Chapter 6
Knightley
If one more person at this church tells me they wish they could move to Juniper Grove to vote for me, I might lose my mind.
Or at the very least, I may find a church closer to my house in Juniper Grove instead of driving out here every Sunday.
No, I wouldn’t do that. This place, these people—though nosy and intrusive—are truly my home.
“Oh, Knightley, dear.” Ms. Mary Bates tugs my arm as I’m trying to exit the small white building that’s currently my nemesis. “I heard you have new competition. If I could move to Juniper Grove…”
“Thank you, Ms. Bates. Your vocal support of my political endeavors means a great deal to me.” A great deal of poop, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Thankfully, Henrietta catches her attention and drags her away from me with a knowing smile.
One can always count on Henrietta to corral Ms. Bates.
Ms. Bates is Henrietta’s aunt. She adopted Henrietta after her parents were killed in a plane crash.
I mouth the words thank you and then make my escape.
I notice Emma Jane talking with the reverend, and I have half the mind to go over there simply because I don’t like the way he’s looking at her.
I’m beginning to wonder if this man is fit to lead a church, but not because he is single.
It’s more about the way he leers at Emma Jane and his lousy personality that he tries to hide.
Marcus told me about running into Henrietta after her date with the reverend, and I’m highly perturbed at the way the man acted.
Opting to mind my own business for now, I walk across the lawn to the parking lot and get into my car.
I travel the short distance from Hartfield Presbyterian Church to Henry’s house for our traditional Sunday lunch.
The antebellum house is a sight to behold with its classic Georgian style.
I always thought I’d like to live here one day amidst the deep green grasses and old civil war bunker turned into a shed out in the back.
With Bella, Emma Jane’s sister, living in London, the only person the house will be left to is Emma Jane.
Or me.
But Emma Jane doesn't need to know that I promised her father I’d take over the estate if Emma Jane ran off and got married.
No one else has made it here yet, but I walk inside anyway because Henry gave me a key eons ago.
I hang my dress coat on the golden rack by the door and walk through the entryway until I arrive at the sitting room.
Henry gives the housekeepers Friday through Sunday off, so I gather logs from the rack tucked away in the corner of the room and get the fire started.
Maybe Henry won’t complain about random drafts if the fire is already hot and going.
The rest of us are sure to begin sweating, but it’s his house, and we all care about the sensitive man greatly.
Before long, Henry and Emma Jane arrive, followed by my mom, who is on the phone with my brother, John.
Henry takes a seat near the fire and closes his eyes while Mom and Emma Jane head toward the kitchen.
Henry must be having an off day, so I lay a thin blanket over him and join the women to help prep our meal.
“Knightley, be a dear and grab the boiled eggs from the fridge. E. J. said they should be inside a blue container.” I look around for the short, platinum blonde firecracker, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
After grabbing the eggs, I watch my mom, whose silver hair is fixed into a neat bun as she moves around the kitchen like she owns the place.
This was our family’s second home after Dad passed away.
When Henry’s wife died, he and Mom found companionship in one another.
It’s never been romantic, but the two have a deep friendship like I’ve never seen.
Something deeper than what I have with Emma Jane or what I had with Cami before she passed away. An understanding only grief can create.
The thought of Cami stuns me for a second as it always does when she pops up in my head without warning.
And right as I’m staring into the past, as well as presently at the kitchen entrance where Mom just disappeared through, Emma Jane comes into view wearing a pretty pink sundress, her shoulder-length hair framing her face perfectly.
My gut clenches and my head spins.
Emma Jane looks stunning, and the guilt I feel over that thought while thinking of my deceased wife leaves me breathless.
I shake my head then come to my senses as Emma Jane checks me as if I’ve lost it. “You okay?”
“There was a… bug,” I say, swatting at perfectly clear air. Maybe I have lost it. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed Emma Jane’s womanness over the past couple of years. But noticing it while having a moment of missing Cami… it feels wrong.
Which leads me to a ridiculous comparison of the two that I can’t help but make.
