Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Emmy turned around and nearly dropped her eggnog when she saw Charlie, all grown up.
He still had the same sandy-brown hair, but the face under it had certainly filled out. His chiseled features and strong jawline accentuated his green eyes, and his robust shoulders were wider than the teenage version. Had he been working out since the day they’d left high school?
“Hey, Charlie,” Madison said, holding out her hand and giving his a shake. “Good to see you out of my computer screen.”
“Same,” he said with a smile and a nod.
Emmy tugged on her gray zip-up sweatshirt in an attempt to straighten the wrinkled lumps that had inevitably formed when she’d balled it up behind her head during the flight.
An awkward silence fell between the three of them.
“Are you guys using the new MRTS system yet? It’s been a learning curve for us,” Madison said.
“They’re rolling it out slowly,” Charlie replied. “It hasn’t made it to my department yet, but we piloted the PRO initiative, and I hear it’s similar.”
Madison made a face. “Oh, we never had to use PRO, thank goodness.”
He chuckled. “It’s not as bad as people say it is.”
Emmy glazed over. She had no idea what they were talking about.
“Well, I’d better check on Jack,” Madison said, evidently noticing. “Someone needs to save him before Dad challenges him to the yearly garage ping-pong tournament.”
“Sounds fun.” Charlie offered a cordial nod.
“It is until they start getting competitive, and it goes on all night: ‘Best out of three!’ then ‘best out of seven!’” She laughed.
“Come on into the kitchen in a bit,” she said to Emmy, giving her the verbal cue to stay in the living room a little longer to avoid everyone.
“Okay,” Emmy said.
Madison pushed through the double doors that swung on hinges like the ones at a saloon.
Once they were alone, Emmy clumsily sipped her eggnog and fiddled with a gold bell ornament on the tree, inspecting it to fill the silence. She let go and looked back at him.
“I hear the Christmas cookies are delicious,” she said, pointing to the kitchen doors as if he needed help comprehending that statement.
Emmy didn’t have a clue how to be social these days.
She spent most of her time in her closet of a studio apartment in the city, working like mad on one assignment or another, running her boss’s errands because Vivienne trusted her the most, or tucked away in a back corner of the office building where she worked, sending cold emails to offer advertising services.
“Hm?” he asked, forcing her out of her employment assessment.
“What?” she asked in return.
His brows pulled together. “I said I’d be happy to go into the kitchen with you if you wanted some of the Christmas cookies.”
“Oh, no, I definitely don’t need any. I had a full pint of ice cream yesterday when I found out I’d have to fly in earlier than expected to avoid the storm.”
Stop blabbering.
A grin played at the edges of his lips.
“You’re more than welcome to, though,” she said. “If you want some.”
Stupid decision to say that. If Charlie took her up on the offer, she’d have to go in there, and who knows what Uncle Stephen might say.
He was a loose cannon—there was no telling what he might dig up from her life.
And she was making a complete idiot of herself without any help so far.
She wanted to slink upstairs onto her air mattress in the loft and go to sleep until after New Year’s.
When she finally made eye contact, that humor still glinted behind his eyes.
“Sit tight,” he said, gesturing to the sofa. “I know what we need.”
He left her alone in the room. An old neighbor who seemed more comfortable in her childhood home than she did.
She set her eggnog down and eyed the exits for her escape.
The ice was too treacherous to go outside, and no one ever treated or plowed the neighborhood roads in Tennessee, not when she was a kid and apparently not now either.
She wouldn’t get very far, and she’d freeze to death, which, given the alternative, was an option.
She could hide upstairs, maybe sit in the guestroom tub behind the curtain.
If she was quick, she could grab a few pillows and a blanket and call it a night.
She sharpened her hearing to see if she could eavesdrop on the conversation, but it was just a buzz of laughter and music.
Slowly, she took a step backward toward the hallway leading to the staircase.
Then, she took another. She could hide out somewhere until after the party.
If she ever ran into Charlie again, she could always tell him she’d felt sick and didn’t want to spread any germs. Madison could explain on their next video call.
She didn’t have anything to offer the conversation, and Charlie would certainly enjoy the others more than her.
She was doing him a favor. She took another step.
“Here you go.”
She gritted her teeth as he came in, carrying two glasses of red liquid.
He handed one to her.
She held it up and examined the glass. “What is this?”
