I sit back and look at my outline. There are a lot of variables I can’t account for, the biggest one being the fact that Emma hates me. It’s a tall order, going from hate to happily ever after, but I’ve faced worse odds. It isn’t like she’s literally trying to kill me.
I imagine her in those shorts, her hair falling down around her shoulders. I didn’t put sex in the mission outline. I’m honestly not sure where it falls. I’m a guy, I could insert it anywhere. If she walked up to my door right now and wanted an angry fuck, I don’t think I’d be able to say no. But that isn’t Emma, and being intimate with her physically is going to take a lot of trust building. As badly as I want to feel her body against me, this won’t be something I can rush. I’ll have to be patient, and let her take the lead.
But when she’s ready … I’m going to do things to her she’s never dreamed. She was my first, and I’m not even bragging when I say I wasn’t bad back then. But now? No contest.
My gut tells me I need to give her a little space before I make another attempt at phase two. She probably remembers me as a hot-headed kid, but I’ve mellowed since then. I learned a lot about patience in the Marines. I know she needs me to be patient now, and will for the foreseeable future. That won’t be a problem.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but losing Emma Parker forever will not be one of them.
8
Emma
After seeing Hunter, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I go back to Gabe’s place in a daze. I put away the groceries, going through the motions, but I can’t focus on what I’m doing. I wind up putting ice cream in the pantry and a can of soup in the freezer, but I figure out my mistake before I make too much of a mess.
My anger dissipates, leaving me feeling hollow. Hunter is home. He’s here in Jetty Beach, and he followed me to the store so he could talk to me. Either I’m really losing it, and I imagined the whole thing, or that just happened.
I pop the cork on a bottle of Salishan Cellars Cabernet, realizing after I’ve poured a glass that it’s still morning. I decide I don’t care, and stand in the kitchen, sipping wine, trying to get my bearings.
Did I do the right thing by walking away? Would it have been better if I’d agreed to talk to him?
I honestly have no idea. Seeing him left me so off kilter that I’m not sure which way is up.
I’m distracted for the rest of the day, but I don’t tell Gabe I saw Hunter. He doesn’t really know about Hunter—he lived in Europe when I was in high school, so he wasn’t here when Hunter and I dated, or when Hunter left. I’m not sure what I would tell him anyway. That I ran into an old boyfriend and I told him to fuck off, but I’m worried I made a terrible mistake?
I know what Gabe would tell me: he’d tell me I absolutely did the right thing. I’m not sure if that’s what I want to hear.
There’s a small desk in the guest room, so I’ve set up a workstation for myself. For the next few days I stay in, working most of the day and watching TV at night. I tell myself I’m not avoiding going out; I’m just busy. But I used to spend at least a few afternoons a week with my laptop at a coffee shop. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m afraid of running into Hunter again.
Gabe wasn’t kidding when he told me he’s not home very much. He leaves each morning before I’m finished with my first cup of coffee. I worry he’s become too much of a workaholic since his divorce, but I’m hardly one to be giving life advice.
By Wednesday, I know I need to get out. I’m starting to go stir crazy, shut up inside all day by myself. I reached out to some old friends on social media, but I feel so tentative talking to them. I have no idea what’s going on in their lives these days, and I feel guilty for letting our friendships go. And it isn’t enough to keep me from the beginnings of some pretty serious cabin fever.
I decide I’ll go out for lunch, so I throw on some decent clothes (yes, I’ve been living in old yoga pants and baggy t-shirts), and try to do something with my hair.
There’s a knock at the door, and I stop with the straightener mid-strand. Who could be knocking? As far as I can tell, Gabriel’s social life is about as active as mine.
Figuring it’s just the UPS guy, I answer the door. It’s like walking into a brick wall that I wasn’t expecting. I almost bounce backward. Hunter’s standing on the doorstep, a couple feet back, as if he knocked and stepped away.
He looks amazing in a dark blue shirt and jeans. Why does he have to be so gorgeous? Why couldn’t he have aged badly, instead of morphing into this divine specimen of a man? He was always athletic, but this more mature body is unbelievable.
He smiles at me, as if I didn’t treat him like shit the last time I saw him. Not that it was any less than he deserved. Still, I’m so surprised, I gape at him like a moron.
“Hi,” he says.
I’m tempted to slam the door in his face, but I have to admit, I don’t want to. Curiosity has been eating me alive.
“Hi.” I turn so I’m standing with the door partially in front of me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask if you’d like to have coffee with me sometime?”
I swear, he can see right through me. Can he tell how seeing him makes me feel? How torn I am between wanting to slap him and wanting to kiss him?
“I don’t know, Hunter,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change. He looks … happy. Like he knows a really good secret.
“If you’re busy, it doesn’t have to be today,” he says. “I can’t tomorrow, but how about Friday?”
Friday? I look down, my fingers brushing the doorknob. Is there any harm in having coffee with him? Looking at him now, it’s harder to feel so angry. Maybe I got it out of my system.
