Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After)

by Stephanie Rowe

  "I told them," announced a voice from the kitchen.

  Emma started to smile. She knew that voice. Everyone in the small Maine town of Birch Crossing knew that voice. "Eppie?"

  "Of course it's me," the gravelly old voice called out. "Who else would it be? I wouldn't miss a party with my girls!"

  A feeling of warmth began to seep through Emma's sadness over the divorce as Astrid handed her a glass of champagne. She hadn't thought of calling her friends, but now that she was with them, it felt good. Right. "And how did you know, Eppie?"

  "Oh, I was at the post office today chatting with Rick, our oh-so-handsome postman. He had to run down the street for a moment, so I filled in at the counter for a few minutes. I happened to be putting your mail away and saw the return address, and I knew exactly what it was." In from the kitchen strode Eppie Orlowe, the seventy-something gossipmonger who ruled Birch Crossing. She tapped the side of her head, her fuchsia and violet beret sliding dangerously to the side on her gray hair. "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I can't figure things out."

  Emma started to laugh at the sight of Eppie and her outrageous hat. There was no privacy in Birch Crossing if Eppie was around. "Well, that explains why the envelope had been re-taped shut."

  Eppie gave her an innocent blink. "What? You're accusing me of opening your mail? You youngsters are so impertinent." She set a tray of brownies topped with chocolate-dipped strawberries on the dining table, which Emma noticed had been set with a beautiful lace table cloth and the new china that she'd helped Astrid pick out for her wedding six months ago. "I laced all of these with generous amounts of my finest rum. Chocolate and alcohol are important for days like this. It's not every day a woman gets liberated to go forth and live the rest of her life the way she sees fit."

  "Here you go." Astrid handed a glass of champagne to Clare, and then gave a glass to Eppie. "Happy Liberation Day, Emma."

  "Happy Liberation Day," Clare and Eppie repeated, raising their glasses.

  As Emma looked around at her dear friends, suddenly being divorced didn't seem so lonely anymore. With her friends around her, she could get through anything, right? For the first time since she'd received the envelope officially freeing her from Preston Hayes, she smiled. "Thank you, my darlings," she teased as she raised her glass. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather celebrate a failed marriage with than you guys. Cheers!"

  "Cheers!"

  The champagne was dry and bubbly, absolutely perfect, and Emma grinned as the girls led her to the table, where a few gift bags were set out. "You guys didn't have to do this," she protested as Astrid held out the chair for her.

  "Of course we did." Astrid sat down next to her, her brown eyes suddenly serious. "Both Clare and I know what it's like to become single after you thought you'd never be single again."

  "As do I," Eppie chimed in as she wedged her bottom into the chair at the head of the table. "I thought George would outlast me, but the poor dear couldn't keep up with me in the end. It's tough to be as much of a hot ticket as I am, I'll tell you that right now."

  Emma smiled, knowing full well that Eppie had been dearly in love with her husband, despite the fact she had adjusted remarkably well to becoming single in her sixties.

  "Hey." Astrid touched her hand, drawing her attention back. "My point is that even when the guy isn't the right guy and you're better off without him, it's still pretty terrifying to be on your own when you thought you were set for life."

  Emma's throat tightened at Astrid's empathy. "It's fine—"

  "No, it's not." Clare smiled, her eyes soft with understanding. "You don't ever have to admit it to us, but we've both been there, so we know. Anytime you're feeling down, just say you need a hug, and we'll be there for you. We'll know what it's about."

  Emma blinked hard several times, not quite able to say the words she wanted to say through the tightness in her throat. So she simply nodded.

  Astrid put her arm around Emma and squeezed gently. "And just remember, men come and go, but girls are forever."

  "Men come way too fast actually," Eppie said. "Most of them need to learn to slow it down a bit, you know?"

  Emma burst out laughing at Eppie's outrageous comment. "Eppie!"

  "What? You think I haven't been around?" Eppie picked up her champagne glass and waggled it at them. "I know you girls talk about sex when I'm not around, and I want in. I can't go around having proper conversations all the time, you know." Then she leaned forward, her eyes piercing as she turned serious. "You listen to me, Emma. You married a bad man, but all men aren't like that. You've been like a damn nun since you moved back to town, and it's time for that to end, or you're going to shrivel up and die like an old raisin."