Emma Jane is snarky and full of fight, whereas Cami was always the sweet and go-with-the-flow type, even when she challenged me.
Emma Jane demands to be the center of attention, whereas Cami would shy away from it.
I remember countless conversations where she would cry in my arms over feeling like she couldn’t step out of line even once because her town expected perfection from her.
Though they shared platinum blonde hair and tan skin, Cami was tall and slim whereas Emma Jane is short and curvy. Cami had sharp features whereas Emma Jane’s face is softer, her eyes more of an almond shape. Her lips are fuller. Pouty.
Something hits my forehead, and I rip my attention from her mouth. Emma Jane’s eyebrows are knitted together, and she holds a rag, which I’m assuming is what snapped against my forehead. “Why are you looking at my lips? Stop being weird.”
Heat crawls up my neck, deepening when I catch Mom across the kitchen island, sneaking glances our way while wearing a satisfied smile.
“You wish I was,” I mumble unintelligibly.
She quips back. “In your dreams, Squire.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort with “maybe tonight,” but I smack my lips together to hold it in. That’s crossing a line. A line I accidently pole vaulted over two nights ago when I invited her over to watch a movie with me.
I couldn’t tell you what came over me, and I surmise it’s the simple fact that I’ve begun to notice Emma Jane, and it’s been a long time since I’ve dated or even thought of a woman.
Emma Jane laughs. “See? You’re already wetting your lips thinking about it.” Then she casually calls over her shoulder. “Jane, come get your son. He’s hitting on me again.”
Mom shocks me when she says, “It’s about time he’s sticks his toe over the friendship line.”
We both tear our attention from each other and redirect to Mom. I screech, “I am not,” just as Emma Jane says breathlessly, “He is not.”
I motion toward her as if she alone verified the authenticity of my statement.
“Again?” Jane asks. “When did he hit on you the first time?”
My face flames with heat, and I cut my eyes to Emma Jane. Is she going to tell my mother that I told Emma Jane I wanted her to need me? Oh, heavens… please no. Don’t do it, Janie. Don’t—
Emma Jane swallows, shifting her reddened face from me to my mother, and then she blurts, “I’m actually going to matchmake Knightley. I was simply testing out his flirting game.”
Thank you, Lord.
Wait, what?
At this statement, Mom exits the kitchen once more, and I stalk the short distance until I’m hovering over Emma Jane. “No. You are not meddling in my love life.”
She throws a saucy smile up at me. “Of course not. Your love life doesn’t exist. I’m helping you create one.”
I try to think of a smart remark, but… she’s right. Still not happening, though. “I don’t need a love life.”
“Everyone needs a love life.” She clicks her tongue.
“Then set yourself up. Last I heard you’re single. And you’ve never been on a date. How can you even match people when you’ve never experienced love?”
Hurt flashes across her blue eyes, and I immediately regret my words. But she’s already talking before I can apologize.
“I know love. I love Papa, and he loves me.
I love my sister, and she loves me. I love Henrietta, and she loves me.
I love yo—“ She stops herself mid-sentence, the hurt replaced with something like horror mixed with disbelief.
She shifts her gray-blue eyes away from me before continuing.
“I love you. As a friend. I know friendship and familial love. The only thing that would make romantic love different from what I know is the physical stuff. And we can get along just fine without it.”
I scoff, running my hand through my hair.
How can she so easily dismiss romantic love?
Especially when she’s trying to match people for a living!
I lean down, captivating her full attention, then speak slowly.
“Romantic love is so much more than friendship. It’s more than being family.
It’s a committed lifetime. It’s knowing someone at their darkest and loving them anyway.
It’s needing their touch to bring relief to your anxiety.
It’s drowning in their kiss when you’ve had an awful, hard day.
It’s laying your head next to someone each and every night, knowing they have the power to destroy you but trusting that they love you and will choose to enliven you. ”
Emma Jane never breaks contact, and we are close enough I smell the butterscotch on her breath from her church candies.
