4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Jonathan
E mma doesn’t look happy to see me. My stomach tightens instinctively, bracing for whatever storm she’s about to unleash. In fact, judging by the way she’s staring at me, I’m pretty sure this might be my last dinner. She’s the only woman in the world who can make me squirm with a single look. I find myself shuffling back toward the kitchen.
“What is he doing here?” Emma barks at Reed, even as her eyes remain fixed on me.
Reed offers a puzzled shrug. “I told you I wanted to invite my neighbor over for dinner, and you agreed.”
“I didn’t know your neighbor was him ,” she snaps, the disdain in her voice cutting deeper than she likely realizes.
“I’m right here, you know,” I call out, but she ignores me.
Reed sighs in exasperation. “Are you two still stuck in that childish feud from when we were kids? Grow up, both of you! Especially since nothing really happened between you.”
Emma folds her arms tightly, her jaw tensing as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Reed groans, rubbing his temples. “Oh great, here we go again. Someone pass the popcorn."
“Maybe if he stopped acting like the devil incarnate, I’d consider being civil.”
I scoff. “You’re the one who acts as if I was born with two horns and a red tail. Don’t expect me to suddenly know how to be polite.”
Emma gasps. “I’ll have you know I’m the picture of politeness, kindness, and civility. You’re the rotten one, constantly bringing out the worst in me.”
“Me?” I roll my eyes. “You’ve got some nerve.”
Reed glares at us both. “I can’t believe this is happening. There’s a nice dinner on the table, and I’m starving. Either shake hands or shut up and eat—enough of this childish drama!”
Emma shakes her head. “No. He’s not touching a single thing I cooked.”
Reed fires back, “Need I remind you it was made with my groceries? I can invite anyone I want, and I expect you both to act like adults.”
Reed leaves us, and I notice a lone tear glistening on Emma’s cheek. She hastily wipes it away before I can pretend not to see it.
“Emma, are you—” I begin, but she cuts me off with a sharp glare.
“Don’t speak to me,” she declares coolly. “I’ll be civil if you can manage the same. Now, play nice and move on.”
I follow her into the dining room, still baffled by her growing hostility and how what Reed said seems to have hurt her deeply.
All my life, I’ve known Emma to be kind to everyone but me. At first, I dismissed her snide remarks as teasing, but when I finally recognized the true hatred in her eyes, I realized every barb was laced with real malice. And if she wants me to be the villain in her story, then so be it—I’ll play the part flawlessly.
In the dining room, Emma busily fills her plate with food, barely glancing up. Reed gestures toward the spread. “Come on, don’t be shy. Emma’s an amazing cook.”
I gape at the abundance. “Wow, this is impressive!”
Reed grins. “She cooks up a storm when she’s upset—it’s pure gold.”
I steal a glance at Emma. She’s staring down at her plate, ignoring our conversation entirely. I grab a plate and pile it high before sitting down. My first bite of lasagna is heavenly—each forkful melting perfectly on my tongue, radiating warmth. The second bite somehow tastes even better. Is food always supposed to feel like a little taste of heaven?
I’m so lost in the flavor that I start moaning softly until I sense Emma’s curious gaze on me.
Reed smirks, shaking his head. “See, Emma? He’s practically swooning. Maybe food is the way to his heart.”
“This is honestly amazing,” I murmur between bites.
“Thank you,” she replies quietly. It’s the first kind word I’ve heard from her all evening, and it actually sounds sincere.
“Emma, have you ever thought about opening a restaurant? This would fly off the shelves, even outselling books,” I ramble. But I don’t notice the shadow crossing her face until she’s back to glaring at me.
Clutching her table knife, she mutters, “I see you can’t go a single evening without being a jerk.”
Reed’s disappointed look tells me I should apologize, but my mouth feels too heavy with regret. I’ve already botched this rare chance to be normal with Emma, and apologizing for something when I have no idea why it upset her might only worsen things.
Just then, a phone rings. Reed excuses himself to take the call, pausing just long enough to smirk. “Alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Try not to stab each other while I’m gone.” Then, with a shake of his head, he disappears down the hall, leaving us without a buffer for our simmering animosity.
I sigh. “Emma, I didn’t mean it in a bad way—”
“No,” she interrupts. Her red hair sways as she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter if it was genuine or not. I know what people think—that I’m a failure, that I’m stupid for still chasing my dream. I get it.”
“You don’t understand—that’s not what I meant!” I exclaim, but my words only push her farther back into her chair.
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” she snaps.
I stand, frustration simmering. “I don’t know why you always assume the worst, but not everyone is against you. Emma, when you push people away like this, it makes it hard for anyone to stick around—including me.”
