6. Emma
Emma
Once the field trip is over, I’m off work, but I hesitate in the back.
It would be so easy to find Seth now and take him up on his dinner offer.
I can’t bring myself to ask another guy out after crashing and burning so hard the last time I tried.
He’s right here, he’s an easy date, and he’s already asked—multiple times.
How pathetic am I?
I tug a second, thicker sweater over my head to fight the autumn chill I know is waiting for me outside and check to make sure I’m all logged out of the work computer.
Maybe I value myself more than going back to a guy who wasn’t totally in it last time, or maybe he really has changed and I’m missing out on an opportunity at love and fulfillment. I’m undecided, which is a plain sign that I need to hold off on making rash decisions.
Ugh. Why is dating more complicated than the Dewey Decimal System?
The hardware store is open for another half hour, so I hurry outside before I can talk myself into something I might regret and speedwalk down the sidewalk.
I’m determined to work on my bathroom this weekend, even if my twin siblings are having a birthday and I have to cover in-class middle school visits Friday.
The deep blue sky greets me vibrantly against the pops of red, orange, and yellow on the sugar maples and elms that line Main Street. Cool, damp air smells of changing leaves and burgers from the Maple Bar and Grill.
I pull out my phone and send a message in our sibling group chat.
Since our mom died ten years ago, it’s kind of fallen on me to keep everything moving as it always has.
Things and traditions that were important to Mom cannot die along with her.
Each twin needs their own birthday cake, the house needs to be decorated, Dad needs to be reminded to get them each a gift—probably—and I need to remind them all to meet at Dad’s for dinner so we can maintain family unity.
Emma
It’s almost birthday weekend! We need to start making plans. What kind of cakes do you want?
Dominic
Whatever Rosie wants
Emma
You’re different people. You’re allowed different cakes.
Dominic
Rosie probably wants chocolate, and I like that one too
Emma
Let us celebrate you Dom!!! It’s not every year you guys turn TWENTY-NINE.
Rosie
Ugh don’t remind me.
Emma
Do we need to watch 13 Going on 30?
Rosie
I’m already flirty and thriving and I don’t turn 30 until next year, thanks.
Dominic
Fine. The one with all the coconut on the outside
Emma
German chocolate? Done.
Rosie
All I really want is my inn to be magically finished and ready for guests. Renovations are no joke
Well, I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t even finish one bathroom.
Emma
Will you take tacos and a chocolate cake instead?
Rosie
Sounds like a reasonable trade-off.
I heart her text and make a mental note to look up a good book on managing time and stress. Maybe if I get Rosie the audio, she’ll be able to fit it into her busy life.
I push open the door to the hardware store and a bell jingles over my head.
They act like it’s not a big deal birthday, but it’s the final year in their twenties.
I had my thirtieth recently and I remember what a milestone it felt like—forcing me to assess everything I’ve accomplished so far in my life, which is, admittedly, plenty.
But I also took a hard look at the things I still want to do, and the list felt five times as long.
Namely: tile the bathroom and install the new sink and paint the place to give it a total reboot.
I’m typing out a list of questions about what kind of birthday tacos they want when a deep, familiar voice stops my fingers in their tracks. Carson’s here, and by the sound of things, he’s not alone.
Do I leave? The man is going to be convinced I’m stalking him at this point.
“Hey there, Emma,” the store clerk says, smiling broadly. Nate Berkeley is polite, tall, dark-haired, and has a girlfriend. “What can we do for you today?”
“I need grout,” I say quietly, hoping he’ll match my volume. “For the bathroom.”
“Still haven’t put that tile in?”
Okay, does everyone have to remember how slow I am at completing projects? Yes, I bought the tiles here at the beginning of the summer. Six months ago I had high hopes for my sunny productivity. But it’s waned, the garden took all my energy, and I do have a full-time career.
Cool it, Emma. He’s not nearly as judgmental as I’m feeling. This is one of those the guilty taketh the truth to be hard scenarios, for sure.
And he didn’t even lower his voice.
“I’m going to do it now,” I say with conviction. “Next trip I’ll be buying paint. Just watch.”
“I have faith in you.” He smiles. “Follow me. I’ll show you where the grout is.” Nate leads me down an aisle and turns a corner, and I know we’re about to pass Carson. It’s only natural that the item I need would be on the same aisle as him. Why would I ever catch a break?
“If that’s the one you want,” Carson says, glancing up. When his eyes fall on me, he smiles pleasantly, but his attention is back on Penny immediately.
She bounces on her toes, nodding.
“But it’s your mom’s favorite color,” he says softly.
“Mine too,” she says defiantly.
Carson looks like he wants to argue, but he drops it, nodding. “Okay.”
“Be right with you,” Nate tells them, leading me to the other end of the aisle. He points out the different kinds of grout and explains what I’ll need to buy. I did research months ago, so I had something in mind. After hearing his descriptions, I feel confident in my choice.
“Aren’t you my Nana’s friend?” Penny asks, looking up at me.
I smile, surprised she remembers me. Our awkward kitchen run-in was days ago. “Yeah. I’m also your new neighbor.”
“Did you buy your own flour?” she asks.
Humiliation washes over me anew, but I push it aside. When I walked into that house, I didn’t do anything I haven’t done a dozen other times. Sharon doesn’t care when I take a cup of flour, because I always bring her a loaf of bread in payment.
Except I still need to do that. Sour Dan has been bubbling nicely. It’s time to bake.
She’s holding a ballerina pink paint chip, so I gesture to it instead of answering her. “That’s really pretty.”
Penny’s smile breaks out. “My dad is painting my room. It was my Aunt Maven’s room, but now it’s mine, so I get to make it look how I want.”
“You’re really lucky.” I hesitate. “You know, I used to be friends with your Aunt Maven in high school. She’s pretty awesome.”
