21. Emma
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EMMA
I’m standing in the Stansfields’ kitchen, and it feels like I’ve been plucked straight out of my life and dropped into someone else’s. Someone who has their act together. Someone who doesn’t have a mountain of orders to fill, a grumpy fridge to placate, and a looming park project that’s become more of a pressure cooker than I’d like.
Someone who fits here, in this cozy country kitchen, with its warm yellow walls and the smell of bacony potatoes curling through the air.
But I don’t fit. Not really. Not yet, anyway.
Jenny’s got a literal buffet of food on the counter, and I know I’m going to eat way too much. She’s the kind of woman who seems like she could churn her own butter, sew a quilt, and still have time to check on all of her friends and loved ones before breakfast .
She wears an apron covered in little sunflowers, and when she smiles at me, it’s with the same warmth as a summer day. It’s so genuine, it makes me feel guilty for every ounce of self-doubt creeping through me.
“Emma, honey, thanks for the help with the potatoes,” Jenny says as she now stirs them. “These are a family favorite.”
“It smells amazing,” I say, my voice a little too high-pitched to sound natural. I clasp my hands together to keep from fidgeting and glance at Aaron, who’s standing there, staring at me. The same way his brother and father are, almost as if they’ve never seen a blonde woman before.
His eyes finally come to mine, and he gives me that easy smile of his—the one that makes me feel like I can do anything. Like I belong here.
I want to believe him. I do. But there’s a voice in my head whispering, You’re just playing house. You don’t really fit here. You’re pretending.
Rawlins claps his hands together, and I jump. “All right, let’s get this show on the road. I’m starving.”
Thomas gazes down at Gondor’s Glory with fondness streaming from him, almost like he’s holding the crown of the kingdom itself. He sets it on the sideboard, then glances at me with a small smile.
“Thank you again for this,” he says quietly.
“You’re welcome, Thomas,” I say, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “I’m glad you like it. ”
“I love it,” he says, and his words are so earnest, they make my insecurities feel a little smaller. Just a little.
We all gather around the island again, which is laden with Dutch oven potatoes, roast chicken, those green beans people make at Thanksgiving, and a loaf of bread that has herbs and seeds in it.
Grams would love that, and in fact, Grams would love being here with the Stansfields. It’s the kind of meal that feels like a hug in food form, and it’s hard not to feel a little lighter as I slide my hand into Aaron’s while his mother says, “Let’s say grace. Rawlins?”
“Thomas?” He lifts his eyebrows, and I look at Thomas, expecting him to say no.
But he folds his arms, bows his head, squinches his eyes shut, and starts to pray. He doesn’t wait for any of us to get ready, and I quickly drop my chin toward my chest as I grip Aaron’s hand. Thomas isn’t a man of many words, and he finishes only a couple of sentences after he starts.
“Amen,” Aaron booms throughout the house, and Jenny flies into motion.
She picks up a plate and hands it to me, gently guiding Thomas back with her elbow. “Do you cook, Emma?”
“Oh, well, my grandmother tried to teach me,” I say. The truth is, my cooking skills are limited to pancakes, popcorn, and the occasional one-pot pasta. “I like eating what my roommates make.” I pile cheesy potatoes and bacon on my plate. “Aaron’s a good cook.”
“Is he?”
I glance at him. “I think so.” I shrug as I move down and pick up some dark meat from the platter of roast chicken. “I like what he’s made for me.”
“Oh, is he cooking for you a lot?” Jenny asks, her voice pitching up toward the rafters.
“Abort,” Aaron coughs from his spot at my side. “Abort.”
“Just sometimes,” I say. “Then he works on his house, and I do my online flower orders while he sands or paints or whatever.”
“I thought the house was done,” Rawlins says.
“It’s livable,” Aaron says. “That’s different than done, Daddy.”
I take some of everything and look over to the dining room table. I don’t want to sit down first, because I don’t know the assigned spots the Stansfields might have.
“Aaron—” I turn to ask him where I should sit—and ram right into him. I shriek as if I’ve just seen a wraith from my Lord of the Rings books, and Aaron grunts as he backs up.