  Emma stiffened. "I'm not a raisin, Eppie."

  "No, not yet. But you've got that look in your eye that says you'd rather get old and wrinkly than ever let another man near you. It's not healthy. Women need men. It's the way we're built."

  "Okay, okay." Astrid held up her hand to cool Eppie down. "Let's give Emma a break, shall we? Today is about celebrating liberation, and that's what we're going to do." She handed Emma a package wrapped in gold and silver polka dots. "Open this first."

  Grateful for the distraction, Emma tore open the package. Inside were ten tubes of paint. The most expensive, most beautiful paint she'd ever used. She had only three tubes of it, and she rationed it carefully. The tubes were resting on seven canvas boards that she could already tell were of the highest quality, far beyond what she ever bought for herself. A package of paintbrushes was tied in a pretty red ribbon. Not just any paintbrushes. The best that money could buy. Stunned, she looked at her friend. "It's an incredible gift. I don't even know how to thank you."

  Astrid beamed at her. "Painting is your salvation, so I figured you should do it in style."

  Emma ran her hand over the art supplies, still amazed by Astrid's thoughtfulness. Her day job was a museum curator in Portland, but her first love was painting. "Thank you." She cocked her head. "Are you sure? It's so expensive."

  "Of course. What's the point of falling madly in love with a rich guy if you don't spend his money on your best friends?" Astrid patted her hand. "Enjoy."

  Emma grinned at Astrid's generosity. After watching Astrid struggle financially for so long, it was great to see her being able to afford the things that mattered to her.

  Clare set a gift bag in front of her. "You'll like this."

  Emma opened it, then grimaced when she saw it was an array of decadent lace underwear and bras. She held up a light pink nightie that was pure silken elegance...and sex. "I thought we agreed I didn't have to start dating—"

  "It's not for men." Clare grinned. "It's for you. A girl doesn't need a man to feel sexy."

  How long had it been since she'd worn anything sexy? Years. Since before her marriage ended. Would she dare wear it now? Even for herself? Temptation called to her, but fear was stronger. She managed a smile. "They're beautiful."

  "No man is going to jump you just because you're secretly wearing a pair of sexy underwear under your jeans," Clare said. "Try it. You'll like it."

  Emma laughed then, and gave up the pretense of pretending she wasn't terrified at the mere idea of doing anything that could attract a man's attention. "How do you know me so well?"

  "Because we've been friends for twenty years. You can't hide from me," Clare said, holding up a pair of the lace undies and flipping them toward Emma. "I know you don't feel like it now, but someday you'll be happy to have some sexy lingerie to show off to the right guy."

  A cold chill rippled over Emma, and she shook her head. "No way. I'm done."

  Empathy flickered in Clare's eyes, and Emma had to look away. She didn't want her friends looking at her in pity, or seeing her as a lonely spinster. She was fine being single. It was so much safer than dating, so much safer than putting her trust in another man, and in her own judgment. She remembered it hadn't been that long ago when both her friends were claiming single life as well
. Now that they had met the loves of their lives, they seemed to have forgotten that being single could be a great gift.

  "And mine." Eppie pointed to another bag, this one covered in huge red cartoon lips on a gold background. "This is for you."

  Ignoring the silent exchange between Astrid and Clare, which Emma knew was about her ongoing refusal to consider dating again, Emma unwrapped the hot pink tissue from Eppie's present. It was a six-inch, framed watercolor of two hummingbirds drinking from the same pink petunia, their green, yellow and blue bodies vibrant against the white background. Exquisitely painted, it was elegant in its simplicity. It brought to life the nature that abounded in Birch Crossing, the same nature that gave Emma so much solace when she was struggling emotionally. It was as if someone had painted serenity itself onto the canvas and captured it just for her. "It's beautiful," she whispered in awe.

  "It was my first anniversary present from George," Eppie said.

