by Anna Paige
Just when I thought she couldn’t blush any deeper. She ignored my question and fired off another one of her own. “If you have a concert Thanksgiving night, when do you celebrate with your families?”
I shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal. “Usually that Saturday or Sunday, depending on if we have interviews or appearances scheduled. Sometimes they have us booked to do late-night shows the next couple of nights.”
“And you all just scatter afterward to be with your families?”
I went back to staring at my menu. “No. I usually celebrate with Kade and Kane at their mom’s. Some years Jared joins us, as well. Lennox always heads home to visit his folks, though.”
“Oh,” she muttered, clearly thrown for a moment. Her voice was softer when she continued. “I don’t celebrate with my family either. I’ve spent Thanksgiving with my best friend Dana for as long as I can remember.”
“Here in the city or…?”
“Yeah. Usually at my place, since her landlord would shit a brick over my bringing Dammit along for the day. He’s got to have his turkey, too, so we decided my apartment is a better setting.”
I laughed at the fleeting mental image of a dog sitting at the table with a napkin tied around its neck. It probably wasn’t far from the truth, judging by how lovingly she talked about the animal. “I’m sure Dammit appreciates the consideration.”
She giggled and set her menu aside, watching as the waiter approached with our drinks. When he’d presented her with her mojito and me with my draft beer, he gave us an expectant look.
I ordered their flat iron steak and fried potatoes while she weighed her options. Finally, she handed the waiter her menu and—in the thickest southern accent I’d ever heard—ordered the chicken and dumplings. Only, she pronounced it cheekin and dumplins as she bumped my knee with hers under the table.
I busted up laughing as soon as the waiter left, the confounded look on his face only amplifying the hilarity of the moment.
“There’s my southern belle.” I chuckled and gave her a wink.
She just sipped her mojito and winked right back. “Happy to oblige.”
Raising my beer in a little salute, I watched her a moment. “Your turn to talk now; tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell, certainly nothing as interesting as your life.” She tried to shrug it off.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Okay,” she acquiesced, “but I warned you. I’m boring.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
She smirked like she was sure she was about to prove me wrong. “Only child. Art nerd. No artistic talent of my own, sadly, but I love seeing what other people create so I got liberal arts and business degrees from Vanderbilt and moved to New York because this is where the art scene is. The Santoro Gallery had only been open two years when I was hired on. It’s a small gallery, but it’s my dream job, so I’m pretty damn content there, at least for now.”
She gave an exaggerated yawn and quirked a brow at me. “See? Not exactly edge of your seat stuff, is it?”
I smirked because she wasn’t changing my assertion that quickly. “What do you do for fun?”
“Hang out with Dana—my best friend—and Dammit, go on walks, and I cook. A lot.”
I raised my brows and found myself looking her over.
She snorted. “I didn’t say I eat a lot. I just like to cook. It’s what I’ve always done to self-soothe, plus I get to feed the people in my life, and that’s one of my favorite things.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. If I feed you, you know I care.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell Arthur that, though. He thinks I just can’t measure out recipes and end up making too much. That’s the only way I could trick him into letting me feed him. Stubborn, that one.”
“And gullible. Who can’t divide up a recipe to prepare it for one person?”
“No one. Except when dealing with pasta. I swear, I really can’t measure that stuff. I think I’m cooking enough for two meals and end up with an enormous vat of spaghetti in my fridge.”
We both chuckled at that. “Tell me what you mean by ‘self-soothe.’ I’m not familiar with that term.” I knew I’d heard it somewhere but I couldn’t put my finger on the source.
She toyed with the straw in her glass, looking thoughtful. “It’s my way of saying cooking is how I deal with stress or anxiety. Whatever’s bothering me, cooking makes me feel better about it somehow.”
I realized where I knew the phrase from just as the waiter brought our food. It was a parenting term, something about letting a baby or child comfort themselves instead of intervening.
How odd for her to use that term to describe why she found comfort preparing food.
I watched her dig into her cheekin and dumplins, feeling like another piece of the Emily attraction puzzle just clicked into place, even if I wasn’t quite sure what it meant yet.
Chapter Eight
Ethan
We lingered long after the food was done, neither of us making any move to leave. The conversation flowed easily, and I was picking up little bits of information as we went along.
The great thing about Emily was she didn’t seem inclined to kiss my ass. Apart from our initial meeting, where she was completely caught off guard, she seemed to take my presence—and attached level of notoriety—in stride.
She talked to me like I was anyone else, which was incredibly refreshing. We didn’t even talk about art very much, apart from her recounting for me exactly how many calls they’d been getting from potential buyers.
We briefly discussed the show, but didn’t dwell on the specifics.
Mostly, we talked about inconsequential things, which made sussing out information even harder.
By the time we grudgingly gave up our table, I knew just enough about Emily Westin to keep me wanting more.
And it wasn’t by design. She wasn’t deliberately hiding anything as far as I could tell; she just didn’t seem to have any inclination to talk about herself.
