Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Adam
I wake up the next morning feeling better than I should. I’m tired and have a slight headache, but mostly I’m hungry. My stomach actually hurts, but the worst part is I remember everything that happened.
Waiting in the rain.
Cornering Emmet.
Touching his chest.
Getting so close that I swear I was going to kiss him…
Thank God I didn’t. I would have never come back from that embarrassment.
What I did do was bad enough; it’s a good thing I didn’t push it further.
But it always was difficult to hold back with Emmet.
He allows me to be me, to do whatever I want, when I want.
I’ve never felt more free than when I’m with him, and it seems not much has changed.
Though, now that it’s Saturday afternoon and the minutes are winding down, it’s hitting me more that Emmet is coming by my house to make pizza with me and the kids.
I’ve spent the morning cleaning from top to bottom, fighting a pounding headache and nausea.
I’ve done laundry, washed the floors, and even vacuumed the ceiling fans and dusted the cobwebs from the ceiling corners.
The scent of lemon cleaning products was so bad I had to open the windows, then put down towels on the floor because the rain picked up and got in.
The kids helped me clean, which was adorable because I didn’t even ask them to.
Judy vacuumed the living room and Ian dusted the whole house—in about sixty seconds, I think.
Basically, he ran around and held out the duster, and whatever it touched, it touched.
I appreciate the help, and told him he did a great job.
He then went into his bedroom and destroyed it, after I spent an hour tidying it up, so I guess that door will remain closed while Emmet is here.
Judy had fun cleaning her room. She threw all her stuffed animals to the floor and organized them on her bed into a mountain in the corner. She fluffed her pillows and folded her blankets—the best a seven-year-old can do. The best part was the proud look on her face when she was done.
Now the house is spotless, and I have everything we need to make pizza—sauce, cheese, toppings, and different sorts of crusts. English muffins, bagels, croissants, and pizza dough. So it’s just a waiting game.
Emmet texted me yesterday and asked what time he should be here. I told him five. Then felt bad because that’s prime time at the bar, but he’d already told me he’d be here. Knowing Emmet, he’d rearrange his entire day to do something for me—or for anyone. He’s just a nice guy like that.
People look at him and judge him because he’s a big guy, but I think the term gentle giant was made for him.
His hair is dirty blond and long, though it’s shorter than it was when we were teenagers, but it’s still always pulled back into a bun.
His skin is fair, but he has a hard look at first glance.
It’s not until you look really close that you’ll see how kind those blue eyes really are.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Judy says with a huff.
“Do you want a snack? We’re going to make dinner in a couple hours.”
“Can I have cereal?”
“Sure, sweetheart. What kind?”
“Apple Jacks!”
I get her a bowl of cereal, then check on Ian, who is smashing his cars together in his room quietly, save for the little explosion noises. Those little things really keep him occupied.
Over the next couple of hours, while I wait for Emmet and try to keep my sanity, I busy myself with more cleaning and laundry—specifically changing the sheets on my bed. Before I know it, it’s almost five, and my heart is nearly pounding out of my chest.
I have no idea why I’m freaking out about him being here.
We’ve known each other forever. We were friends for years—and much more than friends, my brain keeps suddenly reminding me.
Emmet is a very chill person. He’s kind.
He won’t come in here and judge me for the way my house is, even if it was a dumpster fire. That isn’t who he is.
If he walked in here and saw it trashed, he’d offer to help me clean it—or just do it himself.
So what the hell am I so nervous about?
I have no more time to figure it out, because my doorbell rings and it can only be him.
“He’s here!” Judy shouts, running out of her room and jumping up and down. “Can I go get him?”
She was thrilled when I told her I would have a friend over today to help us make pizza. Judy is a social butterfly and is friends with everyone. She feels that we all should be like that, and doesn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want friends all the time.
“I’m not sure it’s him, so it’s better I go down.” She groans. “But you can wait up here, and when we knock on the door, you can open it.”
“Yay!” She jumps up and down again, then shoves me out the door with all her might and closes it behind me.
Kids are so strange.
I head down the steps, smoothing my shirt and checking my pants for stains.
When I reach the bottom, I make out Emmet’s blurry form on the other side of the frosted glass window in the door.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves because why the hell am I nervous at all?
This is Emmet. When I pull the door open, I’m met with a breathtaking smile and my heart flips in my chest.
“Hey,” he says smoothly.
“Hi,” I breathe out, just staring at him. Blinking. Maybe breathing, I’m not sure.
He looks like he always does, only better, somehow. I don’t know what it is about him today. Or last night, either. Though, that probably was the alcohol.
But I haven’t had a drop to drink today, and it’s like he’s glowing. Radiating something that calls to me.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
I chuckle nervously and step aside. “Yeah, of course.”
As we walk up the stairs to my apartment, me leading the way, all I can think about is how my ass is in his line of sight and I wonder if he’s looking at it.
That’s stupid, Adam. He isn’t looking at your ass.
I reach for the doorknob, but then stop and pull my hand back.