  Emma was shocked and tried to give it back. "I can't take this—"

  "Of course you can. I have forty-two anniversary presents from him. I want you to have this one." Eppie pushed it right back to her. "It shows how even hummingbirds can stay still long enough to fall in love with each other. That's what he used to call me, his hummingbird, because I was always on the run so much he thought he'd never catch me." She smiled. "He never tried to slow me down. He just always made sure to be there when I paused." She leaned forward. "That's the kind of man you need, Emma. A man who will let you buzz around, but who will be there when you are ready for him. Not a scum-sucking pig who tries to rip you down and destroy the light in your soul before the final vows are even read." She held up her champagne glass. "Remember that, girl, and you'll be all set."

  "I appreciate the reference to Preston as a scum-sucking pig." Emma couldn't help but smile. "I'm not going to date anyone, but I love the painting."

  "I know you do." Eppie winked. "Just enjoy the art. That's enough for now. The rest will come."

  After the gifts, the evening began to descend into a bawdy girls' night of terrible dating stories, fashion trends, and an examination of Astrid's latest jewelry line. By the time an hour had passed, Emma's tension about joining the divorced world had faded. She felt comfortable and at home in her world with her girls—

  "Are we interrupting?" The front door opened, and in walked Jason Sarantos, Astrid's new husband. He was carrying their baby Rosie in his arms, and beside him was his son, Noah, who was wearing a Red Sox hat.

  "Jason!" Astrid's face lit up, and she jumped up from the table. The kiss she gave her husband was so intimate and sweet that Emma felt an ache of longing in her own chest. She was happy for Astrid, but it was so clear from the way that Astrid's face softened at the sight of her family that she was definitely no longer someone who would sit up late nights with Emma enjoying some popcorn and a DVD.

  Behind him was Clare's husband, Griffin Friesé. He was carrying six large pizzas from Jason's cafe, a broad grin on his face. "Dinner has arrived for the party."

  "Fantastic!" Clare leapt up, her own face illuminating at the sight of her husband. "Thanks so much. We're starving."

  Emma sank back into her seat, shrinking from the excitement that the men brought into the room. She glanced across the table at Eppie, and then was startled to see the older lady was gazing across the room with a gleam in her eye. She followed Eppie's gaze and saw Astrid's stepfather, Ralph Hutchins, walk in the door, carrying Rosie's diaper bag.

  Eppie immediately straightened her hat, gave Emma a wink, and then rose from her chair. "I'm going to the kitchen for some napkins," she announced.

  "I'll help." Ralph immediately changed course and hustled after her, the door swinging shut behind them almost before they'd even made it through.

  "Is this the party?" Through the front door stepped another couple, Jackson Reed and his wife, along with their toddler. The noise and energy of the room began to rise as people hugged and kissed, welcoming each other into Astrid's home. So much warmth, so many kids, so much connection, so many families, it was almost overwhelming.

  The pizza was set on the table and drinks were poured, as everyone hugged Emma and celebrated her liberation day. The noise began to close in on her, the joviality too much. She caught Clare's arm. "Clare, I think I need to get some air—"

  "No, wait." Clare grinned as the front door opened again. In walked the new bartender from Johnny's Swill and Grill, the best pub in town. He was still the well-muscled specimen he'd been at Astrid's going away party, and the tattoo on his biceps was partially visible below the sleeve of his black tee shirt. He looked around the room, then saw Clare. He nodded at her and headed toward them, his eyes fixed with too much interest on Emma.

  Emma stiffened. "What is he doing here? I don't even know him."

  "He's new to town. None of us know anything about him. Griffin decided we needed to change that, so here he is. Smile and be nice." Clare beamed at him as he approached. "Glad you could make it, Brady. This is Emma Larson. You remember her, don't you? Emma, this is Brady Foster. Don't let the tattoos fool you. He's actually a good guy. Oh, wait, Eppie's got the wrong dishes. Eppie!" Clare hurried off, leaving Emma alone with Brady.

  He loomed over her, large. Too large. Too powerful. Too strong. He smiled at her, a smile designed to rip her heart right out of her chest, just like Preston's practiced good looks had done for her that damned July day when he'd finally noticed her after years of coming to Birch Crossing as a summer resident.

