Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
DANA
The lights flickered, and Emily pulled away, her cheeks pink, her chest rising and falling.
I blinked, my heart thudding in my chest. What just happened?
“Sorry,” Emily said, ducking her head. “I got carried away.”
My shoulders dropped. Did she think our kiss was a mistake? I mean, I knew it was a mistake. An incredible, extremely enjoyable mistake. She was leaving... We were meant to be just friends... But part of me hoped Emily didn’t see it that way.
“That’s okay,” I said as I pulled off my jacket and shook off the snow.
“It’s been a big night. I think we both got a bit carried away.
” I blinked, taking in Emily’s wet hair and soaked clothes.
“We should get you in the shower before you get too cold. I’ll grab you a towel and a change of clothes. ”
I bustled Emily across the living room to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet and cranking the heater on the way. Once she shut the door behind her, I grabbed gray sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie from my bedroom.
“I’ve left a change of clothes just outside,” I called through the wooden door.
“Thank you!” Emily said, her voice muffled.
Shivering, I changed into navy sweatpants and a hoodie with Red Tractor Farm emblazoned on it, toweled my hair to dry it, and then walked to the kitchen, my mind still buzzing from the kiss.
Did it mean Emily was attracted to women? Did it mean she was attracted to me?
But even if she did like me, how could it work? We lived in different places, had very different jobs.
I would be setting myself up for heartbreak all over again.
I sighed. I should make us some food.
The fridge was depressingly bare. A few eggs, goat cheese, pickles, butter, milk, yogurt that was past its due date and some droopy carrots.
Hmmm.
I frowned. We wouldn’t starve, but Emily came from a family of foodies.
I wanted to make her something half decent.
I collected the kitchen scissors and flashlight, yanked my thick waterproof jacket off the hook next to the back door, and ran outside, bracing myself against the icy gusts.
Snow crunched under my feet as I made my way over to the veggie patch.
I scooped up the snow and threw it to the side until a green leek poked through.
I yanked out the leek and cut a large handful of snow-covered spinach, my ears burning with cold, then jogged back inside, exhaling as I shut the door behind me.
I hated to think what impact the storm was having on the trees. All the heavy wind combined with the snow could do some serious damage. What terrible timing, just before opening weekend. I’d have to do an inspection once it was over to survey the damage. There was nothing I could do right now.
I got to work, washing and chopping the spinach and leek, crumbling the cheese, frying the leek in butter, and then throwing in the spinach at the end to wilt it.
I mixed the vegetables and cheese together with the eggs and poured it back into the frying pan on the stove top.
Not the most exciting meal, but it would do.
Just as I flipped the omelet over, the bathroom door clicked open.
I dropped two slices of bread in the toaster and the house plunged into darkness.
Emily shrieked.
Goddamnit.
“Stay where you are!” I called. “I’ll grab the flashlight and come get you.”
The gas flame under the frying pan was the only source of light. Using that to ground me, I crept to the back door, feeling around until my hands hit my heavy-duty flashlight. I turned it on, strode to the stove and switched it off, then raced into the living room.
Emily stood on the wooden floor, illuminated by my flashlight, dressed in my sweatpants and hoodie, her hair cascading down in damp waves. Damn.
What would it be like to kiss her again, now that we were both warm and comfortable? Probably even better. Stop gawking and say something.
“The storm must have taken down some lines. I don’t have a backup generator, but I have candles and a fireplace.
We can set up in the living room until the power comes back on.
” Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long for the power to kick back in.
I shuddered at the memory of my parents’ farm being without power for two days in the Thanksgiving snowstorm of 2014.
Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I opened the linen closet and pulled out two large candles.
“Do you mind holding these?” I asked.
“Load me up.” Emily held out her arms.
Once the candles were set out around the living room, I lit their wicks. Before long, the room was dimly lit by the flames. Not well enough to read a book, but enough that we could at least see where we were going without the flashlight. The effect was actually a little romantic.
I swallowed. That was the last thing we needed after the kiss…
I stepped over to the hearth. “I should get the fire started so we can eat before the food is cold.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Emily asked, perched on the edge of the couch as I collected logs and kindling from the basket.
I shook my head. “I’ll be done in a minute.”
The fire took hold faster than I’d expected.
