by Kait Nolan
Down boy.
Running a quick mental inventory of everything in the apparatus bay at the fire station, he picked up the pace, drawing even with her on the path again. Time to get to the real reason he’d brought her out here. “How are you doing with all this really?”
“I’m…I don’t know. Worried.” She laughed a little. “I mean, when am I not? But excited, too. I’m looking forward to some time alone.” The moment the words fell out of her mouth, Emerson’s face twisted in guilt and shame. “Don’t get me wrong. I adore her. I just…it’ll be nice not to be needed for a little while.”
Caleb hoped she’d take the opportunity to explore her own needs, and that she’d let him be the one to fulfill them. “You’re allowed to be relieved that your kid is growing up and getting out of the house. Maybe especially since you inherited one rather than making the choice for yourself.”
Emerson shook her head. “I don’t regret her for a moment. Just how I got her.”
“I know.”
For a moment, they both slid back to that rainy night. He knew she’d give anything to have Micah back. Did she think about how her life would’ve been different if there’d been no accident? If she hadn’t suddenly been thrust into parenthood under horrific circumstances? He did. Would she have come into his life at all without the tragic beginning?
“Did you want kids before Fi?” He’d never asked her.
“In that sort of vague, someday kind of way. With the right guy.”
“Do you still want kids?” It wasn’t a deal breaker for him. He was legitimately curious.
Her glance said, Please. “I’m thirty-six and single. That ship has sailed.”
“Plenty of people have kids later in life. Or there’s always adoption.”
She gave a noncommittal grunt. “Moot question at this point. I do not want to do the single parent thing again. Right now I just want to enjoy getting some of me back.”
“Totally fair.” He planned to be majorly instrumental in that process.
“What about you?”
Caleb blinked. “What about me?”
“Do you want kids?”
Did he? Like her, he had a sort of vague notion of them. But he hadn’t thought much about kids the past few years. He’d just been thinking about her.
“With the right woman. If she wanted them.”
Emerson smirked. “How’s the search for her going?”
Already found her. She just doesn’t know it yet.
“Eh, there’s time.”
“You sound like Fi.” Her tone was full of exasperated affection.
“She’s a great kid.”
“She is.”
They finished their circle of the lake, jogging back into the trees at a longer, more relaxed stride than they’d started.
“Do you think she’s actually packing?”
“She loves Emiliano’s, so yes.” He felt certain of that. “Whether she’s finished is another matter.”
“Wanna take bets?”
“What are the stakes?”
“Winner buys cheesecake.”
He knew exactly how much Emerson loved her cheesecake. “Deal.”
By tacit agreement, they lapsed into silence and picked up their pace for the rest of the run. At the end of it, Emerson’s cheeks were flushed and wisps of her honey-brown hair curled in a sweaty halo around her head. The lines of strain around her mouth were gone. Mission accomplished.
They trooped inside for water to find Fi proudly gesturing to a pile of bags and what appeared to be every laundry basket in the house.
“See? Packed.”
“I didn’t realize laundry baskets counted as luggage,” Caleb observed.
Fiona grinned. “Only the finest. Besides, you set the terms and you said nothing about the kind of packing. I met my end of the agreement. Now you hold up yours. Emiliano’s, my good man.”
“Fair enough. I’ll call it in.”
Emerson moved toward the stairs. “I’m going to shower.”
They both watched as she disappeared to the second floor. With a quick glance back, Fiona towed him into the kitchen.
“How is she?”
Caleb resisted the urge to smile. Neither of them knew how often he ended up being the go-between to check on the other. “Anxious. How are you?”
She nibbled at the edge of her thumb, a sure sign of her own anxiety. “Worried about how Emerson’s going to do without me.”
Telling her Em was relieved to be getting some time to herself might wreck something, so Caleb took a different tack. “I think she’ll settle when you settle.”
“I need you to do something for me.”
Recognizing her tactics, he qualified, “If I can.”