“We have to knock.” Emmet frowns, looking concerned. “I’ll explain after.” I give him a quick smile then knock three times, and the door is pulled open.
“Hello!” Judy says with a big grin. “Welcome to our home. I’m so glad you’re here. Daddy never has friends over. Like ever ever.”
Emmet is laughing as he steps inside, while I’m left in the hallway, absolutely mortified by my seven-year old calling me out like that.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say as I grab everything we need for pizza from the fridge and put them on the counter. Emmet’s eyes go wide.
“Yeah, I skipped lunch today, actually,” he says.
“Skipping meals isn’t good,” Judy says.
“You’re right, it’s not,” Emmet responds in the same tone he’d talk to anyone else in. I like that he isn’t babying her and that he’s treating her like a human.
“Then why did you do it?” she asks.
“Judy,” I say in warning.
“It’s fine,” Emmet tells me, then turns to Judy as I open packages to put the toppings and cheeses into glass bowls to leave on the counter. Emmet continues. “I was really busy with work, which isn’t really an excuse, but sometimes when you’re an adult, you forget things.”
“Daddy forgets stuff sometimes too.”
“I do not,” I say defensively. My mind is pretty sharp.
“There was that one time you forgot my lunch box.”
I think back to what she’s talking about and can’t even recall it. There is no point arguing with her though, so I just say, “Okay, one time.”
“So, how old are you?” Emmet asks.
“I’m seven.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Second.”
“Wow, that must be really cool.”
“It is really cool, but next year will be cooler because when we’re in third grade, we get a class pet to take care of.”
“Oh wow, that is awesome,” Emmet says, sounding like he means it. I don’t remember him being much of an animal guy, but we were kids, so who knows?
“I hope it’s a guinea pig, but we have to vote so it could be a rabbit or a hamster.”
“Those are nice too,” Emmet says.
“Not as nice as the long-haired guinea pigs though. They’re so cute. Have you ever seen one?” she gasps.
“I don’t think I have.”
She runs out of the room, and I know exactly what she’s doing.
“You’re screwed,” I mutter, and he only laughs.
She comes back a moment later with her iPad, grabs his arm, and tugs him toward the table. They go through pictures of guinea pigs, and I hear her telling him how me and her mother both decided she wasn’t responsible enough for a pet yet.
I find myself smiling every time I hear them laugh or when I peek at them and see them both huddling close together, Emmet pointing at the screen and Judy talking a mile a minute.
I love how kind my daughter is, and I love how sweet Emmet is.
“Judy, can you get your brother, please? It’s time to make pizzas,” I say when everything is set up. I hate breaking up their little bonding session, but I’m starving.
“We can finish looking at these later,” Judy says, shutting off the iPad and taking it to put away in her room. Emmet gets up, smiling as he walks over to me.
“She’s a lot. Sorry.”
“Don’t ever apologize for your kids being kids, Adam. She’s amazing.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I turn back to the food so I don’t throw my arms around him and hug him. I never get reassurance that I’m doing the right thing with them, and that… it means a lot. I should tell him that, but then Judy comes into the kitchen, pouting.
“He wouldn’t come,” she growls.
I huff a sigh. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Three-year-olds are stubborn. Emmet, could you help her start?”
“Absolutely.”
I hear them chatting about pizza as I head into Ian’s room. He’s lying on his side, staring up at Bluey who is on the TV, a red car in his hand.
“Hey, bud. It’s time to eat.”
“No hungry,” he says.
I kneel down, and notice his cheeks are flushed, so I put the back of my hand to his forehead. He feels warm.
“Do you feel okay?” I ask. He nods, eyes still on the TV.
“Okay, how about some juice?” I ask. He nods again. “I’m going to take your temperature first.”
I find the temporal thermometer in the bathroom. 100.3. Not much of a temp, according to the doctor, but I’ll check again later just to see if it gets worse.
“Everything okay?” Emmet asks when I’m back in the kitchen.
“Yeah, he’s a little warm, but not much of a temp. I’m going to get him some juice.”
“He’s always sick,” Judy says. “It’s yucky. He coughs all over the place and has boogers on his face.”
Emmet chuckles. “I’m sure you did that when you were little and sick.”
“Yuck, I did not,” she says firmly.
“I bet Daddy did too,” Emmet whispers loudly behind his hand.
She grins then starts laughing. “Ew, Daddy.”
I smile as I pour juice into a sippy cup for Ian.
I take a pillow and blanket from his bed and shift him around to get comfy on the floor, since it’s his favorite place to lay.
I’ll find him asleep here in the mornings more than in his bed.
I thought there was something wrong with the mattress, but Leslie said he does the same thing there.
“Okay, well, now that’s done, how are we looking in here?” I ask.
“Our pizzas are in the oven. We made one for you and for Ian, in case he wants to eat later.”
I smile at Judy. “Thanks, sweetheart. That was very nice of you.”
“It was Emmet’s idea.”
My gaze goes to him, but he keeps his attention on the counter he’s wiping up.
I’m pretty sure that it isn’t the alcohol that’s making my chest feel like this…