25. Emma
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EMMA
The scent of freshly baked brownies fills the Big House, mingling with the tangy aroma of Tahlia’s lemon bars and the buttery-salty goodness of popcorn that Claudia is busy tossing in a big, oversized bowl. It’s one of those rare nights when all of us are working in the kitchen for tonight’s party, and the energy feels electric.
“Are these brownies for the party or just for me?” Lizzie asks, leaning over the counter to swipe a finger along the edge of the pan.
“Party,” Tahlia says sternly, smacking her hand away with the spatula. “You’ll survive.”
Lizzie pouts, but the gleam in her eye says she’s not giving up. I duck out of the kitchen and head to the living room, where I need to lay out plates and napkins. Tonight is supposed to be a celebration—our mock-up is done, the park project is nearly ready for presentation, and all of our men are coming to join us.
The thought of Aaron sends a ripple of warmth through me, but it’s quickly followed by a pang of anxiety.
“Emma, can you come grab this sparkling cider?” Tahlia calls from behind me.
“Sure thing,” I call back. I head to the fridge, trying to shake off the unease curling in my stomach. This is supposed to be a fun night, but the weight of everything—this project, my feelings for Aaron, the fear that a bunch of flowers and a bench is nowhere near enough to win twenty-five thousand dollars—is pressing down on me.
I am so bad at operating under pressure. How Claudia works as a major government figure is a complete mystery to me. I just want to fade into the background and make beautiful things, so doing a very public park project that literally thousands of people are going to walk by, look at, judge, and vote on?
I swallow, so I don’t throw up, then grab the sparkling cider from the fridge.
“Hey-o!” someone calls from the front of the house, and I drop the bottle of apple-grape. It explodes with a deafening pop! and I scream. Claudia shrieks as purply fizzy drink sprays all over her ankles, and I hold very still as if I’ve been turned into a statue.
Tahlia yelps and jumps up onto a kitchen chair, and Lizzie slides herself up onto the counter while the whole place continues to get ciderized.
The bottle spins and spins as the last of the carbonated liquid drains out, finally coming to a rest with the open top pointing to the doorway leading into the kitchen, where Aaron now stands.
He’s carrying a tray of something I asked him to bring. I can’t remember what off the top of my head, and I can’t wait to hear what Claudia will say about his Army green camouflage shirt with the word STANSFIELD on the front in blocky white letters.
I love it with my whole soul, and as I stand there in a complete soda mess of my own making, I realize I’m in love with him.
Pure fear grips my heart, and an extremely loud voice blares in my head, yelling, It’s too fast! Slow down! You can’t trust him!
“Hey,” he says, his smile as warm and familiar as a summer sunrise. “Looks like you have a problem.”
“There are towels in the laundry room,” Tahlia says. “Can you grab us a couple? It’s just behind the stairs.”
“Sure thing.” He turns, does something with the tray he brought, and returns a few seconds later with towels. He spreads them on the floor and uses his big, booted feet to swish them around and clean up the soda. He chuckles as he gets closer to me, frozen in front of the fridge. “Hey, honeybee.” He leans in and kisses me quickly, just right in front of everyone. “I’m always fixing things around you.”
“Hey,” I say, half saying hi to him and half protesting that he’s always fixing things around me. But he kind of is. He kind of fixes me .
“Here’s a washrag,” Claudia says, wringing one out. She tosses it on the floor and Aaron starts wiping up the stickiness now that most of the wetness is gone.
Tahlia gets down and takes the sopping towels into the laundry room while Lizzie eats a brownie in the background. Claudia excuses herself to go change her shoes and pants, which have been sprayed with soda, and I’ll have to go do the same.
But I stay right where I am and let my handsome boyfriend “fix” things around me. Then I say, “I have to go change too.”
“I brought my momma’s deviled eggs,” he says. “Should I put them in the fridge?”
“Yes,” Tahlia says. “We’re about a half-hour out still.” She takes the tray from Aaron, and I give him one look that speaks volumes, and he ducks upstairs with me.
My heart hammers out of control, and tears prick my eyes. I duck into my room and leave the door open for Aaron. He follows, but stays over by the door while I pace to the window. “Is this not a good night for the party?” he asks. “I thought you’d had a good day at the shop.”
I turn to face him, not sure how to hide what I’m feeling but also not ready to say it out loud. “I did,” I say. “Did you see my arrangement out there?”
He comes toward me, his gaze singularly on me. “I sure did.” He takes me into his arms. “It was half tools and half blooms.”
“I’m trying to decide what to name it.”
“What are your ideas?”
“Uh, let’s see.” I had a whole bunch in my head, but they’ve all flown out with that vision of Aaron standing in the doorway, that dark green shirt with his name plastered on the front of it. “Wrenches and Roses. Hammers and Hibiscus. Petal Power Tools.”
“I think you know what I’ll choose.”
“Wrenches and Roses,” I say. “Because it sounds like one of your eighties bands.”
He grins down at me, his smile staying for a few moments before it fades. “Something besides that cider spill happened in the kitchen.”