She laid out what she wanted. Caleb listened, nodding, asking questions here and there. It wasn’t a half bad plan, as plans went, but he wasn’t at all sure how Emerson would feel.
“Just take her. Let her decide when she gets there. Promise?”
“Promise what?” Emerson strolled back into the room, wet hair scraped back into a braid, her face freshly scrubbed and glowing.
“Extra spicy sausage,” Fiona sang out.
“As long as there are peppers for me.”
Caleb pressed a hand to his heart. “I feel like my pizza-ordering skills are being impugned here that either of you thinks I would forget your favorite toppings.”
“We would never,” Emerson assured him, ducking back into the fridge for another water.
Promise, Fiona mouthed.
In answer, he tapped his heart again. He’d do everything he could to take care of Emerson.
Meanwhile, he was ordering some pizza.
Chapter 3
People milled everywhere and midday heat baked Emerson where she stood with Fiona and Paisley outside Richmond Hall. The cars had been emptied, all the boxes and bags and laundry baskets of stuff hauled up to the dorm. Fiona’s bed had been made up with bright new bedding, the curtains had been hung, the drawers had been lined, and Fi was officially kicking them out.
“Seriously, I want to unpack myself.”
Emerson thought of the mountain of stuff in the floor of room 317. “Are you sure you don’t want help?”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of it.”
Emerson hoped that meant she really would put things away instead of living in chaos. The room wasn’t that big, and she was having to share it. “But what about Lacey?”
“We’ll both be unpacking. It’ll be a bonding experience.” She made shooing motions. “Scoot. I’ll be fine.”
Paisley swung an arm around Emerson’s shoulders. “Our work here is done. C’mon, Mom.”
Emerson repressed the But hovering on her tongue and opened her arms for a hug. Fiona didn’t hesitate, wrapping tight around her. Emerson couldn’t stop herself from turning her face into Fi’s hair and breathing in the scent of her jasmine shampoo. “I can’t believe you’re in college. The next thing I know, you’re gonna get married and be having kids of your own.”
“Nah. I’m not having kids.”
“Oh?”
“I can’t possibly live up to the example you set. I love you, Em.”
The child couldn’t possibly know what it meant to her to hear that validation. Feeling watery, she squeezed tighter and swallowed against that pull in her throat. “I love you, sweetpea.”
“I’ll keep in touch. Promise. And you’ll see me soon. I’m only an hour away, remember?”
“Right. Of course.” She swallowed back the tears that wanted to fall.
Fiona stepped back. “I’m gonna go be a freshman and shit.”
Emerson opened her mouth to correct the language but Paisley started laughing and waved her off. “Bye kid!”
With a happy bounce and a final wave goodbye, Fiona joined the stream of people heading into the dorms. They watched the doors for a few long moments before Paisley said, “So? Lunch?”
Emerson rubbed at the tension in her temples. �
��Can there be alcohol?”
“Shenanigans it is.”
An hour later, the pair of them were ensconced in one of the dark leather booths at Emerson’s favorite bar. Modeled after old-school Irish pubs, the place was full of dark wood, leather, and character. But the menu had a decidedly Southern slant, with cuisine that was a sort of Cajun-Irish fusion, honoring the heritage of owner and chef, Heath Brousseau. Heath himself was a treat for the ears, with his rich, rolling accent that could as easily switch from Cajun French profanities to an Irish lilt. He delivered their lunch himself, sliding the steaming plates in front of them.
“Where’s our darlin’ Fi?”
Wrapping both hands around her bottle of cider, Emerson aimed for a smile. “We just moved her into the dorms.”
“Ah.” Heath nodded knowingly. “Allow me to send you a second round, on the house.”
She grimaced. “Do I look that bad?”
“Mais non. But I figure it’s appropriate, whether you’re mourning or celebrating.” His teeth flashed white. “Enjoy your lunch.”
