7. Emma
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMMA
Aaron wears a fine white powder in his beard. It rides on his eyebrows too, and the best part is that he has no idea. He grabs onto his brother, his eyes locked onto mine. “Momma and Daddy are waiting for you,” he practically yells.
“He’s here,” another woman says, and that gets me to look past the two Stansfield men in front of me.
“And you’re leaving,” Aaron says, stepping away from his brother and turning his back on me. He actually backs up a step, almost smashing me into the closed front door. “They were just leaving.”
So many people start talking, and it’s like the Stansfields haven’t seen each other in years and all need to say everything that’s happened in that time.
“I’m hungry,” Thomas says .
“Oh, we’ve got chicken and biscuits right here,” Aaron’s momma says. “He’s hungry too.”
“No,” Aaron shouts. “Y’all are going for cheesy fries, remember?”
I don’t detect the scent of Thai food, and I wonder if Aaron has missed my texts again. Of course he has , I tell myself. Have you seen his eyebrows?
I have, and they make me smile.
“Oh, you’re all covered in powder, baby,” his momma says, and she starts brushing at his face.
“Momma, stop it,” he gripes at her.
“I know you’re hiding someone back there,” his momma says, dropping her arm. “Why can’t I meet her?”
Aaron heaves the sigh of the century, and he falls to the side. He waves his hand toward me. “Momma, this is Emma Newberry. She owns the flower shop right next door to the hardware store now.”
His mother seems to drink me up in less than a second. “Oh, honey.” She presses one hand to her throat. “You’re gorgeous.”
I glance at Aaron, who rolls his eyes. “Thank you?” I guess, because she sounds truly surprised to find a pretty woman at Aaron’s house.
“Okay, you guys have fries to get,” Aaron says, and he practically pushes me past the front door and into his living room so he can open the door. “Bye now. Buh-bye. Good of you to drop by.”
His momma starts to protest, and his daddy seems to want to stay too, but Aaron talks over both of them and manages to get all three members of his family out the door. “Don’t dawdle on the porch,” he calls. “It’s not structurally sound and needs to be redone. Okay, bye! Love you!”
He closes the door behind them in a near-slam, breathes out, and then presses his forehead against the wood as he inhales.
Then, as if nothing has happened, he straightens, his shoulders box up as he breathes, and he faces me with a big smile on his face. “I missed your text, but I can order the Thai right now.” He pats his pockets and comes up empty. “Just as soon as I find my phone.”
He turns and rushes away, which makes me giggle. “Check your beard too,” I call after him, because his momma hasn’t gotten rid of all the powder there.
While he’s gone, I take in the interior of his house. I’ve never been inside, and the whole thing testifies of Aaron’s skill. Built-in bookcases line the wall on either side of the fireplace, which has a beautiful wood mantel holding trinkets and framed photographs.
The living room holds comfortable furniture, polished wood floors covered by understated rugs, and it flows easily into the back of the house, where the kitchen and open dining room wait for Aaron to host an amazing party.
I smile at the thought, because Aaron is not the party type. Sure, he’s come to a few things my roommates have put on, but he hovers on the outside edge, sipping a drink and putting in the minimum effort.
He’s exactly the type of party-goer I aim to be, and I first started getting to know him more personally several months ago at a Halloween party at Liam’s house.
I wander into the kitchen, where more original pieces take center stage. A unique butcher block island nods to the handcrafted dining room table, and the amount of wood here is stunning.
Aaron is not the neatest man in the world, but I like the way his house is lived-in. It feels warm and welcoming, like I can kick my shoes off and not get in trouble, and that I could spill something and we’d simply clean it up.
Something clicks, and I turn toward the sound. I realize it’s his oven, and I move over to it. I pull open the oven door, as my memory zings at me about the chicken and biscuits his momma said she’d brought over.
Sure enough, a creamy sauce with chicken and veggies bubbles away in the oven, with a foil-covered tray that must have the biscuits on it.
“I just ordered the Thai,” Aaron says as he comes down the hall, and I close the oven door.