“Punch. Your aunt made it. She offered me some when I knocked on the back door.”
“You knocked on the back door?” she asked.
“Yeah. I walked through the path in the woods to get here, like when we were kids.”
How was he able to act so comfortably among strangers when she couldn’t even get the courage to go back into the kitchen? His coolness was incredibly frustrating.
Charlie sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.
Shoot. There was no escape tonight. She was going to have to be social.
With a deep breath, Emmy took a seat. She stared straight ahead, sipping the concoction that tasted as if it had cranberry, citrus, and rum.
That sounded like something her aunt Charlotte would like. She took a few large drinks.
“So, what do you do now?” he asked.
Ugh. First question, always that one. “I work at a marketing firm in New York.”
His eyes widened the way everyone’s did because their minds naturally went to the best-case scenario. “I expected you to follow in your mom’s footsteps.”
“No, I’m not cut out for actual designing. I’m better in PR.”
“Well, if you’re better at marketing than you are at designing, you must be really good at your job.”
She didn’t have the drive to deter his assumption, and it didn’t matter anyway. She’d never see him again after this party if she could help it. She’d managed not to run into him for seven years so far, so with a little effort, Emmy was certain she could avoid him forever.
“I have a quaint apartment in the city,” she lied, to avoid further inquisition, “two blocks from my job, but I mostly work from home, which is really cozy on these winter days. You?”
“Well, I thought your sister told you that... we work together. I’m just in the Chicago office.”
“Oh. Yeah. So how’s cybercrime?” She made a face. Why did she do that?
Make it stop.
That amused look surfaced once more, and he was eyeing her as if she had some kind of puzzle on her forehead. She tipped up the drink again and took down half the glass. Thanks to the punch and the eggnog, her empty stomach was now queasy.
“It’s…” He paused as if giving some thought to his response, which gave her a pang of guilt for firing off such a dishonest answer.
“My job would bore you to tears. It pays the bills, but that’s about it.
I live in the smallest apartment known to man because it’s just me, and most of the time I’m not there.
” He gazed at her; his rugged good looks were undeniable.
“I’d rather be…” He hesitated again, as if for dramatic effect, and it worked because, after his honesty, she hung on his words, waiting for what would come next.
“Oh, I don’t know, sitting in a coffee shop for hours, with an espresso, losing myself in a good book. ”
Wait, what?
“Really?” The word came out breathier than she’d planned. Imagining that hunk of a man, sipping coffee with his nose in a book, made her want to rip his shirt off right there in the living room.
He let out a loud laugh. “No. I don’t drink hot beverages of any kind. But your face was priceless.” He tipped his head back and laughed again, then doubled over. “I do live in a very small apartment, but I’d rather be at a bar watching football.”
She cut her eyes at him.
She couldn’t get angry at his little joke, though.
She’d basically done the same thing, making him believe that she had some wonderful life in New York, when really, it was a disaster.
She barely made rent on a 150 square-foot apartment—that’s right, 150 square feet.
There were parking spots bigger than that, and she paid $2,350 a month for it, which meant that she couldn’t afford anything else.
It wasn’t even one of those adorable “little spaces” that were all over YouTube.
Nope. The roof leaked in the winter, the floor was always cold, she stored pots and pans under her bed, and the doors were falling off her two kitchen cabinets.
He leaned in, bringing her back to the present, his face close enough to hers that her breath caught.
“But you seem like the type who’d like a coffee and a good book.
You seem like the type who’s literally dying having to sit on this sofa and talk to me.
You seem like the type who wants nothing more than to get out of here. ”
Her cheeks warmed suddenly. Was it the alcohol or the fact that he could read her like a Sunday newspaper?
“And I’m with you.” He whispered, “Your Uncle Stephen’s in there debating the manner in which armadillos procreate. He caught one the other day in a trap, and he swore they bred like rabbits.”
She winced. “Gross. He’s so weird.”
Charlie laughed again, and the sight of it made her heart patter.
If anything, he could help her pass the time tonight, and at the very least give her a reason not to go into the kitchen for a while longer.
She could claim she was keeping him company, which would give her a purpose and make her look sociable, and was something her family would be proud of.
Over the years, Emmy hadn’t managed to find much to please them.
And Madison would feel like she’d done a great thing in asking Charlie to come over.
So sitting there with him, Emmy was a regular savior.
Merry Christmas.