  "Hey," he said. His voice was low and reserved, but it had a muted edge that told her he wasn't entirely comfortable at the party either.

  She swallowed, and clenched her palms. "Hi," she managed, her mouth dry. She looked around the room, desperate for an escape, but everyone was occupied with a significant other. Smiles that were so genuine, filled with so much love, so much connection. Children being hugged. Families.

  Aside from Brady, she was the only single one there, standing beside a stranger with huge shoulders. She swallowed, fighting against the panic. She couldn't do this. She simply could not do it. "I have to go—"

  "Wait." He caught her arm, his touch light, but Emma jumped anyway at the familiarity. "Stay a sec." His dark brown eyes flickered over her face. "Griffin wanted me to meet you. He's a good guy. Let's give it a chance."

  Emma swallowed, her heart pounding. She glanced over at Clare, who was cuddling baby Rosie. Astrid was laughing with Jason and Griffin. It was a scene of pure domestic bliss, a world that her two best friends lived in, a lifestyle she wasn't a part of, not anymore. Where was she going to escape to? She had nowhere to go. This was her life. She had to find a way to make peace with it and to belong. She managed a smile at Brady, even though her stomach was churning. All she wanted to do was leave, but it was her party. How could she? "Yeah, okay."

  "Okay." Releasing her arm, he leaned against the wall, his body too muscled and appealing for comfort. "Tell me, Emma Larson, what is it that makes you tick?"

  She was surprised by the depth of that question and shifted uncomfortably. "You can't just ask me about the weather?"

  His dark eyes were brooding. "I don't care about the weather."

  The moment he said those words, she knew he wasn't a man she could control. He was a man who would consume whatever woman he was with, stripping her of her defenses and demanding access to every one of her private thoughts and feelings. He was a man who would fight for all of a woman, and never be satisfied with halfway. Once, too long ago, that was the kind of man she burned for.

  Now? He was the kind of man who terrified her.

  Chapter Two

  Astrid lived here? The house was incredible, a lakeside retreat nestled at the edge of the woods with a two acre yard, a carriage house, and a view of the mountains on the other side of the lake. And this was his sister's house?

  Harlan pulled his truck up behind a silver Mercedes and four other cars. Scowling, he studied the vast home that Astrid had mentioned in her last e
mail to him, the one where she'd told him that she'd gotten married and had a kid. He'd known this was Jason's house, but logically, he'd never actually comprehended that his sister had landed in a place like this. As he studied it, a slow grin began to dawn on his face, and the most tremendous sense of relief seemed to fill him as he shifted his truck into park.

  This was good. She deserved this. His little sister had finally found someone to take care of her and make sure she was all right. He wanted to fist pump the air for her. You go, Astrid.

  He got out of his truck, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder from his latest mission. He rubbed his jaw as he strode up the walkway, past all the cars lining the circular drive. Five cars. Was she having a party? He slowed his steps as he neared the front door, feeling out of place in this domestic scene.

  It had been almost a year since he'd been back in Birch Crossing. A year since he'd consorted with people who lived normal lives. He glanced at his reflection as he walked past a shiny black SUV, and then grimaced. His face was a grizzled mess. Once he'd been dropped back in the States, he hadn't bothered to even change, let alone shave or shower. He'd just come straight here, still haunted by the image of his father dying alone. He had only forty-eight hours until his next mission, and he needed to see his sister before he went.

  The sound of laughter and music assaulted him as he reached the bottom step. Definitely a party. He vaulted up two steps, ignored the front door, and peered in the window instead. He found his sister right away. She was laughing with Jason Sarantos, the bastard Harlan had punched in the face right before he'd taken off.

  The man was grinning at Astrid as if she were the very reason he took a breath every morning, and Astrid was looking at him the same way. A young boy was in Jason's arms, chatting animatedly to Astrid. In her arms was a small baby. Rosie? Wasn't that what she'd said? Named after their mother. The scene was pure domestic bliss, which was something that he'd never associated with anyone he was related to. The furniture was perfect, and the dining table even had china on it. China? His little sister had china?