“We should’ve waited to have this party until after our presentation,” I say. “I’m so nervous about that.” I have to close the flower shop for a couple of hours tomorrow while we do our presentation for the Community Council and other government leaders. Then, our rendition and designer notes will be erected, and the park on Sweetbriar and Salty Dog will be open to anyone who cares enough to come walk through it.
Voting will be done online, with a QR code on every sign at every plot .
“You are so good with people, Em. It’s going to be great.”
“Should I bring Wrenches and Roses?”
“Of course.” He grins down at me. “You’re the only person Fonda has ever spoken to with respect.” He leans down and touches his mouth to mine. “You’re exceptional, and this is a party with all of our friends. I’m not even anxious, so it’s weird that you are.”
Below us, the doorbell chimes, and I take a deep breath. “You’re right. This is popcorn and brownies and all of our friends.”
“And sparkling cider,” he says. “And my momma’s deviled eggs.”
My heart finds a little bit of courage, and I smile at him. “I want the whole tray of those.”
“Let’s go snack it up.” He falls back a step and takes my hand. He squeezes and says, “I’ll wait for you to change outside.”
I quickly strip out of my jeans and step into a pair of puddle sweats that make me seem partly dressed up but sort of dressed down too.
Outside in the hall, Aaron takes my hand again before leading me downstairs, where Elliott and Beckett have both arrived. Luna, Elliott’s dog, stays right at his side, even with new people in the room and plates of food coming into the living room.
Aaron separates himself from me to say hello to Beckett, who pulls him in to a half-man-hug. Claudia approaches them, and says, “You should wear this green color all the time, Aaron.” She give him a quick hug. “It’s by far your hottest color.”
“What color is it, sweetheart?” Beckett asks, pulling Claudia to his side.
“Hmm.” She gives Aaron another up-down-up look as I join them. She smiles at me, and she’s changed into a pair of skinny jeans in black, making her that sophisticated cat she is. “Evergreen Fog, I think.”
Aaron chuckles and shakes his head. Everyone’s here except for Liam and Hillary, and Tahlia says, “Let’s get food, because Liam’s late on a build, and he and Hill are going to be another little bit.”
“I’ll get my eggs,” Aaron says, and he darts into the kitchen to do that.
“You okay?” Ry asks me, and I lean into her side-hug.
Lizzie flanks me on my other side and says almost under her breath, “I saw him go upstairs with you.”
“Yeah, and we came right back down,” I say in my defense.
“Why are you wearing this face that says you’re expecting a bomb to drop?” Ry asks.
I take a breath and glance at those chatting in line, loading their plates with shrimp skewers and snacks and desserts. “I think I’m in love with Aaron, and I’m scared out of my mind.”
“Deviled eggs,” Aaron says as he goes right in front of the three of us. “I’ve got deviled eggs here. ”
Tahlia lifts a flute of sparkling cider. “To Emma and Aaron and their amazing park plot.”
“Hear, hear,” Claudia says, lifting her lemon bar. “And to these lemon bars, which are the best dessert Tahlia makes.” She grins over to the mom of our group, and I’m filled with the same fondness I see on Lizzie’s face, and Ry’s, and Claudia’s.
I so want Tahlia to have everything, and I know having all of her bestie’s boyfriends here is amazing for her—and also difficult. She owns the Big House, and she gave all of us the perfect place to be.
The line continues, and I give Ry and Lizzie a don’t-you-say-a-word glare and move away to get something to eat. Aaron’s laughing at something Elliott said, and he says, “I’m just her carpenter. She’s definitely my boss.”
A knot lands in my chest. Am I bossy?
Of course you are.
I know I’ve been a little bossy with Aaron on the park project. As I pick up a paper plate and take a cup of popcorn, all I can think about is all the things I made him do. Move the bench over there. Fix the stones so that corner isn’t poking out over there. I want a picnic table to go by these lilac bushes.
“You okay?” Aaron asks. “There’s lots of eggs still.”
“Yes.” I jump into motion and tong a couple of deviled eggs onto my plate. They’re slippery little things, and my third one slides right across my plate and over the lip of it. “Dang dahlias,” I swear as Aaron’s perfect egg splats on the table.
I want to throw my whole plate, scream, and escape upstairs. I straighten away from the table set up along the back of the couch, completely paused.
Aaron takes my plate and says, “I got you, honey.” He takes the tongs from me, picks up the fallen egg and replaces it on my plate, and moves down the line to get me the exact desserts I’d have gotten for myself. I follow him over to a pair of kitchen chairs we’ve brought into the living room and set up in a circle.
We’re sort of out of the way, and he waits until I sit before he hands me my food. Pure light and warmth comes from him as he settles beside me. I take a breath and try to center myself. “Thank you,” I tell him.
“Anytime, Em.” He leans closer; so close, the scent of his cologne lingers in my nose. “And after our presentation tomorrow, you’ll tell me the real reason why you’re so keyed up.”
The next morning, Aaron and I stand side-by-side at our park plot, our mock-up gleaming in the sunlight, with the yards of flowers and bushes and plants behind us. “I just want to walk through it one last time,” I say, and I step away from him while I still have a few minutes .
