. In moments, the three of them had the women in hand, walking them to the exit and leaving Nick alone with Emma.

  “Smooth, Kelley. I thought you were taking the garbage out.”

  “I was.”

  “Were they in the dumpster? Lying in wait?”

  Since he saw more humor than anger, Nick attempted to play his luck. “They ambushed me in the hallway in front of my office.”

  “Your restraint is impressive. There are men all over Brooklyn weeping for what you just sent home in a cab.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Vandenburg. They weren’t twins.”

  When she only smiled up at him, he pulled her into his arms and leaned in for a kiss. Nick didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Shifting just before he laid his mouth on hers, she lifted her lips to his ears. “It’s a good thing I came along when I did.”

  She had no idea just how wonderful it was she’d come along.

  Sunday meals had been a tradition for as long as Nick could remember. Sunday dinner or Sunday brunch, his mother changed it up at her whim, but there was always a meal. For the long weekend, she’d chosen brunch. And had texted a delicately worded invitation for him to bring Emma.

  Still shaken from the direction of his thoughts the night before, he’d sought out Fender for a quick trip to the gym or a run through the park. While he wasn’t interested in baring his soul, he could probably get out a few sweaty grunts that his brother would easily interpret. But when Fender had texted back saying he was at the shop, Nick had headed over, curious about what had his brother working on a holiday weekend.

  “Fender!”

  His brother’s voice was muted where he sprawled under an F-150. “Under here! Out in a sec!”

  Nick made himself at home, two Cokes in hand from the small fridge Fender kept near an old, beat-up sofa that was likely older than they were. He walked one over to Fender when his brother slid out from beneath the gleaming silver truck. “Who the hell drives an F-150 in Brooklyn?”

  Fender climbed off the rolling bed and stood, wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “Someone who hates parallel parking and has the cheese to pay for garage parking?”

  “Why are you fixing it at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning?”

  “Because it’s here.” Fender popped the Coke and took a long swig, his throat working around the drink.

  “Thought you were headed to Belmont this weekend. What changed your mind?”

  “Nothing. Just changed my mind.”

  His brother was known for his mercurial moods, but even as recently as the game on Thursday, Fender was waxing poetic about race day. “Because romancing the underside of this monstrosity is preferable to a luxury suite with the Morton brothers? Hosts who pay for the party, I might add.”

  “Guess so.”

  Nick shrugged and left it alone. If something was bugging his brother, he’d come out with it eventually. And if he’d simply changed his mind, then that was all it was.

  “Something’s wrong with Mom.”

  It looked like he had his answer.

  Nick searched Fender’s expression for any hint, any clue, that their mother was hurt, or worse. “Has something else happened? Every time I ask her if she’s OK, she shrugs it off.”

  “You believe her?”

  “No.” Nick shook his head. “No, I don’t. And the whole borough thing is weird. She seemed so gung ho, even a few weeks ago. She’s taken part in some exercises to see if people would be receptive. I don’t know what’s holding her back all of a sudden.”

&
nbsp; “She swore she’s not sick, and I’ll take her at her word.” Fender toed the rolling bed to the front end of the truck. “But I still want to know what’s going on with her.”

  “So we ask her after breakfast. The three of us can wear her down.”

  “You bringing Emma?”

  “Yeah. I mean I invited her. And Mom invited her so . . .”

  Nick’s sudden fixation with his drink made Fender do a double take. “You nailed her.”

  Anger flowed up, swift as a geyser, at the remark. “Fend—”

  Fender held up a hand, stilling the anger he already saw erupting. “I take back the rude male banter. But Emma V—seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  And it was serious. Beyond anything that made a lick of sense, somewhere between the prior Friday’s prim sweater set and that very morning, when he’d kissed her awake, things had changed.

  “I knew her ex-husband.”

  Whatever Nick was expecting on the heels of the Fender’s last question, that wasn’t it. “You did?”

  “Briefly. Met him early on, when they were dating. Before they moved to Chicago. He’s an asshole.”