Bending over, she sucked in a deep breath of spicy boudin sausage and garlic mashed potatoes—not something she could usually indulge in at lunch if she was recording. The microphone she used was too sensitive to digestion noises. But she’d cleared the decks for today and tomorrow. “Mmm.”
Paisley cut into her more classic fish and chips. “So, what are you going to do with your newfound freedom?”
Emerson sliced into her meal, forking up a bite of sausage and potatoes before slouching back in her seat and considering. “I’m going to sit in absolute silence. Have a bubble bath. Binge on the last four years of shows I haven’t had time to watch because I had a talky teenager. Eat all the Indian and Thai food I want—extra spicy. And sleep in.” They were pleasures she’d taken for granted before she’d become a parent. She wasn’t about to do that again. This go round, she was going to wallow and savor all of it.
“Yeah, and after tomorrow?”
She didn’t want to admit she couldn’t quite see past tomorrow. “I figure that will keep me busy for a while.”
Both brows winged up. “Honey, that is just sad. What about your love life?”
“What love life?” Her lady parts were so neglected, there might be cobwebs down there.
“Exactly! You should get one. I know you needed to focus on Fiona in the beginning, but you didn’t have to cut yourself off from men entirely.”
“I wasn’t in any hurry to get back out there after Blaine.” She didn’t have it in her to go through the whole dating routine only to be disappointed again. And the last thing she’d wanted to do was introduce Fiona to some guy, let her get attached, only to have him turn out to be another asshole.
“That whole thing was shitty, absolutely. But it’s been four years. Not all guys are douchecanoes. Case in point, the gorgeous hunk of a firefighter next door.”
If all guys were like Caleb, maybe she’d have a different opinion on the matter. Dependable, trustworthy, supportive. Definite romance hero fodder.
“Yes, Caleb is a sweetheart, but we’re just friends.”
Paisley waggled her eyebrows. “Don’t have to be.”
The absurdity of that idea had her barking a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s too young for me.”
“Is he closer in age to you than Fiona?”
“Barely.” Eight years younger was hardly close. For God’s sake, he’d been in elementary school when she’d graduated high school.
“Barely is good enough. He is hot.”
A fact which Emerson spent a great deal of energy and effort trying to ignore. Not easy with his propensity to run without a shirt. But she’d found a happy medium of being able to objectively appreciate his…attributes…without objectifying him. Most of the time.
“I do have eyes. That doesn’t change the fact that I am not going to mack on my much younger neighbor. I value his friendship too much. It would make things super weird between us.” She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him as a friend, and she wouldn’t do anything to upset his relationship with Fiona.
“I’m just sayin’,” Paisley waved her longneck for emphasis, “if I were single and lived next door to that, I’d be doing something about it.”
Paisley loved men. Loved dating. She considered her lengthy list of past relationships research for her romance novels. For Emerson, the very idea of serial dating, enjoying men for as long as she felt like before moving on to the next, sounded exhausting. She hadn’t had that much to put into one guy before Fiona. She sure didn’t have the energy now.
“I’m not you.” But now that Paisley had put the image into her head, Emerson couldn’t quite stop herself from imagining that slow, sexy grin of Caleb’s—the one he pulled out for the firefighter calendar—aimed at her. Heat pooled in her cheeks…and lower.
She took a long pull of cider, hoping to cool off. “I’m not looking for a guy, right now. I’m looking for myself.”
Paisley lost the teasing edge to her smile, shifting to concern. “What do you mean?”
“It’s part of being a parent. I came to it late in the game and in one of the most brutal ways possible. There was no guidebook or training for how to suddenly be the mom of a teenager. I’ve poured everything into making sure Fiona was okay—or as okay as she could be.”
“You’ve been an absolute rockstar of a parent under incredibly challenging circumstances. I know you gave up a lot.”
