Chapter 6
Emily woke up the following morning feeling refreshed and…nervous. Glancing at the clock, she realized that Hendrix would be here in four hours. She hadn’t been able to get out of the club as early as she’d hoped last night since several members had lingered over their brandy. Obviously, many of the members didn’t have happy home lives and preferred the company they found at the club. It was one of the reasons that the club was so profitable, she thought as she threw back the sheets and blankets.
After a quick shower, she debated what to wear. Did Hendrix expect a formal dinner? Nope. Charlie had prepared everything for the meal and they were watching movies and football! No one dressed up to watch football.
Even as she stood in front of her closet, she received a text message. Smiling, she read the message, “ Jeans today or something nicer? ”
Great minds think alike, she mentally quoted, then texted him back, “ Definitely jeans. Can’t watch football in nice clothes. It doesn’t work. ”
After grabbing a pair of well-worn jeans and one of her nicer sweaters, Emily dressed and did her hair. She even worked a bit harder on her makeup today, wanting to look her best for Hendrix.
Not that this was a date or anything. Of course not. She was just entertaining Hendrix, the guy who probably had a whole entourage of women trailing after him like he was the Pied Piper of Charm. A man that looked like Hendrix had to collect admirers like Pokémon cards, she reasoned. Perhaps a different lady for every night of the week—a Hendrix harem.
The mental image made her cringe. She didn't want to picture Hendrix as some sort of Casanova with a revolving door of romantic interests. Instead, she focused on more pressing matters, like speed-cleaning her entire living space. In a frenzied whirlwind of activity, she mopped her kitchen floor, dusted every piece of furniture, and vacuumed the life out of her carpets—all while sporting curlers in her hair. Because nothing says, "Welcome, potential ladies' man!" like cleaning your home in rollers.
As the clock mercilessly ticked its way to ten o'clock, Emily's nerves were doing the cha-cha. She surveyed her battlefield—the kitchen, where the remnants of Charlie's culinary genius were stashed in the fridge, ready to make their grand entrance. Her oven, pre-heated and standing at attention, was like a reliable soldier awaiting its orders.
She double-checked everything, performing a kitchen equivalent of a pre-flight checklist, as if her oven might suddenly decide to take a siesta or the fridge would pull a disappearing act. Emily might not have been a seasoned chef, but she was ready to face the holiday feast with determination.
With a deep breath, Emily rallied her inner kitchen warrior. "Alright, appliances, let's make history! Or at least a decent dinner," she muttered to herself, hoping that this culinary escapade wouldn't end up being a tragicomedy. As the clock struck ten, Emily braced herself for the impending arrival of Hendrix and the potential chaos that awaited in the name of holiday cheer.
Emily couldn't help but wonder what Hendrix's reaction would be. Her tiny house was practically a cozy nook in the grand scheme of things. Two bedrooms, a kitchen that doubled as a dining room, and a living space that made "cozy" sound like a euphemism for "tinier than a studio apartment." She wasn't against spacious living; she just preferred her money to go towards her investment portfolio rather than square footage.
As she pondered Hendrix's potential reaction to her compact haven, she couldn't help but shrug in a way that said, "Hey, it's cozy, okay? And we can call it 'intimate' if we're feeling fancy." She imagined giving him a grand tour, gesturing with flair to each room as if presenting a masterpiece, hoping that her home's charm would outweigh its petite proportions. Emily’s home might not be a mansion, but her place had character, and in her book, character was way better than a sprawling estate any day.
When the doorbell rang, she gave her home one last sweeping glance. Everything was in its place. Everything looked nice and tidy. She was ready.
Why was she so nervous? This wasn’t a date. It absolutely wasn’t a date. This was just two coworkers sharing a holiday meal. Emily had shared Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with Maggie and Ann so many times over the years. There was nothing different about today’s meal.
“Just breathe, Em,” she whispered.
Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she rested her hand on the doorknob and tried to slow down her excited breathing. When she opened her eyes, Emily felt better, more balanced.
With a bright, welcoming smile on her face, she opened the door and…was stunned.
“Hendrix!” she sighed, staring at the man. He’d pulled a soft blue sweater over a white tee-shirt and the material hugged his impressive shoulders in all the right places. Her eyes traveled over his flat stomach and narrow hips, envying the soft denim that got to hug all of those muscles in his thighs. Surely she wasn’t jealous of a pair of jeans!
“Merry Christmas, Em.”
The words snapped her eyes back up to his face and Emily swallowed hard, shocked that she’d objectified the man!
His handsome features seemed to be waiting for something. Mentally, she thought back to the pre-objectification perusal and…that’s when she’d remembered his greeting.
“Thank you!” Emily gasped, finally remembering her manners. “And…yes! Merry Christmas to you!” She stepped backwards making space for him to come into her house “Please, come in! I’m so glad you’re here!”
“These are for you,” he said, handing her an enormous bouquet of pink roses. Immediately, her nostrils were filled with the sweet scent.
“Wow! How beautiful!” She buried her nose in the flowers, giving herself time to overcome this flustered sensation. Hendrix was just so darn big and overwhelming!
“Glad you like them,” he replied, staring down at her. “I also brought a pie for dessert. I wasn’t sure what to bring. Sorry, I should have asked.”
"That's so sweet of you," Emily responded, her words genuine but her gaze held hostage by the gravitational pull of Hendrix's ridiculously handsome features. She found herself teetering on the precipice of turning into a starry-eyed cartoon character with heart-shaped eyes. Cue the internal monologue: Must. Resist. Drooling.
In the midst of her silent swooning, Emily had a sudden epiphany; she was gawking. She straightened her shoulders, and hastily turned around, gesturing around the house with a flair that screamed, "Behold, my humble abode!"
"Come on in," she said, suddenly feeling as shy as a debutante with an unexpected crush on the prom king. Her body language, usually confident and assertive, now resembled a hastily rehearsed dance routine with a few missteps thrown in for good measure. She led the way into the house, unintentionally showcasing a blend of charm and awkwardness as if she were conducting a tour for a VIP guest while trying to convince him that, yes, her house was indeed the trendiest spot in town.
No, not “all of a sudden”. When she was around Hendrix, this was par for the course. She seemed to stumble a lot whenever she was near Hendrix lately. It didn’t make sense, except that she’d finally admitted her feelings for the guy, if only to herself.
“The movie is cued up.”
“Movie?” he prompted.
“Do you still want to watch Christmas movies?” she asked, suddenly still. She loved starting off the day with a bit of Christmas charm, Hollywood style. It was sort of a tradition that she, Ann, and Maggie had started. The past four years, they’d added in several newer movies, such as “Rudolph” and “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas”, for Ann’s four year old son, Archer. It didn’t matter what they watched, Emily merely wanted to start the day off with a sappy movie filled with Christmas spirit.
“Right!” he said with a nod. “You mentioned that yesterday. Sorry. Yes, I’d love to watch the movies.”
Emily smiled and brought the flowers into the kitchen. “I know that some of them can be a bit corny, but I love them.” She reached for an old vase, but she’d put it on the top shelf of her cabinet. Not a lot of use for a vase when she didn’t date and she was too thrifty to buy herself flowers.
Before she could step back and grab her step stool, a large arm reached up past her and easily plucked the vase down. Emily gasped when she felt his chest brush her back. The brief touch sent her mind spinning right back down that yummy path!
He didn’t step back as he handed it to her. “Thank you,” she whispered, not daring to move for fear of touching him again.
Thankfully, he stepped away, giving her room to breathe. Not much room. Hendrix was a big guy and he took up a lot of space.