My plate has been knocked askew, and I fight with everything I have not to drop it. Quickly, I balance it with both hands, but some of the cheesy goodness of the potatoes has definitely slid off the side.
“I’m behind you,” he says needlessly.
I look up just in time to see a chunk of potato fall from his shirt to the floor. Plunk. It lands near a puddle of Dutch oven potato sauciness I really wanted to eat.
Horror and embarrassment make a bitter cocktail in my stomach, and I’m not quite sure what to do.
Aaron takes my plate and nods. “Go sit,” he commands in his Doberman voice. “It’s fine, sweetheart. This floor has had worse things on it.”
“What’s happening?” Jenny asks, and before I can stop her, she moves around Aaron, her foot destined for that slippery, cheese puddle of sauce.
“Wait!” I throw up both hands, causing Aaron to grunt and back up again, this time lifting both of our plates high above his head.
“Emma,” he yells.
“Don’t step there.” I throw myself over the goo on the floor, so his mother won’t step in it, slip, and break a hip. I’ll never be able to show my face again if that happens.
She goes, “Oh, my,” but she stops. And she doesn’t slip. She blinks at me rapidly. “What’s going on?”
“I just spilled,” I say, pointing at the ground. “I don’t want anyone to slip and fall.”
Jenny flies into domestic mother mode, setting down her plate of food in favor of the washrag. She gets the floor spick-and-span, and we all manage to sit down to eat. Aaron comes over last, and he puts my plate in front of me like I’m an errant toddler and he’ll fasten a bib around my neck before giving me any silverware.
He does give me a look I can’t quite read before he says, “So, Thomas, how’s your budgeting class going?”
“I hate it,” his brother says. “But Momma won’t let me quit.”
“Everyone needs to know how to manage their finances,” Jenny says with a bit of self-importance in her tone. “You don’t hate it that bad.”
“Ask him how he liked fishing,” Rawlins says with a chuckle, and both Aaron and I look at him.
“I’m not doing that again,” Thomas says, shaking his head. “They’re so slippery—and kind of creepy.”
I grin at him. “I couldn’t agree more. Fish are creepy.”
“Tell her about your fishing disaster, Daddy,” Aaron says, and all of the things I imagined about families are true. They do know each other enough to set up stories and jokes. They talk to each other without yelling, and they sit down for meals made for a crowd.
No, they aren’t perfect, and sometimes people smash potatoes into their boyfriend’s torsos, but there’s laughter and ribbing and serious conversations too.
For a moment, I forget about everything waiting for me back in the real world. For a moment, I feel like I could belong here. For a moment, I am part of a family bigger than two .
“So, Aaron tells us you’re working on the park competition together,” Jenny says after the fishing disaster story wraps up and we all stop laughing about Rawlins losing the nine fish he caught because he thought he saw an alligator and nearly capsized the boat.
I nod, my stomach tightening, as I glance over to him. “That’s right.”
“It’s such a wonderful opportunity,” she says, and I’m not sure how much Aaron has told her. “And such an important project for the community. I’m sure you’ve heard how much the town council is hoping this will revitalize the area.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little too quiet. “We’ve heard.”
“And with your flower shop being so new,” she adds, her tone still kind. “I imagine winning would really help establish your reputation in town.”
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. It’s not an accusatory statement. It’s not even remotely mean. But it feels like a spotlight has just been turned on me, exposing every single one of my fears.
“It would.” I force a smile. “It’s a great opportunity for everyone in the small business group.” After all, everyone will have a sign in front of their demonstration plot, with their company names.
“She’s already done so much,” Aaron says, his voice cutting through the tense moment. “She’s planted all the flowers, and they look incredible. And don’t forget, she made the plans for the layout. I just do the building.”
He says it like it’s no big deal, like I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting. But the truth is, without Aaron, I wouldn’t have a chance at winning this competition.
Flowers? They’re going to give me twenty-five grand because I can plant some flowers ?
I almost scoff right out loud.
He’s the one who can make the designs come to life. He’s the one who knows how—and has the materials—to build the benches and pergolas and all the other elements that will make our plot stand out. Without him, I’d just be a florist with a thousand square feet of waterless dirt.