“I guess,” I say.
“Great,” he says, his tone light. “How about we meet at Old Town Cafe at two on Friday. I’ll see you there?”
I find myself nodding. He smiles and walks back to his truck. I can’t be sure, but is he limping a little?
“Thanks Emma,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
He smiles again—that ridiculous smile that ruined me when I was sixteen—and drives away.
Why did I wait until Friday?
Thursday is literally the longest day ever. I barely get any work done. I should have agreed to have coffee with him when he was here. Then I wouldn’t have to spend two days jittery with anticipation. I need to quit being so indecisive.
Of course, I was decisive as hell when he approached me in the parking lot. But I’m not sure that went any better.
I spend half of Friday obsessing over what to wear. I don’t want to dress up. I do not want to give him the impression this is a date. It is not a date. Two old friends catching up over coffee? Sure. Date? Hell, no. But I don’t want to look like crap, either. I’d like to show him what he’s been missing all these years.
In the end, I opt for a pair of cropped skinny jeans and a casual green top. I spend a little extra time on my hair, and put on some makeup—just enough that I feel pretty. I want to walk into that coffee shop and make him stare. I want him to remember what I feel like, and see the woman I’ve become.
I try to hold onto that confidence when I get to Old Town Cafe, but it turns to anxiousness when I see his truck parked out front. I walk inside, the familiar smell of coffee and fresh baked muffins washing over me. Hunter’s sitting at a table by the window, and he stands, smiling at me.
I take a quick breath and go to his table.
“Thanks for coming,” he says. He still has that look, like he knows something I don’t.
“Sure.” I take the seat across from him and he sits down.
There are already two cups of coffee on the table, along with a little white pitcher of cream and a container with packets of sweeteners.
“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got you regular coffee,” he says. “You can order something else if you want.”
“You didn’t have to buy
my coffee,” I say.
He shrugs. “You can get mine next time.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Next time? I see what he’s doing, but I let it go for now. “So,” I say, adding a little cream and half a packet of sugar, “you wanted to meet me.”
“I did,” he says. “It’s been a long time. I thought we could catch up a little.”
How can he sound so casual? “Okay, you go first.”
He raises his eyebrows, like I caught him off guard, but the look passes almost as quickly as it came. “That’s fair. Let’s see. I was in the Marines for nine years. I was medically discharged a little over a year ago and came home. Now I work as a private consultant for certain groups in the military, as well as private security firms.”
“Okay,” I say. “I got a degree in English and now I’m a copy editor for a company that specializes in corporate websites.”
“Do you like your job?” he asks.
“Yes, for the most part,” I say.
“Did you move back to town recently?” he asks.
He wants me to tell him about my divorce. He must know. “Yes, I did. I recently got divorced.”
“I admit, I did hear that,” he says. “I hope you’re all right.”
There’s sincerity in his voice that puts a little crack in my distrust. “Thanks. I’m really fine. It was the right thing to do.”
He nods. “That’s good, then. It’s funny that we’re both back in town. I didn’t think I’d ever live here again, but it’s actually nice to be back.”
“I won’t stay any longer than I have to,” I say. Maybe I said that with a little too much enthusiasm.
His eyebrows raise. “That’s too bad. It’s a nice town.”
Are we really going to sit here and talk about the town? “What is the point of this, Hunter?”
“Honestly, Emma, I just want to catch up,” he says. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. I want to know what’s been going on in your life.”
I let out a breath. Fine. He wants to know? I’ll tell him. “I married a jackass when I was twenty-one and still in college. I knew it was a mistake, but I let my mom pressure me into going through with it, since the wedding was all planned. He didn’t want me to work, so I lost years when I could have been building my career. I lost all my friends because he didn’t like them. I was miserable, and finally, a little over a year ago, I decided I’d had enough. I left him. He fought me every step of the way, but my divorce was finalized recently. Now I’m broke, but at least I have a good job. The apartment building I was living in should probably be condemned, and I had to move out. I’m moving in with Gabriel because I have nowhere else to go. And then I ran into you.”
His casual grin is gone and he stares at me with the pain in his eyes that I saw in the parking lot at Charlie’s.
I probably shouldn’t have said all that.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, his voice soft and quiet. He sounds so genuine, as if he feels like it’s his fault.
It is, in a lot of ways. Granted, I made my own choices, but none of it would have happened if he hadn’t left.
“So, the Marines,” I say, wanting very badly to change the subject. “What was that like?”
“Good for me. Hard. I did some things I’m very proud of, and other things I’m not.”
“Why were you discharged?”
“I was in an accident. I broke my pelvis and tore up my knee. Even after three surgeries, I wasn’t going to be able to do my job, so that was it.”
Holy shit. He was limping.
“Wow. What was your job?” I ask.
He opens his mouth and closes it again. “I was a Major. I have to be completely honest, I can’t talk about most of it.”
“Because it’s difficult?” I ask.
“No, because I’m not allowed.”
That’s … disturbing. “So what made you come back here?”