Penny lights up. “She’s my favorite!”
Carson puts his hand on Penny’s shoulder. “We’d better pick out rollers, Nickel.”
“Can I have my own?”
“Sure thing.”
My body freezes while I try to decide if it’s worth interfering, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Your mom already has everything you’d need to paint her room, except the paint.”
He looks up, his green eyes tracking over my face.
They’re calculating, and the heavy way his gaze rests on me makes me feel things I have no business feeling in the hardware store on a Tuesday afternoon.
His fingers pressing into my waist, his hot breath over my skin, the way he smelled like man, and how warm I was despite the cold outside.
Good grief, I’m flushed just thinking about it.
This is no way to think about a person while you’re speaking to their nine-year-old daughter.
I shove aside the snatches of vivid memories and smile broadly.
“I helped her paint the kitchen, so I know she has all the things you need—drop cloths, tape, rollers, brushes.”
“Good to know,” he says.
“But maybe you already know that.”
“She mentioned you’re particularly good at cutting in.”
My cheeks warm further. Why can’t I resist a blush just once? Curse of red hair. “I meant the supplies. She didn’t tell you she has them already?”
“We’re here on a whim.”
“I’d start with the primer and the paint, then.”
“Thanks.” He points down to the end of the aisle. “You can still pick out your own roller, Nickel.”
Penny squeals, racing down to where they’re all hanging on hooks.
“You know different rollers leave different finishes, right?” I can’t help myself. I’m Hermione-ing the heck out of his errand here, and it’s going to do nothing but drive him away.
“What?” he asks, making me feel a little glad I spoke up. He moves closer so another woman can pass us as she heads toward the register.
“Not all rollers are created equally. Some leave more of a texture and others are smoother. It depends on the look you’re going for.”
Carson rubs a hand over his face, fingers scratching over his stubble. “Which one do I want?”
“Have you never painted a room before?”
His eyebrows hitch up. “Okay, Judgy McJudgerson. I have, but I didn’t buy any of the supplies. This isn’t something I’ve had to think about before.”
“The ones your mom has are great for bedroom walls.”
“I’m beginning to think I don’t know what I’m doing, which is concerning since my entire office needs a refresh.”
“If I can figure out a bathroom renovation, you can paint some walls, Carson.”
His gaze jumps to me, soaking me in, like using his name unlocked a door between us we were both pretending wasn’t there. His green eyes are deep and full and lock my feet right in place. “So, you knew my sister?”
I swallow roughly, keeping my attention off his lips. “We were in the same grade.”
He nods slowly.
Some part of me must be feeling gutsy, because the next words leave my mouth without my permission. “I kind of knew you, too.”
“Really? Huh.” Carson’s head cocks to the side, but he has the grace not to say he doesn’t remember me. “So…when we met the other night?”
“I might have already known who you were. You don’t take us clear to State without gaining some notoriety in this town.
” It’s the perfect opportunity to remind him of our year together TAing in the office or how I helped with the newspaper and we crossed paths occasionally.
But apparently my bravery, and my need to bring up my braces-studded past, has limits.
His eyes narrow. “What was that at the bar, then? An act? You were pretending we’re strangers?”
I’m pretty sure we both had a no-strings idea of that night, but I can’t say that to him.
He was clear about his intentions—or lack thereof—and I was going with the flow of the evening and enjoying my ride in Cinderella’s carriage.
Prince Charming over here was part of the magic, but no, I had zero expectations.
Besides, if anyone has a right to be hurt by the events that transpired, it’s me.
Carson told me he was leaving town. I thought he still lived in Tennessee.
Really, he was only moving thirty minutes away, and if he was actually interested in me, that would be a reasonable distance to…
I don’t know…ask a woman on a date, instead of make out with her and then bounce.
The more I think about it, the more irritated I become.
“You were fairly blunt about leaving town.” I hold my ground. “I don’t think you get to throw accusations at me.”
“If you knew who I was, you knew my mom already.” The pieces fall into place in his head, and he leans back a little, assessing me. I can feel his gaze moving over me. “You knew we were neighbors.”
“No.” We need to get this straight. Again. “I knew I was neighbors with your mom, but you told me you weren’t sticking around. I figured you were heading back to Tennessee.”
His eyes widen for a moment. Crap. I’ve given too much away. I know far more about this guy than I should.
“Your mom talks to me,” I say defensively. “I’m still not a stalker.”
“That’s yet to be determined.”
Give me a break. I can’t take his conceit anymore. Yeah, he has a daughter, and that’s reason enough to make sure the random woman from the bar doesn’t follow him around town and get all up in his business, but neither of us revealed the entire truth that night. We both held back.
Now I really need to kill this crush. Pour Roundup on it until it shrivels to dust. Maybe a date with Seth wouldn’t be so bad.
One date to see if the things he said were true, if he really has matured enough to be half of an adult relationship.
We’re not getting married. There’s no heavy commitment in going out once.
It’s a healthy thing to do…date. I’m an adult, and I won’t find a man by sitting around and waiting for him to knock on my door.
“Well,” I say, lugging my powdered grout up by the handle. “My bathroom’s calling. So see you around—or not. Preferably not.”
“Ouch.”
He asked for it. I walk away, pausing over Penny, and tap the roller next to the one she’s looking at. “This one will be easier to use.”
She gives me a smile, revealing the missing tooth on the bottom.
I want to ask where her mom is, but that’s inappropriate on so many levels, and my curiosity doesn’t need to be satiated.
Instead, I walk away, ignoring the heat boring into my back from Carson’s stare.
When I finish my purchase and head outside, I open my phone to Seth’s number and type out a message, chewing on my lip and questioning my sanity.
Emma
So about that dinner…do you already have a date to Demi’s wedding?
Send.