Chapter 41 Emily
EMILY
The late afternoon light was heavenly. Golden and soft, streaming through the sunroom windows and hitting the canvas at just the right angle. I’d been working on this landscape for the past three hours, and for once, I wasn’t completely hating what I was seeing.
The rolling hills were actually rolling. The trees looked like trees instead of green blobs. The sky had depth instead of looking flat and lifeless. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Really good.
I stepped back, tilting my head to study the composition. Maybe the foreground needed more contrast. Or maybe I should leave it alone before I overworked it and ruined the whole thing.
“That’s gorgeous.”
I jumped, nearly dropping my brush. Maya stood in the doorway, still in her park ranger uniform, her brown hair pulled back in a long plait.
“Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” She crossed the room to get a better look at the canvas. “Seriously though, Em. This is really good. Another one for the scholarship application?”
“Yeah, it’s the third one, so only two more after this.” I wiped my brush on a rag, trying not to feel too pleased with myself. “I’m actually happy with how it’s turning out. Which is terrifying because that usually means I’m two brushstrokes away from ruining it.”
“Don’t you dare touch it again, then.” She studied it for another moment, then turned to me with a smile. “I’m starving. Wanna make some pasta?”
“Absolutely.”
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at the tiny kitchen table with bowls of fettuccine and marinara sauce.
Maya twirled pasta around her fork, her green eyes studying me with that look I knew too well. The one that said she was about to ask something I probably didn’t want to answer.
“Soooo, how are things with Cam?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Good.”
“Good.” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s all I get? Good?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, maybe something with a smidge more detail?” She took a bite of pasta, still watching me. “You’ve been glowing for weeks. Something amazing is clearly happening over there.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but the smile broke through anyway. “Okay, fine. Things are great.”
That got me an eye roll. “Define great.”
“Maya.”
“Emily.” She mimicked my tone perfectly. “Come on. I live here. I see you floating back from his place with that blissed out look on your face. Spill.”
Not the time to go remembering how it felt to be tied to his patio furniture right at this point. I took a sip of water, buying myself time. How much did I want to say, anyway? How much was I willing to admit, even to myself?
“The sex is still incredible,” I finally admitted.
“Well, dur.” Maya’s grin widened. “But yeah, that’s a good sign.”
“It’s a very good sign.” I stabbed at a piece of pasta, avoiding looking at her. “It just keeps getting better, actually.”
“Even better than that first weekend?” She raised her eyebrows. “Because you came back from that looking like you’d discovered religion.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s accurate.”
She took another bite of pasta. “So what’s changed? Why is it even better now?”
Why did I have to blush so much? “He’s just... attentive. And he makes me feel safe. Like I can be completely myself and he’s not going to run.”
“That’s huge for you.”
“Yeah. And it’s not just the physical stuff,” I continued, surprising myself. “He’s sweet with me. Patient. He listens when I talk about art and asks questions like he actually cares about the answers.”
Maya’s smile had gone soft. “Em, that’s not just sex. That’s—”
“It’s good,” I interrupted, not wanting to let her finish that sentence. “It’s really good and I’m not overthinking it.”
She studied me for a long moment, and I could see her deciding whether to push. Before she started asking questions I didn’t want to answer, I turned it back on her.
“What about you? Any prospects on the horizon?”
She laughed, but there was something hollow in it. “No. Not really looking, to be honest.”
“Still getting used to being single?”
“Something like that.” She pushed pasta around her bowl. “I don’t know. It’s been almost a year since things ended with Trevor, and I’m fine. I’m good. But the idea of dating again just feels exhausting.”
I could understand that. “You’ll know when you’re ready.”
“Will I though?” There was something vulnerable in her expression. “What if I’m never ready? What if I just keep finding reasons why it won’t work?”
I set down my fork, really looking at her. Maya was one of the most put-together people I knew. Practical, grounded, always knew what she wanted. Seeing her like this, uncertain and a little lost, was a bit scary.
“You know what your problem is?” I said.
“What?”
“No one could possibly live up to Nate O’Hara.”
The words hung in the air between us. Maya’s eyes went wide, then she laughed, but it sounded more like a sigh.
“Jesus, Em.”
“Am I wrong?”
She was quiet for a long moment, then she let out a long breath. “No. You’re not wrong. But if you think I’m still holding a candle for my brother’s best friend who I haven’t even seen in a decade, you’re crazy.”
“You sure about that?”
Maya opened her mouth, then closed it. Her fingers drummed against the table. “Yeah. I mean, it’s been ten years since he ran off to the army and he hasn’t been back since. For all I know, he’s married with three kids somewhere.”
“You don’t think Dan would have mentioned that?”
“Let’s be honest, my darling bro is not the chattiest guy going around.”
“True. But I stand by what I said. You still compare everyone to Nate.”
A frown settled between her brows. “Yeah, I guess I do. How pathetic is that?”
“It’s not pathetic.”
“It kind of is. I turned down a marriage proposal from a stand out guy because I couldn’t stop comparing him to someone who probably doesn’t even remember I exist.”
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone forgets you, Maya.”
She squeezed back, then pulled away, picking up her fork again. “Anyway. Enough about my depressing love life. Or lack thereof.”
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”
“Completely.” She took another bite of pasta. “But at least you’re doing something about yours.”
“Am I though? Or am I just avoiding thinking about what any of it means?”
“Does it have to mean something right now?”
I thought about that. About Cam and the way he looked at me. About the rope and the trust and the way he held me after. About how good everything felt when I wasn’t examining it too closely.
“No,” I said finally. “I guess it doesn’t.”
Maya lifted her water glass. “To not overthinking things.”
I clinked my glass against hers. “To not overthinking things.”
We both drank, and for a moment, everything was lighter. Easier.
Then my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down. Cam’s name lit up the screen.
Girls are asking if you can come over tomorrow. Something about teaching them to paint rocks?
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” Maya was grinning again.
“Shut up.”
“You’re glowing again.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.” She stood up, gathering our empty bowls. “Go respond to your man. I’ll do the dishes.”
“He’s not my—” I started, but she was already walking to the sink, humming to herself.
I looked back down at my phone, at Cam’s message, and felt that flutter in my chest that I was definitely not examining too closely.
I’d love to. What time?
His response came almost immediately.
10? I’ll make pancakes.
Perfect.
I set my phone down and picked up my water glass, taking a sip. From the sink, Maya was still humming, rinsing our bowls.
In the sunroom, the shadows stretched long across my easel. My landscape was finally coming together, and for the first time in years, I felt like my life might be doing the same.
For now, that was enough.