I’ve just tucked my hands in my back pockets when he arrives. “Okay,” I say. “But this should probably be turned off if we’re not going to eat it.”
Aaron reaches past me and presses the button to turn off the oven. “Okay.” He looks at me, his eyes harboring edges and ledges of anxiety. “I’m sorry I missed your text, but I wouldn’t have been able to get rid of my parents any faster.”
“It was great to meet them,” I say, though I didn’t really meet them at all. “What were their names again?”
A rush of horror crosses his features. “Oh, I’ve done myself dirty.”
I giggle, because he really has. I may not have had the best mother in the world, but my Grams is as Southern as they come, and there’s no way she’d let me get away with an introduction like the one Aaron gave his parents.
“It was a non-troduction,” I say. “I’m surprised your momma hasn’t called yet.”
His eyes darken. “She has.”
I burst out into full laughter as his phone rings again. He slides on the call and turns away from me as he says, “Momma, it’s not a date, and no, we’re not dating, and if you call me one more time tonight, I will never let you into my house again. Okay, goodbye.” He delivers all of that in a single breath, and I’ve managed to stop chuckling by the time he faces me again.
“Thai is fifteen minutes out,” he says as if I dropped by as planned and his family wasn’t here. “Tell me what my brother said to you on the porch.” He reaches for me, and I give my hand to him. Then he leads me over to the couch, where we sit together.
“You aren’t going to work? ”
“I need a break,” he says with another sigh. “I just finished up in the bathroom, and I’m hungry like a wolf.”
“Hungry like a wolf?” I stifle another laugh. “That’s a song lyric, Mister Stansfield.”
He turns toward me, something playful and glinting in his eyes. “You confessed something to me earlier, so…here goes.”
“Mm, I’m nervous,” I say when he doesn’t go.
“I love eighties music,” he says.
I grin at him. “So much that you quote it sometimes.”
He smiles back, his fingers in mine tightening for a split second. “I’m just livin’ on a prayer.”
I tip my head back and laugh, and the sound is so much better when his deeper one joins it. “Okay, okay.” I wave my free hand to get myself to stop acting so hyena-like. “Tell me what I need to know about the Spring Fling Thing, so we can enjoy dinner when it arrives.”
“Ah, the Spring Fling…Thing.” He smiles at me, and that thing should be illegal for what it does to my pulse. The feelings I have for him are so un friendly, and I’m not sure what to do with them. I haven’t had the best of luck with men, that’s for sure.
My smile falters as Aaron quickly goes through what he and his committee have already planned for the singles dating event. Light hors d’oeuvres from Crisp Catering, with decorations from Angela at Pretty Parties .
“Oh, that’ll be nice then,” I say. “Angie does beautiful work.”
“She’s doing something classic,” Aaron says. “We wanted it to be less cutesy than in the past. See if we can’t attract some older singles.”
“Are you going?”
Aaron snorts, and I have my answer. His face flushes, and he quickly says, “I’ve been in the past, but no, I’m not going as a participant this year.” He rolls one shoulder. “I have to go as the organizer, but it’ll be just to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”
“Why’d you volunteer for this?” I ask.
“Because then I won’t have to serve on a committee for another year.” He kicks up that lopsided grin again. “I’ve got Margi figured out, and out of all the things she wants to committee, putting on a couple hours of speed dating is pretty easy.”
“Smart,” I say. “Is it still at the Lion’s Den?”
“Sure is. Venue: easy. Utilizing all the small business owners to get their products in front of hundreds of people: easy.” He puffs his chest out and exhales. “Trust me, Em, the Spring Fling Thing is the easiest one to do.”
I relax into the couch beside him, all of my muscles finally melting enough to be comfortable. “So you want me to do roses for the men.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “We have seventy-four registered so far, and sign-ups close this weekend. It’ll be a fixed number, and they can be any color.”
“All right,” I say.
“And you can give out any literature, coupons, cards, stuff like that you want at the event. And flowers? With singles? It should help at least a little.”
“Thank you, Aaron.” We’ve spent some time together, and he knows I’m always working to get Pretty in Petals out in front of people. I turn my head toward him, and he looks at me too. The moment sobers and electrifies, and holy hydrangeas, all I can think about is that kiss in my flower shop.
