Chapter 18 #2
Something Emerson had said, that time Luca asked him about the photos on his bedroom walls, pierced through Luca’s mind. When Emerson had talked about that first farm he’d worked at. How it’d made him feel calm. How, growing up, his house hadn’t been.
Before Luca even realized he was doing it, his body was walking toward Emerson’s.
He leaned his hip against the kitchen island, right next to where Emerson was working.
“What did they do to you?” he asked, voice low.
Emerson finally put his trimmers down.
“Oh, you know. I only have a few physical scars.” He shrugged, not looking at Luca.
“I think they just…never actually wanted to have a child. And they took that anger out on me. And each other. But I learned as I got older to be quiet, stay out of their way, and things were better then. So my teenage years weren’t all bad.
But if you’re wondering if they’ve ever tried to find me, the answer is no.
I doubt they’re that sad I disappeared.”
Emerson picked up the trimmers again. Selected a new cut of rosemary.
“It was all a long time ago. Working on farms really has helped heal a lot of things. You don’t have to feel sorry for me.
Well, I suppose you can feel sorry that I don’t have any family I could borrow money from.
I feel sorry about that, too. We already asked Graham and Yulia for some money—me and Jayden, I mean—to help get this place off the ground, so I’m not asking them again.
” Snip, snip, snip. His fingers moved so efficiently.
“I am sorry for dragging you into this dying operation, but you don’t have to worry about it. ”
Luca almost flinched. Bullshit, he wanted to say.
Emerson King didn’t have the right to decide what Luca was or wasn’t going to worry about.
No matter what happened in the next few months, Luca had worked pretty damn hard, if he said so himself, on this land.
This place. He had earned the right to care about it.
But his mind was still caught on something Emerson had said several minutes ago. He pushed down whatever hurt Emerson’s last sentence had inflicted to get back to that.
“Where are the scars?” he asked.
For the first time in ten minutes, Emerson looked at him.
“You said you only had a few physical scars,” Luca said, when Emerson didn’t reply.
“Well.” Emerson returned his gaze to the bowl. “I imagine you’ve seen them all by now.” A blush crept into his face as he said it, those tell-tale splotches, and Luca almost smiled.
“Show them to me again,” he insisted.
Emerson was quiet again. Maybe Luca should have felt guilty about pushing too hard, but he didn’t.
There was an almost eerily deep calm inside of him.
He would stand here for as long as he had to.
Every single thing he’d been worrying about for the last hour seemed insignificant, selfish. The only thing that mattered was this.
Emerson trimmed the entirety of the twig of rosemary. And then he carefully placed the shears on the counter and turned his body the slightest degree toward Luca.
“Here.” He ran a finger against a thin white line above his temple.
“One on my back.” He reached an arm behind himself.
“My shoulder, here. And then—” He bit his lip.
The moment stretched in a way that made Luca’s stomach sink.
“Here.” Emerson raised his left hand and pointed to a raised scar on the underside of his forearm.
Before he could stop himself, Luca stepped forward, running a finger over the smooth skin.
“A burn?” he murmured, too afraid of its truth to speak any louder. He had seen this scar before, but had assumed, like all the other marks on Emerson’s body, that it was the result of being a farmer: a mishap in the fields, in the workroom, in the kitchen.
Emerson nodded.
“A lesson in kitchen safety,” he said.
“But not…self-inflicted,” Luca said, needing to clarify.
Slowly, Emerson shook his head. “No.” And then, voice turning soft, he said, “Luca. Luca, it’s okay.
” And Luca realized he was shaking his head too, that he had started backing away from Emerson for some reason, even though all he wanted to do was keep running his finger over Emerson’s scars, caressing them until they disappeared.
“Sorry,” Luca mumbled, frowning at himself. His back hit the opposite counter. He wasn’t reacting right. He wasn’t sure what the right way to react to this was, but he knew it wasn’t whatever he was doing. “Sorry.”
Through his mental fog, he watched Emerson remove his gloves and lay them over the rim of the bowl. He watched Emerson step closer, until Emerson’s hands cupped Luca’s jaw. His thumbs ran over Luca’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry I asked that question.” Luca forced the words out. Swallowed. “About the money. I don’t know why I did.”
“Because,” Emerson said softly, “you have parents who would probably lend you money the second you needed it. Or at least lend a helping hand, if they didn’t have the funds, however they could. And that’s okay. That’s good, Luca.”