I could relate to that, too.
Still, something in her eyes when she spoke sometimes made me think maybe I knew what drew her to my artwork.
The same thing that drove me to create it.
Pain.
Despair.
Loneliness.
Longing.
Loss.
I saw all those things in Emily, and she recognized those things in my work, maybe on a totally subconscious level.
It was as if all the raw emotion I’d poured into those canvases had manifested themselves into a person.
That person was Emily.
But it was also me.
True to my word, I took Emily for coffee. We grabbed it to go, and I managed to snare a parking spot a few blocks from the gallery, so we took our coffees and strolled the streets a while, talking and people-watching between sips.
“This must be a far cry from walking in Nashville.” I commented, looking around at the busy sidewalks.
“I grew up just outside Nashville, in Madison, but even when I hung out in downtown Nashville, there were never this many people.” She thought for a second and smiled. “You should have seen me when I first moved here. I was so freaked out I thought about going back to Tennessee.”
“What made you stay?”
“I met Dana. She was a total lifesaver. Now, this feels more like home than Madison ever did. I haven’t been back once since I moved here.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about her family, but I wouldn’t know how to answer questions about my own, so I held off.
“You seem like a fairly adaptable person.”
“I roll with the punches, for the most part.” She cut her eyes at me. “Of course, sometimes I get thrown for a loop.”
I nodded, feeling a little guilty. “You still recovered more quickly than most people would have. And I’m sorry for the way I went about revealing my identity. I could have found a less…jarring way to tell you.”
/> “You totally did it on purpose—don’t bullshit me.”
I gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I did.”
She bumped my arm with her elbow. “Ass.”
“See? Totally adaptable. You’re not intimidated by me at all, are you?”
“Maybe if you were in your hoodie and shades, stalking me through an alley somewhere…”
I scoffed. “You’d probably put me on my ass.”
“No probably about it,” she countered confidently. “But there would be a second of intimidation…right before I went all Ronda Rousey and kicked the crap out of you.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help joining her.
Talking to her was so easy. It was the most comfortable I’d been with a woman in…ever.
Instead of going directly to the gallery, we made a big loop around the adjacent two blocks and wound up back at my car. I motioned to it as I tossed our cups in a nearby trash can. “Hop in, I’ll drive you back.”
“I’m not about to argue. I’m kind of crushing on those heated seats.”
“Shit, are you cold? I just assumed—”
She held up a hand. “I’m fine. This weather doesn’t faze me. Adaptable, remember? But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a good bun warmer now and again.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Why else would someone drop a hundred grand on a car?”
We were both laughing as I helped her inside.
Sooner than I would have liked, I was pulling to the curb in front of the gallery. I kept the engine running, and we sat there, quietly stealing glances at one another for a while.
Eventually, she sighed and said, “Well, I guess I better get back. I can’t thank you enough for lunch. The food was amazing, as was the company.”
She reached for the door handle.
“Can I call you sometime?” I blurted. “Not for gallery stuff, just to talk. Or we can text, if you’re one of those people who doesn’t do phone calls.” Shit, that was smooth. If Jared could have heard that he’d bust a damn gut laughing.
She was beaming when she turned and held out her hand for my phone. I unlocked it and gave it to her, still feeling like an idiot for my ridiculously inept approach.
Once she’d added her contact info, she handed it back and leaned across the console to kiss my cheek.
I could have turned in time to sneak a real kiss instead, but I let her take the lead. I liked the sweetness of the gesture. I liked the shy way she pulled back and averted her gaze while she gathered her purse from the floorboard.
I liked her, period.
When she said goodbye and closed the door, I sat there for a minute, just focusing on the slight tingle where her lips had brushed my cheek.
Sometimes the smallest gestures make the biggest impact.
I smiled all the way to the airport.
Chapter Nine
Emily
Ethan texted me the next day, and we ended up chatting back and forth the whole afternoon. He had a show that night, but with the time difference, we were still able to text right up until nearly time for bed—at least for me.
The next day, we were back at it again.
And the next.
And the next.
It started out with us teasing and sending jokes back and forth but a few times we got a little…racy. Nothing graphic, just a comment here and there that had my pulse buzzing.
It was fun and flirty, but in a ‘friends who share the same sense of humor’ kind of way. At least for the most part.
Sometimes one of us would say something unintentionally suggestive, and the other would just send a smirking emoji in response. We didn’t devolve into sexting or anything, but that was what made it so fun.
It was good old-fashioned PG flirting.
And I was having the time of my life.
Dana worked double shifts for the next two freaking weeks, so I had a lot of free time on my hands. I missed her, but talking to Ethan helped keep me busy, so I didn’t think about it as much.
She and I still texted or talked every day, but it was rushed, and she was so tired. Her boss was such a jackass. Sure, she was making bank but she was killing herself to do it.