My eyes even drop to his mouth, where my heart plants itself in thick soil and takes root. That is so not good, but I can’t seem to rip myself away from him. Aaron smells like something woodsy and something alive and something very much like he’s been doing construction, and it tickles me in just the right way.
I lean toward him and tip my head back at the same time he moves closer to me too. Before he can kiss me, his doorbell peals, and I jump as he swears under his breath.
“Thai Palace,” a man yells, and Aaron groans as he gets to his feet.
I exhale the trapped air in my lungs and stand too. I run my fingers through my hair, my heartbeat hammering a hundred miles an hour as I move into the kitchen while he answers the door. I get out forks and plates, and Aaron puts the food on the counter .
“Will you be my date for Liam and Hillary’s wedding?” he asks above the rustle of the plastic bag.
Our eyes meet again, but lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, I guess, because I keep my gaze locked on his.
“I mean, if you don’t already have a date.” He ducks his head though all the containers have been unpacked.
“Yes,” I say simply. “I mean, no, I don’t already have a date, and I’d love to go with you.” I do the duck and tuck too, pushing my hair behind my ear as a hint of embarrassment floods me.
“Great,” Aaron says easily. “I’m sure you’ll be busy with the flowers, but I can help if you need me.”
“Ooh, you’re going to regret that,” I tease. “And you know, this could be a date.” I shrug one shoulder, wishing I wasn’t wearing the same clothes from work, even if I did run home to change that afternoon. “You bought dinner. We’re eating and talking.” I pinch up a piece of chicken and pop it into my mouth.
“If that’s what counts as a date, then last night could’ve been our first date.”
“We went out for Christmas,” I say, wondering why I need this defined. I’m not sure, but I do.
Aaron watches me for a moment. “Yeah, but that was like, a formal thing. Fancy dresses and makeup and stuff.”
“Did you wear makeup, Aaron?” I grin at him as I tip my favorite, Pad Thai, onto my plate and then snag a spring roll.
“I’m not wearing makeup right now, no,” he says without missing a beat.
“So it’s not a requirement for dates.”
“I would say no.”
“Good, because I’m not wearing makeup right now.”
He peers at me. “You’re not?”
I blink at him, the spring roll pinched between two fingers. “Can you seriously not tell?”
“Can this please not be our first date?” He snatches the spring roll from my hand and takes a bite. “I don’t want it to be our first date.”
“Why not?” I pick up another spring roll, though I want to grab mine back from him.
He swallows and turns away from me to open the fridge. “Because, Emma, when we go out for real for the first time, I don’t want it to be you coming over after I missed a text.”
He pulls out a couple of cans of soda and a few bottles of water. Setting them all on the counter, he pins me with another sultry look. “I want our first date to be magical.”
I don’t know what to say, so I twirl up a forkful of noodles and put them in my mouth.
“I at least want us both to know it’s happening,” he says. “That’s a low bar, right?”
“Aaron, I don’t think you can do anything low bar. ”
“Yeah, tell that to the front porch, which I have to rip out and redo.”
I round the counter and sit at his butcher block island and reach for a can of Cherry Sprite. “Did you buy this just for me?”
“No,” he said. “It’s my favorite non-cola soda.” He takes a seat too. “The only thing I know to buy for you that you love is pancakes.” He grins over to me, and I sure do like the pops and twizzles that move through me.
“Will you go out with me tomorrow night?” he asks, his voice low and set somewhere between Mr. Nice Guy and the Doberman.
“Maybe,” I say coyly, already trying to remember my schedule. Trying, and failing. “I’m busy on Thursday afternoons, and I’m expecting a big shipment of flowers for the wedding on Sunday.”
“Okay, yeah, sure,” he says.
“If you’re willing to have a late dinner—or whatever magical thing you have planned—I’d be thrilled to go out with you.”
“You tell me when to come pick you up at the Big House, and I’ll be there.” Aaron gives me a look out of the side of his eye and focuses on his food again. “No makeup necessary.”