“I know.” Luca swallowed again. Licked his lips. Stared at Emerson’s smooth chin. Emerson’s face was always so smooth, so perfectly shaven. “I just—” Horrified, he realized he was shaking the tiniest bit. He just couldn’t imagine—couldn’t even picture—to Emerson—
The fuck.
“It’s okay.” Emerson dropped his hands from Luca’s face to smother him in a hug, his strong arms gripping Luca’s back, his face shoved into Luca’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Luca.”
Luca released a shuddering breath. He dropped his head to shove his face into Emerson’s thinning hair.
He knew, he knew that things were backward right now, that Emerson should not be the one comforting Luca, but fuck, Emerson smelled so fucking good, whatever shampoo he always used combined with all the herbs in the kitchen.
It was almost overwhelming. It was the best.
Emerson was the best.
All the tension Luca had been holding in his body seemed to drain away at once. He hugged Emerson back, rocking back and forth with the relief of it.
“Sorry,” he said again. “I’m okay now.”
“Good,” Emerson said.
But neither of them let go.
They held on, arms rubbing up and down backs and necks until a different sensation entirely started to take hold of Luca, one that wasn’t at all appropriate after one of them had just shared their fucking childhood abuse.
But Emerson must have been feeling it too, because he was the one who moved his hands from Luca’s back to his hips, to the hem of Luca’s t-shirt, before slipping them underneath, trailing fingertips up Luca’s side.
A low rumble moved through Luca’s throat as he dipped his head lower still, lips aiming for Emerson’s neck.
God. He needed this. He didn’t want to think about his cabin or his bank account or the farm or Emerson’s parents or how a huge book deal would maybe solve all of it—at least, the solvable parts—but it never actually would.
He wanted to drop to his knees and suck off Emerson right here on the kitchen floor.
He wanted to pick Emerson up in his arms and march down the hallway to his bedroom and have Emerson fuck the shit out of him, or maybe just rub their bodies together for a while, anything where they got to be naked and alone and far from anything resembling reality.
A knock on the front door made Emerson jerk away.
“No,” Luca growled, reaching instinctively for Emerson’s t-shirt to pull him back. “Who the hell is that?” He rubbed his nose against Emerson’s neck. “Make them go away.”
Emerson huffed a slightly breathless laugh.
“I don’t—I don’t know.” He stepped away again. Luca opened his eyes in time to see Emerson swallow, run a hand over his head. Another knock sounded, making them both twitch. “But people don’t randomly knock on my door very often, so I should see who it is.”
With a deep breath and a shake of his arms, Emerson turned and strode from the room.
Luca stayed where he was, palms locked against the counter behind him, turned on and angry and overall lost feeling.
“Oh,” Emerson said at the front door, just out of Luca’s field of vision. “Hello.”
His voice was surprised, but in a pleased way. Luca rapidly worked on thinking about spiders, and literary agents, and anything else that could make his erection go away.
And then Luca’s mother swept into the room.
Because of course.
“Luca! Are you okay?” Leah tilted her head once she reached her son. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
Had Luca been crying? He supposed it was possible, before Emerson’s erotic hug, during that whole moment when Luca lost control of his body even though Emerson was the one who had survived trauma.
“I’m fine, Mom.” He wiped at his eyes, just to be sure he was good. “Promise.”
“If you say so.” She gave him one of her exaggerated angry faces that always reminded Luca of those smooshed-faced cats. It made him laugh, like it always did.
He didn’t know why his mom was here, but he knew in that second that he had really needed that laugh.
“I promise. You can continue harassing Emerson now.”
“Well. Now that I have your permission.” She twirled around. Luca noted she wasn’t using her cane today. Was she being reckless? Or just having a good day? “I found a solution to your problem of not being able to accommodate a hundred cars on your swamp out there.”
She flung a hand in the general direction of Emerson’s drive.
Now Emerson tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really?”
“School bus,” Leah declared. “My goodness, it smells wonderful in here. I see the rosemary, but what’s this? Oh, the leaves are gorgeous.”
“Thai basil,” Emerson answered as Leah lifted the purple leaves to her nose.
“Do you have more in bloom? Can I steal a cut of it?”
“Of course. You can steal cuts of literally anything on my farm, Leah.”