He meets my eyes. “It’s home.”
“I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”
He starts to reply but his phone rings. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I check that?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Thanks.” He pulls out his phone. “I need to take this. Excuse me for just a second?”
“Sure.”
He stands and walks outside as he answers his phone. I take a sip of coffee. This is so surreal. At some point I should get over my surprise that Hunter is here, but it’s hard to get past ten years of not seeing him—ten years of wondering where he was, or if he was ever coming back.
He’s only gone for a minute or two. “Sorry about that,” he says as he sits down.
“It’s fine.” I’m curious who it was, but it’s definitely none of my business.
We chat for a while longer. He asks questions about my job and my family. I tell him how my dad left my mom when I was twenty, and married some woman he met on a business trip. How I got my job and hid it from Wyatt for a year. He seems impressed by that one. I talk about the disasters in my crappy apartment.
He shares a few things, but I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully when he tells me about his time in the Marines. He talks about basic training, and some of the places he’s been. He compares the food to torture, and tells me stories of the awful places he’s had to sleep. He talks about his family here: his brothers, and his parents. I realize I miss his family. They were really sweet.
I pick up my mug, but it’s empty. Again. We’ve been through three refills as we chat. Hunter sits back and checks the time on his phone.
“I should probably let you get back to your afternoon,” he says.
I hesitate. I almost don’t want to admit it, but it feels good to talk to him. I kept asking questions just to keep the conversation going. I don’t want to stop listening to his voice.
“Yeah, I should probably get some more work done before I call it a day.”
“Would you be willing to give me your number?” he asks. “That way I won’t have to get my future sister-in-law to help me stalk you if I want to hang out again.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that was a little strange.” I pause for a moment. Do I want to give him my number? It isn’t like he doesn’t know how to find me at this point, but giving him my phone number seems like a step forward. As nice as this was, I’m not interested in stepping anywhere … with anyone.
But it’s just my number. I give it to him and he types it into his phone.
“Tell you what,” he says, “I’ll text you so you have mine, just in case.”
My phone lights up with his text. Why does that make my stomach do a belly flop?
“Thanks.”
He smiles at me again and stands up. He lets me go first, and I head out the door, stopping in front of my car.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says. “It was good to see you, Emma.”
“Yeah, you too.”
My heart starts to beat faster. Is he going to shake my hand? Hug me? Kiss my cheek? I’m torn. I want him to touch me so badly that I almost step forward and hug him. But I’m also terrified to make any sort of physical contact.
But he doesn’t approach; he just smiles and walks to his truck. “See you around.”
Then he gets in, leaving me standing in front of my car, and drives away.
9
Hunter
Walking away from Emma is so hard. She looks a little bewildered as I say goodbye in front of her car, and I want to hug her so bad. I want to gather her up in my arms and feel her warm body. I want to find her mouth with mine and kiss her like she’s never been kissed—even by me.
I want to do a lot of things, but I don’t do any of them. I have to be patient with her. Despite the way she stood, lifting her chin just slightly as if she’d accept my lips against hers, I know it’s way too soon. Throughout our whole conversation, she fluctuated between closed off and comfortable, holding back and relaxing. One minute, she’d share something fairly personal—like how her dad left her mom. The n
ext, she’d pull back again, clearly unsure of how much she should tell me.
Honestly, I felt the same way. There are some things I can’t tell her no matter what, and other things I simply won’t. I have memories I don’t want to revisit. But it was so easy to open up to her. Despite the way my cock kept trying to distract me, it was easy to stay relaxed.
The strange thing is, it wasn’t like old times. We’ve both changed. I know I’m not the same angry eighteen-year-old, and she’s different, too. I suppose we’re both older and a little wiser, but she’s also a lot more cynical.
It’s hard to blame her. I certainly didn’t do anything for her confidence in relationships, and she’s just getting out of a failed marriage.
It’s tempting to text her right away, but I hold back. She doesn’t text me either, although I don’t expect her to. I can tell she isn’t going to make a move. For now, it’s me driving this train. Granted, if she surprises me and asks to get together, I certainly won’t refuse. But I’m pretty sure it will have to be me who makes contact again.
I figure our coffee date was a solid phase two success. She agreed to come, we had a nice time, and went our separate ways. I was glad I beat her there and had a chance to buy her coffee. It was a small thing, but important to me. It made it more of a date. After our talk today, I know she’s averse to dating anyone right now. That’s another hurdle I’ll have to get over.
Still, it’s time to move to phase three.
I wait until late Sunday and send her a text. I figure she’s more likely to accept if I suggest something on a weekday afternoon, rather than a weekend or an evening. But I decide to take a chance on something more than coffee.
Hey, Emma. Any chance you want to grab some lunch tomorrow?
I wait a few minutes, wondering how she’ll reply. I start to doubt my choice. I probably should have suggested coffee again.
My phone vibrates. Sure, I can do lunch. Where and when?
Operation Get Her Back Page 5