Jenny smiles at Aaron, then at me. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that you’re working together. And I have no doubt you’ll do an amazing job.”
“Thanks,” I say, but the word sounds hollow. My chest is so tight, and my brain is suddenly a whirlwind of thoughts. What if we don’t win? What if Aaron starts to resent me for dragging him into this? What if people in town think I’m using him? What if he thinks I’m using him?
“Emma?” Aaron’s voice pulls me back to the present. He’s looking at me, concern etching his handsome face. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, plastering on a smile. “I’m fine. Just thinking about all the work we still have to do.”
“You’ve got plenty of time,” Rawlins says, his tone easy and reassuring. “It’s only May.”
“And you’ve got Aaron,” Jenny adds. “He’s always been the most reliable one in the family.”
“Thanks, Momma.” Aaron rolls his eyes even as he smiles. “No pressure or anything.”
The conversation continues, with Thomas asking Aaron if he’s going to put a porch swing in the backyard of his house and Rawlins going on about growing up in that house and the things that used to be there.
I keep eating, keep smiling, but Aaron flicks his gaze over to me more often, and I see his growing concern. The meal finishes, and I jump up to help clean up, but Jenny waves me off.
“You’re our guest,” she says. “Go relax on our back deck.” She smiles. “Then you’ll see what Aaron wants to do at his place.”
Aaron doesn’t have to be told twice, and he takes my hand and leads me out the sliding glass door to an enormous deck that spans the width of the house. “Wow,” I say. “Look at this.”
“My dad built it,” he says, sweeping his arm across the whole backyard. “For my mom. She loves to grill, so she has a place to do that. He likes to cook in the Dutch oven, so there’s a fire pit for that.”
“And there’s a whole living room of furniture out here.” I lead him over to the loveseat and let him sit down first so I can curl into him.
“It’s so peaceful,” I say, drinking in the green grass and the trimmed bushes on the side of the yard. Two big trees stand proudly about two-thirds of the way back, providing shade for most of the yard at this time of evening.
His thumb brushes gently over the back of my hand, and I really enjoy the sensation. The evening air is warm and soft, with a hint of honeysuckle on the breeze. The crickets are already chirping, their song filling the quiet between us as we sit there.
“Something happened in there,” he finally says, his voice low and careful.
I avoid his gaze. “Yeah, something did.”
“Are you going to tell me about it?” he asks.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. I don’t quite know how to put my thoughts and feelings into words. They feel rational in some moments and completely bananas in others. “You’d tell me if you didn’t have time or didn’t want to do the park project, right?”
“I—” He cuts off. “Where is that coming from? Of course I want to do it. It’s a lot of money.”
“That we have to split.”
“Still a lot of money.”
“And you’re doing all the work.” There. I’ve said it.
Aaron gives me the courtesy of staying quiet. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but that mind of his is buzzing away, I’m sure. “You think I’m getting the short end of the stick. ”
“You are.”
“You think you’re…using me?”
I pull in a slow breath, because it sounds so much worse when he says it. “Maybe. Yes? I don’t know.”
“Emma-honey.”
I really love it when he connects my name like that, making it one word, as if perhaps my mother meant to name me that and simply forgot the last part.
He kneads me closer, his grip on my bicep tight. “You’re not using me,” he says in his firm, barky, Doberman voice.
“You’d tell me if you felt like that, though, right?”
“Yes,” he says, and I sincerely hope he’s telling me the truth. “I’d tell you. When have I ever been able to hide anything from you?”
I snort, then start to giggle. “You’re right. You’re terrible at hiding how you feel about stuff.”
“Hey, now,” he says.
“Really,” I say. “You think you’re hiding it, but you’re not.”
“Oh, you mean like you just did during dinner?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re not great at hiding how you feel either, honeybee.”
“Two peas in a pod,” I say.
He presses a kiss to the corner of my eye. “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”
I look up, and Aaron—my hot, honest, cinnamon roll handyman—doesn’t waste any time touching his mouth to mine and kissing me.
And while my worries have been placated for now, I can’t help but wonder if Aaron will feel the same once he’s the one who’ll have to be out in the summer heat, building a covered bench for our park demo.