The urge to close my eyes and minimize the remaining distance between us surprises me, and I fling myself backward, stumbling over my own feet.
Emma Jane reaches out for me, and as my hand closes around hers, I realize that she’s not preventing me from falling.
She’s coming down with me.
As I crash toward the tiled floor, I hold Emma Jane close against me to prevent her from hitting the ground.
She lands on my chest as my back slams against the dark blue marble floor, knocking the breath from my lungs.
We are a mess of entwined limbs and pained groans.
When her eyes lock with mine, I feel a surge of heat course through my veins.
Her hair creates a wall against the outside world, and I think I might want to kiss her within this private nook on the floor.
It’s been eight years since I’ve kissed a woman…
“Emma Jane. Do you mind?” I wish I could say my words sound annoyed, but they sound like a desperate plea. Emma Jane. Do you mind getting off of me? Because I’m about to snap and kiss you. And I really shouldn’t do that because you’re you.
“Oh, right. Um…” She frantically scrambles to get off me, but because of the way we are tangled together, she only manages to straddle me before she falls over, her hands bracing against my chest as her molten gaze suggests she might want to kiss me, too. Oh, God… Give me strength…
It’s not that I want Emma Jane particularly, I tell myself. It’s that I’ve been starved of this type of affection for a long while. I forgot how good it felt to desire a woman.
“What is going on here?” Henry’s booming voice looms over us, and that is enough to get Emma Jane back solidly on her feet. I grunt as I get up, my body reminding me that no matter how much I run and work out, I’m thirty-six.
And she’s twenty-three.
I grunt again, but this time because I’m disgusted with myself. I’m not allowed to have thoughts about Emma Jane because she’s her. She’s like a little sister.
But she’s not, my brain helpfully reminds me.
She’s too young for me. Thirteen years is a ginormous gap, especially when she’s in her early twenties…
It’s not like you just met her. You’ve known her forever.
Precisely! She’s the textbook definition of off-limits, I battle with my thoughts.
“Knightley was being his clumsy self and started to fall, but when I tried to help, he brought me down with him.” Emma Jane laughs nervously as if she was caught in a precarious situation.
It feels like we were caught doing something judging by the way Henry is glaring at me.
Emma Jane elbows me, and I cackle a little too loudly alongside her. “Yep. That’s what happened.” And it is what happened, so why does it feel like I’m lying?
“Knightley isn’t clumsy.” Henry’s monotone voice sends chills down my spine.
Mom lingers with a knowing look at the doorway of the kitchen as Henry leaves. We all set to work continuing to prepare lunch. Emma Jane approaches the topic of matchmaking me with someone again, and of course, I shoot her down.
Again and again and again I shoot her down, even when she tries to convince me she will find a “lovely woman.”
It’s not that I’m opposed to love. I’m opposed to falling in love again only to have said love ripped from my fingers.
Better to not risk that possibility. I’ve come to terms with the accident and have gotten over being angry at God for it all, but that doesn’t mean I want to go through that again, even if it means experiencing romantic love once more.
Even if it means finding someone who makes me feel things again…
Which is the icing on the cake as to why whatever just happened between me and Emma Jane—and whatever nonsense got into me the other day in my home when I flirted with her and got dizzy on her scent while she hid herself away in my arms throughout the movie—is irrelevant.
Dead. A moot point, as we say in law when something up for discussion is of no importance.
However, after we all sit down at the long dining table to eat our meal, Emma Jane shows me a picture of a pretty brunette with a charming smile and kind eyes.
Emma Jane says her name is Mallory and that I’m supposed to meet her at seven p.m. sharp on Friday night.
Emma Jane argues that if all goes well, then having a girlfriend could boost my poll numbers. It’s the most idiotic of ideas, but…
For some reason…
I quit fighting her on it.
Maybe if I date another woman then I’ll stop having completely inappropriate thoughts and impulses toward Emma Jane.
It’ll be my first date since I took the stunning blonde from college out for ice cream after exams. After that first one I knew I never wanted to go on a first date again.
But God had other plans.