Damn, I loved an open fire. I didn’t use it very often these days due to the environmental effects.
In fact, the last time I’d used it was when Emily had come over to practice her lines.
But I loved the smell, the look of the flames as they licked the air, the uneven warmth it imparted.
Jake and I had spent hours lounging in front of my parents’ fire as kids, curled up reading with our family’s Weimaraners.
And then later, Bowie had loved lying next to it while I read in the armchair.
I stared into the fire as a familiar ache tugged at my heart.
“I’ll just go grab the food.”
In the kitchen, I poked the omelet with a finger. It was still warm. I flipped it onto a plate and cut it in half.
My eyes fell on the toaster. Damn. The untoasted bread poked out the top. I grabbed metal tongs, knives and forks and piled the bread onto another plate along with a chunk of butter.
In the living room, I handed Emily her plate. “Feel free to start digging in before it gets cold. I’m just going to toast some bread over the fire. Dad used to do this on camping trips. If my memory serves me well, it’s vastly superior to your standard toaster-cooked toast.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. “This looks amazing.” She smiled over at me, the soft glow of the fire somehow making her even more attractive.
Goddamnit. I really wanted to kiss her again. While that was not advisable, we should probably at least discuss it—acknowledge it happened and then agree to move on? Perhaps after dinner.
I flipped the toast, dropped it on my plate and smeared it with butter. I handed one slice to Emily and then took a seat at the other end of the couch from her.
“Mmmm. This is delicious,” Emily mumbled through a mouthful before swallowing. “You’re right. The toast has this smoky, wood-scented quality to it. And the omelet is incredible too.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I took a bite of the omelet. Not bad. “Hopefully the snow will ease soon and I’ll be able to grab the truck and get you back home.”
Emily glanced out the front window. It was pitch black. It was impossible to tell how much snow was falling, but the sound of the wind whistling overhead indicated that the storm was very much still ongoing.
“Do you have any plans for tomorrow, for Thanksgiving?” Emily asked before taking another mouthful of omelet.
“No. I’m staying put.”
Emily’s forehead creased as she stared at me, her face almost comically stricken.
“I might go over to Roz and Olivia’s for dinner,” I added. It was unlikely. “You’re heading back to your parents’ house?”
Emily grinned. “Yes, I’m planning to catch the 8 a.m. train home tomorrow. My sister is flying in from LA tonight.” Her smile faltered. “I hope the snowstorm hasn’t affected her flight.”
“It’s terrible timing with so many people traveling for the holidays. But it might not be as bad in New York since it’s closer to the coast.”
“Fingers crossed. Thanksgiving is my second-favorite day, after Christmas, so I really hope we all make it home.” Emily rearranged herself on the sofa. “So…how did the talk with Charles go?”
I watched the flames flickering in the fireplace for a moment.
“You know, it’s hard to say. He sounded genuine enough. He said he’d look into it, but I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He might have just been saying that. I figured we’d give him a chance and, if nothing comes of it, consider taking it higher?”
Emily nodded. “Yeah, let’s see what happens.”
“Hey, did something happen with Austin after I went to speak to Charles?” I asked.
“No.” Emily’s brow dipped. “Why?”
“I was just wondering why you left like that? I thought maybe he’d said or done something.”
Emily placed her fork on the plate. “No, it wasn’t him. The whole thing just dredged up some bad memories.”
Bad memories?
I set my plate aside, pulled my legs onto the couch and shifted my body so I was facing Emily. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, obviously, but if you’d like to talk to someone about it, you’ve literally got a captive audience right now.”
Emily shifted her gaze to the fire. “Thank you. It would be good, actually, to talk to someone. I spoke to my agent, but it would be nice to get a different perspective.”
I watched Emily closely.
“Have you heard of Phillip Weatherstone? He directed Wronged Hearts and Hallet.”
The name sounded familiar. “I think so.”
“Well, he also directed Clique.” Emily placed her plate on the side table.
“What happened?”
“Like Austin, he propositioned me, told me he could help me with my career. When I turned him down, he got nasty, said he’d ruin my career if I didn’t sleep with him.
I refused, and he held true to his word.
All the calls dried up. I couldn’t even get auditions.
I knew he was powerful in the industry, but I hadn’t appreciated just how far reaching his influence was. ”