Emerson shook her head. “I don’t know that I did. I try to remember what I wanted out of life before her, and I just…can’t.” In her mind, life was marked by that stark dividing line—Before The Accident and After The Accident. Before was incredibly fuzzy these days. “I don’t regret it, and I don’t resent her for it. God knows, she didn’t ask for this either. But I don’t remember who I am apart from her now. And I’ve only had her for four years. I can’t imagine what moms feel when they’ve raised a child from birth.”
“We have friends with kids. You and I both know how hard they have to work to maintain a sense of self outside the role of Mom. Maybe you slid over the line there because of the extenuating circumstances. But now is absolutely the time to fix that. Figure out who you are as a woman, not just a parent. I just think that a guy to remind you that you are attractive and vibrant and interesting would help with that.”
And they were back to this again.
Paisley meant well. Emerson knew that. But the idea of having to be attractive and vibrant and interesting felt so insurmountably exhausting, she just couldn’t think about it yet. Maybe after she’d had some time to adjust to her empty nest.
“Can we talk about something else?”
After another long, searching look, Paisley let the subject drop. “Fine. Let’s talk about work. I should have the final edits done and a script ready for you next week. Are we still on for the first of the month?”
After his forty-eight-hour shift turned into more like sixty, Caleb was dreaming of a shower, a beer—maybe simultaneously—and eight straight on a horizontal surface. But he wanted to check in on Emerson first and find out how move-in day went. Was she enjoying the solitude like she thought she would? Or was the whole thing hitting her harder than she expected?
After indulging in that beer in the shower and scraping off what felt like four layers of soot and grime, he’d picked up her favorite ice cream and wine on the way home. Without even stopping at his own house, he crossed the span of lawn to Emerson’s. The ON AIR sign she used to notify visitors and delivery personnel that she was in the recording booth and not to ring the bell was unlit, so he circled around the back to knock.
She didn’t answer. Maybe she wasn’t home. Or maybe she was indulging in a long soak in the tub. His brain had a quick little fantasy about bubbles and slick skin and a bathtub big enough for two before he reeled it back in. He tested the knob. Unlocked. Probably home, then. After a moment’s hesitation he decided to slip into the kitchen, shove the ice cream i
n the freezer and leave the wine on the counter with a quick note.
The moment he opened the door, he heard the crying. The exhaustion faded as he bolted toward the living room with all the situational readiness of a five-alarm fire. Emerson lay on the sofa, curled into a ball, sobbing. Dozens of wadded tissues surrounded her, and his brain clicked through, assessing. No blood. No sign of physical trauma.
“Emerson.”
She shrieked, bolting upright at the sight of him.
“Sorry!” Lifting his hands in apology, he crouched in front of her. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and slumped again, grabbing another tissue to blow her nose.
Caleb let out a slow, controlled exhale, thinking he might need some of the wine himself to counteract the adrenaline dump. Scrubbing both hands over his still damp hair, he spotted the photo album that had slipped to the floor. Gently, he picked it up. He expected shots of Emerson and Fiona, but it was a different smiling face with Fiona’s eyes. Her mom, Micah?
“She should have been here for this,” Emerson rasped. “She would have been so proud.”
A fresh spate of tears spilled over, and she dropped her face into her hands.
Heart twisting, Caleb set the album aside and sank down beside her on the sofa, reaching to pull her in. He didn’t know if she’d let him. Physical affection wasn’t something they did. But after only a moment’s hesitation, she melted into him, the same way she had that night at the hospital. She wasn’t silent now. Here was the storm he’d expected all those years ago. He wasn’t under any delusion that she hadn’t grieved the loss of her friend, but he wondered if some of this had been held off all this time because her focus was always forward, always on Fiona. It sounded like something Emerson would do.
She felt so small and fragile, shaking in his arms. So unlike the woman who rolled up her sleeves and waded in to do what needed doing. When was the last time she’d let herself just break down? Had she at all? Saying nothing, he held on, stroking her hair and down her spine, over and over, until the tears slowed and her body went limp with exhaustion.