Aaron’s handiwork with the cobblestones laid over the grass is impressive, with every one spaced exactly right. They lead through the flowers and grass—which has come back due to my unending energy in watering our plot—to the covered bench. As I arrive there, I sit on it for the first time.
And it’s perfect. It slopes just right against my back and along my legs, and I can reach out and set my phone beside me on the reclaimed oak barrel. The scent of roses and honeysuckle tickle my nose, and I get up and wander along the path back to the picnic table. I’ve concealed the blemishes of the park with taller lilac bushes and bleeding hearts, and it’s glorious and beautiful.
I run my fingertips along the top of the picnic table, which Aaron stained a nice dark honey, and then sealed. I can’t wait to see it in his backyard.
Then I go around the back of the middle clump of plants and the bench, and complete my circle back to Aaron. He takes my hand again and says, “You barely made it,” out of the corner of his mouth.
Jean Hygrove walks toward us with a clipboard, her sharp eyes taking in every detail, from my floral sundress to Aaron’s hardware store shirt to seemingly everything in the plot behind us.
A small crowd comes with her, and everyone is watching, judging, critiquing. I know they said the plots would be open for public voting, but I have to believe these people have a heavy voice in who wins this money.
Aaron stands tall next to me, his broad shoulders squared, but I sense the tension in him. He’s gripping my hand a little too tightly, and his jaw is clenched just a bit too hard.
He’s supposed to start with a welcome, a greeting, something besides just stupefied silence. I pull my hand away, because surely not all the other plot partners are romantically involved.
When Aaron stays silent, I look up at him. He’s got a great smile painted on his face, but he’s nowhere near speaking.
“Welcome,” I say, practically bellow-blurting the word out. I tell myself to calm down, and I slip into my customer service personality, the one I use when people walk through the front door of my flower shop. “Good morning. It’s so great to see you. I’m Emma Newberry.” I touch my hand to my heart. “I own Pretty in Petals, an amazing flower shop on Main Street. And this handsome guy is my neighbor on the street, as well as my partner in life and crime, Aaron Stansfield. He owns the hardware store and can build literally anything you want him to build.”
Several of the council members are smiling now, praise all the stars in the sky. I grin at them and half-turn toward our plot. “Come walk with me, as I take you down a path of what this park could be.” I gesture for them to follow me, and they do.
“So I’ve planted native plants and flowers and bushes here in our plot,” I say. “If there’d been enough time for a tree to grow, I’d have done that, and whether I win or not, I can consult with the park development team for the types of trees and landscaping that would thrive here.”
“How did you get all of this to grow?” Jean asks.
“I brought water in several times each day,” I say as if it was as easy as breathing.
“While running your shop?”
“Yes, ma’am.” We arrive at the bench. “This marvelous piece was constructed by Aaron, with a pitched roof so there’s shade in both directions. The wood is all locally sourced from a plantation down the road in Goose Creek, and it’s South Carolina cypress. The barrel is an upcycled white oak barrel from a whiskey distillery on the outskirts of town.”
I survey the crowd. “Who wants to take a seat and tell us how comfortable it is?”
“What’s this stained with?” someone asks as a couple of women move forward and sit on Aaron’s bench in their skirt suits and heels.
I look over to Aaron, who’s herded the group this way and stands at the back of it. I raise my eyebrows, and he says, “Oh, uh, it’s a walnut color that brings out the natural highlights in the wood. ”
Hey, I got a sentence out of him. I wait for him to tell more about the bench, the pillars, something. He was supposed to do the pitch on the pieces he built. He says nothing and benignly tucks his hands in his front pockets.
Okay, then.
“Let’s move along to our back garden.” I step along the path as several people start talking in low voices. “Now, of course, we can’t plant flowers and bushes in every part of this twenty-four-acre space. Our rendition is back here by the picnic table, also done by the masterful hands of Aaron, and we’ve envisioned pickleball courts, a pavilion full of multi-use picnic tables, with grills, facilities, and running water. We’ve created space for a sunken amphitheater with our artist.”
I indicate the six-foot tall sign with our rendition on it. “As you can see, the land in the back corner has sunk a bit, and due to Aaron’s amazing architectural mind, he claimed that corner for a place that people can rent for performances, weddings, and more.”
I smile around to all of them, starting to feel like plastic that’s been left out too long in the hot sun. “We truly envision this as a multi-use space, from impromptu soccer games, to family picnics, to sporty pickleball games, to big private parties, and even community shows.”
I indicate our sign and then walk past it. “Any questions?” I ask as I circle back around to the front of the plot, stepping carefully so I don’t twist an ankle off the side of the cobblestone.
A few people ask questions about the types of flowers I’ve planted, and some linger at the picnic table with Aaron. I see his mouth moving, thank goodness, and he comes to my side as the Community Council continues to the next plot.
I feel like Thank You Barbie until every last one of them is yards and yards away, and then I turn away from them and let my face fall.
“Whew,” Aaron says. “I’m glad that’s over.”
I round on him. “ You’re glad that’s over? You completely spaced on me, Aaron.”