For a moment, I see her lips quiver. I regret my harsh words—she always manages to infuriate me, yet I can’t help but care about her. I want to tell her she’s capable of greatness, that she deserves to be who she dreams of becoming. But whether it’s my anger or her own stubborn pride, I hold back and settle into silence.
Emma methodically picks at her food, taking painfully slow bites. Unable to help myself, I smirk. “At this rate, you’ll still be eating by breakfast.”
She whips around. “Are you watching me eat? That’s downright creepy.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “Relax, Emma. I promise your dinner habits aren’t that fascinating.”
She huffs and returns to her meal. Despite our bickering, I find myself missing her retorts. Her silence feels empty. Even though I claim to despise her presence, the truth is more complicated.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask, trying to spark conversation again.
Her eyes remain fixed on the food as she pushes it around with her fork. “I am.”
“So you’re not sparing the steak and veggies out of some grand protest? Newsflash—the food’s already dead, so it won’t matter if you don’t eat it,” I joke. To my surprise, she chuckles.
Then her tone shifts. “Maybe my appetite is off because you’re sitting right across from me. It’s hard to enjoy a meal with someone who always manages to get under my skin.”
“Would it help if I left? Should I eat in the living room?” I retort, already annoyed.
After a pause, she pretends to ponder, then dryly states, “I don’t think that would cut it. I’d rather you leave the house entirely.”
“Should I go home then? Will that finally make you forget about me?” I ask, locking eyes with her.
Emma scrunches her face. “There isn’t a corner of this earth where you could go that would make me forget you.” The weight of her words settles between us, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if I should feel flattered or doomed by how deeply we’re tangled in each other’s lives. “You’re imprinted in my mind, day in and day out.”
“And what exactly do you think of when you think of me?” I ask, suddenly flirting despite myself. “Do you think about me when you go to bed?”
I immediately regret it, closing my eyes to erase the tension. The room suddenly feels stifling.
But Emma leans in with a mischievous grin. “No. I think of you in the vilest ways possible. In fact, I’ve perfected at least ten different ways to make you disappear without a trace. I imagine crushing your ribs, cracking your neck so loudly the whole town hears it. Sometimes, I even think I’ve done it—but then I see you again, and remember that I only killed you in my dreams.”
Heat floods my cheeks and stomach. Somehow, her morbid fantasy is infinitely more intoxicating than any flirtation, leaving me speechless.
“You’ve been here for nearly an hour and you haven’t thrown up yet. Have you finally learned to appreciate my presence?” I blurt out, trying to dismiss the awkward tension. Emma just smiles. For a moment, I can’t tell if she’s going to snap back or let it slide. Then, to my surprise, her lips curl into a slow, knowing smile.
Then she stands and saunters over to the cabinets. “There’s wine or orange juice if you’d like. Can you be useful and grab the juice for me?”
“Where is it?” I ask as I rise. Emma is already in the kitchen rinsing cups, and she leaves them by the sink for me. Up close, I notice how her red hair has brown streaks that give her a regal air.
We stand so close that I can’t help but take in every detail, from the tilt of her mouth to the glimmer in her eyes. I’m breathing hard, my thoughts in disarray, and yet she holds my gaze without flinching.
She’s beautiful. I’ve always known it, but now, seeing her so close, I marvel at her flawless features. The light freckles on her cheeks tempt me to kiss them, one gentle peck at a time.
Then I catch myself—why am I thinking of kissing Emma?
Emma clears her throat, and I step back so we’re not nearly touching.
“The orange juice is in the fridge,” she states coolly, as if nothing happened. I’m not even sure what just transpired, and I’m grateful she’s ignoring it.
I exhale and reach for the fridge. As our hands brush, I freeze for half a second, my breath hitching before I instinctively pull back. She does the same, her fingers twitching slightly as if she felt it, too. Sparks fly from that brief contact, and I feel my ears burning red. I should step back, crack a joke—anything to break the tension. But for half a second, I don’t move.
“Sorry,” she squeaks. “I’ll get it for you, don’t worry.”
This time, she reaches out first. She retrieves the orange juice and I grab the cup by the sink. Emma tilts the bottle toward the cup, her hands trembling slightly.
“Hey, let me help,” I offer, but she shakes her head stubbornly.
“I got this,” she murmurs. Yet, predictably, the juice misses the cup and cascades down my pants.
I watch in slow motion as the cold liquid soaks me. I grit my teeth and look up to see a horrified Emma, frozen in the middle of the kitchen as I stand drenched in orange juice.
I sigh, shaking my head. Of course this is how the night ends, with Emma testing my patience and me, yet again, unable to walk away.