I wanted to go to the bar and see her but knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. For one, I’d probably throat-punch her manager on sight. And two, Dana had a ridiculously protective nature when it came to me in bars, so we’d agreed I wouldn’t visit her at work. Someone slipped something into my drink about a month after she and I started hanging out, and she felt responsible because she was supposed to be watching it while I went to the bathroom, even though I didn’t blame her.
People were shady as hell, and shit happened, but she wouldn’t let it go.
Other than being out of it all night after she dragged me home, nothing had come of it, and I was fine. But I didn’t go to bars or clubs anymore. Especially the one she worked in, because she’d only get in trouble for hovering over me all night instead of working.
With the new manager already riding her ass, there was no way I was chancing a visit during one of her shifts.
Hopefully, she’d get some free time soon, and we could slip away for lunch. Maybe even to that place Ethan took me. I wanted to check out the rest of their offerings, maybe try to make my own versions of their stuff.
I liked recreating food, tweaking recipes and making them my own.
My phone chirped from its spot on the end table and I smiled. I always smiled when it chirped now, because I knew it was probably Ethan.
I grabbed the phone and settled into the corner of the couch as Dammit jumped up to snuggle against me.
Nope, not Ethan.
Dana, which still made me smile.
Dana: I’m on break. Call me.
She picked up on the first ring. “Hey, chicky.”
“Hey. How long is your break? Can we sneak off for a bite?”
She snorted. “Ten minutes. Shari’s covering for me. We’re operating with a skeleton crew here, so we’re lucky to squeeze out five minutes to piss most days, but I had to call, so I snuck out back.”
I frowned, my hand pausing halfway through scratching Dammit’s belly. “Why? Everything okay?”
“Not exactly. The new schedule came out this morning. The asshat didn’t give me the day off like I requested. I talked to him—actually I threw a fit—but he’s not budging. He really can’t. He’s going out of town, looking at another bar the owners might buy. If you ask me, the owners need to worry about staffing this bar before they go buying another one. Dumbasses.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Anyway, Shari’s taking over as manager while he’s out of town, and that means I’m the only one who can work the bar.”
My stomach dropped, but I was determined not to let her know it. “It’s okay, girl. I understand.”
“It’s not okay. Not even close.”
“It’ll be fine.”
She sounded near tears. “I know you’ll be fine, you always are, but I’m supposed to be there. At least it’s not a double shift. We can still salvage dinner, and I’ll still bake the cake, but our morning and afternoon plans are fucked now.”
“The cake is the best part, anyway. Don’t stress it. Maybe I’ll work, too. I’m supposed to be off, but I can go in and find something to keep busy until time to meet up.”
Ethan was right about one thing—I was adaptable. I’d make it work somehow, because if I didn’t, Dana would blame herself.
And I wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Get back to work before anyone notices you’re gone. Call me later. And be sure to tell the asshat you’re taking a bottle from the bar as restitution for thwarting your plans.”
She chuckled, sounding marginally better. “I’ll make it an expensive one.”
“I knew you would.”
I hung up and let out a long sigh.
I’d told her I’d be okay.
Time to adapt until it was the fucking truth.
I headed for the kitchen to cook my disappointment
away.
Chapter Ten
Ethan
“You’ve been burning up someone’s phone lately.” Aubrey commented, giving me a sly smile.
“Nope. Just hooked on a new game,” I lied.
Jared coughed from the other side of the room but didn’t contradict me.
She rolled her eyes, looking disappointed. “You’re as bad as Lennox. If he’s not playing games on his phone, he’s on the Xbox.”
“We’re all big kids, what can I say?”
“You don’t have to tell me. I’ve toured with you guys.”
“You love us, don’t even try it.” Kane stepped into the room and kissed her on the cheek. “Especially me.”
“You overestimate my affection for you, Mr. Edenfield,” she shot back playfully.
“No, I don’t. And you know it. I’m your favorite.”
She gave him an exasperated look and cut her eyes to the rest of us.
Oh, for God’s sake. “We all know Kane’s your best friend, so you can stop looking over here like we’re gonna pout about it. It’s cool. We still love you, even if you have shitty taste in friends.”
Lenn cut in, “Like your taste is any better. You picked Jared over me, so…”
“We’d all pick Jared over you, idiot.” Kade walked in and slapped Aubrey on the ass. “Can we focus, please? I’d like to get this interview over with and hit the hot tub with my wife.”
I was ready to finish up, too, so I could call Emily. We’d been texting all day, and something was off in the way she responded. I wanted to get her on the phone, so I could figure out what was up.
“One more obligation after this, and we have three days to recoup before it all starts up again.” Kane sounded as worn out as I felt.
“Why is it that three free days feels like a vacation?” Lenn asked no one in particular.
He was met with a round of non-committal grunts because we all knew why. It was just our life. Had been for a damn decade.
But some days it felt like a century.
I loved what I did, so did the rest of the guys, but we were all ready for a break. We needed one, and as luck would have it, one was coming up.