  “On principle? Or because he did a number on Emma?”

  “Both. He’s slick. The one with the perfect hair and the perfect teeth and all that.”

  “Not your usual set for a weekend barbeque.”

  Which was somewhat inaccurate, because his brother usually fit wherever he was put. A natural chameleon, Fender could talk shop with the boys and argue the latest tax loopholes with Wall Street execs.

  “We were at the same party. Bradley joined a few of us playing horseshoes. He was charming enough, was even a good loser, but it was clear he’s always got an angle. Shortly after that he screwed Jerry Bailey over a real-estate deal in Brooklyn Heights.”

  “Then Emma’s well rid of him.”

  “No doubt. But I also have no doubt he hurt her. Did a number on her.” Fender hesitated. “Look. It’s just . . . be careful, Nick. She’s different.”

  “You think I don’t know that? Hell.” Nick crumpled his empty soda can and tossed it across the bay. “She’s so fucking different. That’s half the damn problem.”

  “She stands in the way of you getting the Unity.”

  “That’s not a part of this.”

  “Come on, man. How can it not be a part of this?” Fender waited a beat before pushing. “Unless you’re willing to walk away.”

  “From which?”

  “Since you had to ask, I’d say that’s your problem, right there.”

  Fender’s parting blow still haunted Nick a few hours later, as he escorted Emma up the front steps to his mother’s house. He’d sworn to himself he wasn’t letting the Unity get in the way of enjoying Emma’s company, but it hadn’t even been forty-eight hours since they’d slept together, and thoughts of the Unity were already clouding his head.

  Along with the reality that he didn’t know anything about her.

  Which was a load of bullshit, since he knew how she smelled and how she tasted, and he even knew she didn’t make a big deal about misguided bar patrons looking to get it on with the bar owner. But none of those things were answers to her past.

  And for some inexplicable reason, that’s what he really wanted to know.

  Fender’s comments about her ex-husband had stuck some sort of burr in his ass. Football had taken him away from Park Heights after high school, and he’d missed several years’ worth of local gossip. Fender’s assessment of asshole Cole, as Nick had come to think of him, wasn’t a ringing endorsement.

  The scent of rain hovered in the air—a serious departure from the near-perfect weather they’d enjoyed for a week—and Nick couldn’t quite deny the match for his mood.

  “Who’s going to be here today?” Emma juggled a tray of scones she’d made while he went home to change and then on over to see Fender, and she kept peeking down at the plastic-wrapped feast.

  “Not enough people to eat the three dozen scones you made.”

  “I didn’t know what people liked, so I made different kinds.”

  “I thought you were working up that shandy recipe this morning.”

  “I did that, too.”

  He could only stare at her as he dug his key out of his pocket. “You finished it?”

  “I made notes, but it’ll refine in test. I’ll start working on it this week.”

  Nick flipped the lock and pushed open the door. The woman made scones and thought up beer recipes. She was his complete and absolute match in bed. And she had the face of an angel. Why did he care if she had a shitty divorce or her ex-husband was an ass hat? It wasn’t any of his business anyway.

  Maybe if he kept repeating it to himself, the truth would sink in.

  In the meantime, he needed to protect himself from getting too close. He’d already begun thinking of a backup plan once he did secure the contract, a clear deviation from his initial goal of buying the Unity outright and taking over.

  But how the hell was he supposed to ignore how good they were together?

  He’d be a fool to throw that away.

  Quite unexpectedly, they’d managed to spend the entire weekend together. Conversation had drifted from topic to topic, one easier than the next. He’d listened in rapt fascination when she detailed her plans for a new stout, that shandy for the following summer, and a marketing opportunity to take advantage of their renewed partnership with the Kings.

  She understood the business in a way he didn’t. While he easily contributed from a bar-owner’s perspective—sharing how he ordered, what he put on special, and how he built his tap line—she understood how to design product to various tastes. Hell, they’d spent twenty minutes arguing the merits of a chocolate stout for the Unity’s big fall push.

  Emma was smart and savvy, and he’d be happy to keep her on no matter the ownership structure.

  Until it was time for both of them to move on from the personal.

  The thought struck hard and he nearly dropped his keys as he fished them from his pocket.

  Move on?

  He had always been good at keeping his options open, making sure he had an exit strategy in his prior relationships. Which was the opposite of how he ran his life. He had plans. Goals. And he’d always assumed getting tied down would get in the way.

  So whatever it was they were doing would eventually run its course. It had to. It always had before.

  His mother greeted them in the front room, effectively changing the direction of his thoughts, but as he followed her and Emma to the kitchen, he couldn’t shake the dour mood or the edgy anxiety that had crept into him. Whatever he and Emma were doing was fun and sexy and mutually enjoyable. But it wasn’t love, or anything that looked like commitment. She hadn’t pressed for something permanent, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to.

  Which put them right back to square one. Because he wanted the Unity. And when things eventually burned out with Emma, there was no way the two of them were going to be very good at working together.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Whatever she’d expected, brunch on Cherry Street was beyond Emma’s wildest imaginings. The house was near to bursting with people and she had the momentary concern that three dozen scones—despite Nick’s admonishment—really weren’t enough.

  Olivia manned an omelet line in the kitchen while Landon handled bacon, sausage, and ham steaks, spread between the stove and oven. Fender managed a waffle station, his green eyes alight with glee, a ready tease on his lips when Mrs. W. snagged the whipped cream.

  As the older woman disappeared back out to the dining room, the whipped cream in hand, Emma leaned in to give Fender a quick kiss on the cheek. The scratch of his day-old stubble tickled her cheek, and she thought, not for the first time, that he managed the look of the bad boy with simple ease.

  “How many people are here?”

  “About twenty.” He flipped the sophisticated waffle maker over with the mark of experience. “M
om likes a crowd on Sunday.”

  As if to punctuate his point, Louisa flitted over with a mug of coffee in hand and passed it to Emma. “For you, dear. And the scones look amazing. They’re a hit out in the dining room.”

  “Are you sure I brought enough?”

  Louisa waved a hand, her gaze distracted through her smile. “There’s plenty. We’re not going to run out of food.”

  Fender shook his head when his mother flitted on to the dining room. “Heard you had an interesting night last night. Some unexpected guests at the End Zone?”

  Emma fought the blush at the remembered moments after Nick and Landon had escorted those two women away from his office, but only nodded. “Nick had a few admirers.”

  “Nick usually does.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Often enough. Sometimes people want a piece of our local celebrity. It’s not usually that aggressive or overt, though.”

  Emma suspected that was true enough, but for some reason it ruffled her. She watched as Fender plated the completed waffle and then scooped out batter for a new one. His comment had been honest, and she didn’t sense any malice in his words. But it was one more proof point of just how different her life was from Nick’s.

  Promising to return for her own waffle, Emma headed for the dining room. A buffet line had formed at the sideboard, and the time would allow her to gather her thoughts. Before she could grab a plate, she caught sight of Louisa slipping through the front door.

  Leaving her own party?

  Emma took a plate from the sideboard, but something in the set of Louisa’s shoulders nagged at her, along with that distracted smile in the kitchen. She had no idea why, but a sense of defeat pervaded the woman’s demeanor. Before she realized what she was doing, Emma settled her plate back on the table and headed for the door.

  Not your business, not your business, not your business.

  Even as the words echoed over and over in her mind, Emma went with her gut and left the house. Louisa was nowhere in sight, so Emma went down the steps, glancing left and right until she caught sight of Nick’s mother, halfway down the block.

  “Louisa!”

  Nick’s mother hesitated before she turned. She offered up a small wave, but something in the motion was false. Emma rushed after her. As she got closer, she could see the raw panic covering Louisa’s face, but it was the unmistakable sheen of tears that caught her up short.