21. Emma
Chapter Twenty-One
EMMA
G arrett’s suite doors closed behind him. Emma decided she should clean up too.
Quickly stripping off her clothes, she jumped in the shower, setting a personal record. She toweled off with one of the new plush cotton towels.
Emma didn’t know why Garrett had replaced the old ones, but these were twice as big and even thicker, so she wasn’t complaining.
She contemplated her closet while wrapped in the sheet-sized towel.
By rights, her bedroom should be a disaster. When Garrett had her stuff moved here, Emma had intended on leaving most of it in the boxes. It would have made moving out in a few weeks easier. But someone had come in while she was at work and unpacked all her belongings, putting them away in the walk-in closet.
It was strange, seeing her cheap and utilitarian clothes in this palatial closet with its multitude of shoe shelves and clothing rods. Her things occupied less than a quarter of the space.
Shaking off that nagging sensation of being somewhere she shouldn’t be, Emma grabbed a clean bra, leggings, and an oversized T- shirt. This place might be fancy as hell, but she wasn’t going to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
Also, she only had one passably formal dress. She had to save it for Georgia and Rainer’s wedding, which she had been invited to.
Emma had been bracing herself for some side-eye judgment from Garrett over her outfit. Then he walked out of his room in gray sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. The cotton stuck to his damp skin, showing every ridge underneath.
His feet were bare.
Feet were not supposed to be beautiful. Especially male feet.
“I think we’re both underdressed for your dining room,” she said when she finally found her tongue.
He stuck his hands in his pockets, accidentally pushing the waistband on his sweatpants lower down his hips.
Flushing, Emma averted her eyes from the packed muscle outlined with hard-won definition.
“I was thinking of something less formal,” he said, seemingly unaffected by her glamorous outfit. “I had a long, weird day at work and want to veg out in front of the TV with something easy to watch—a comedy or mindless action movie. I don’t care which.”
Emma tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “That sounds good to me.”
His sudden smile was startling. It was like seeing the sun after working in a windowless room all day.
Luckily, he didn’t linger long enough to notice her reaction. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two steaming plates of something that looked like a pasta burrito covered in a pink cream sauce. He set them on the coffee table.
“Mohammed left these crepe cannelloni in the warmer before he left to prep something next door, so I might need a hand getting the rest of the stuff.”
“Sure.”
Following him, she fetched the utensils while he grabbed a bottle of unfiltered apple juice from the fridge and a bottle of beer.
She sat next to him on the couch, taking her plate as he settled in, fetching the remote and handing it to her after activating a video-playing app she didn’t recognize.
“Go ahead and search for whatever you like. If I don’t already own it, we can buy it. Just press the button.”
Her brain hiccupped at the casual mention of buying a movie and then realized in this scenario, he was the normal one. At her age, an adult woman should be able to download and pay for a movie without thinking twice.
Thanks to her accident, she was no better than a teenager perpetually saving up for a night out.
“Emmy?”
Blinking, she found Garrett staring at her.
Movies. Right.
“Hold on.” Putting her plate on the table, she stood and ran to her room, snatching up her media journal. She returned, flipping through the pages until she found the section on must-see movies.
“What is that?” he asked, not bothering to hide his curiosity.
She held up the notebook. “It’s one of my journals.”
“Like a diary?”
Emma fingered the pages, taking comfort in their slightly rough texture. “Not exactly. I mean, I write some things down, an event or something I want to remember.”
“So, it’s a diary?”
Without looking up, she picked up a throw pillow and threw it at him, counting on his reflexes to knock it away before it hit his plate and made a mess.
He snickered but started eating, making enthusiastic noises about the meal.
“For the last couple of years, I’ve been doing a study, trying to figure out what the hell people are talking about. Cultural references and pop culture callbacks. Stuff like that.”
He put his fork down, studying her intently. “It must be difficult, starting from zero.”
She shrugged, glossing over those first few painful and confusing years after the accident. “I have a lot of lists of books and movies that I should read or see. It helps me make sense of the world.”
“That’s good,” he said, scooting a little closer so he could see the list.
She held up the page filled with names, a score rating, and the occasional line that explained why people still talked about the movie or referenced it in a particular way.
He reached out, running his fingers along her crowded printed lines, a touch as gentle as his tone.
She waited to see if he would say something else, something that would cross the line from sympathy to pity. But he didn’t. He just smiled and asked, “So what’s next on the list?”
The tension that she’d been holding dissipated. She did that a lot, she realized. Braced herself.
You need to chill out.
He was waiting for an answer so she ran her finger down the page. “I’m currently wading through the Bill Murray oeuvre . I just saw Caddyshack and had Reds on while I cleaned once. Up next is either Ghostbusters or Groundhog Day .”
Garrett’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Both. Let’s watch both.”
A corner of her mouth lifted. “I don’t think we’ll make it through both.”
“Oh, come on. It’s Friday!”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she had another shift at the kiosk the next day. Weekends meant nothing to people in the service industry.
Deciding harmony was more important, she shrugged. “ Ghostbusters it is,” she said, finding it high up in the options.
Emma curled up at the other end of the long couch with her plate and picked up her fork.
The pasta burrito was, in a word, sublime.
Filled with chicken instead of beef, the dish was perfectly prepared. Not that Emma had a whole lot of experience with fine dining, but this had to be one of the best things she’d ever eaten. It was so good that when Dana Barrett got possessed, Garrett went back for a huge second helping instead of watching her pant all sexy and animallike.
When the marshmallow monster attacked, he timed it just right, bringing out dessert and handing it to her.
Emma burst into laughter, picking up the marshmallow and toothpick creation stuck to the top of a berry and cream dish served in a little pot.
“How did you do this so fast?” she asked, comparing her marshmallow man to his big brother rampaging on the screen.
“Very sloppily,” he said. “Else it would have a little hat. Out of what, I’m not sure.”
Emma bit her lip, giving him a coy glance before biting the head of the man-made monster.
“Be careful of the toothpicks,” he warned, looking away quickly when she sucked one of the miniature marshmallows off the stick.
“Okay,” she said, frowning when he wouldn’t look at her. Wondering why he seemed uncomfortable, she finished her dessert.
When the credits began to roll, she expected him to retreat to his room, but he surprised her by insisting on starting the second movie, which was equally entertaining.
But Emma had worked on her feet all day. She was also full of delicious food and sitting on an absurdly comfortable couch. Soon she could no longer fight the fatigue and her eyelids closed without volition.
She felt the plate being removed from her hand.
“I’m up,” she mumbled.
The voice came from far away. “Debatable.”
There was rustling fabric, and then she was levitating.
“Don carry.”
“I’m not carrying you,” he whispered.
“Def carrying.” She yawned, her lids too heavy to open and confirm. The rocking motion and warmth of strong arms weren’t helping.
“You’re dreaming.”
“Weird dream. ”
“Nice dream,” dream Garrett argued as her body landed gently on the mattress of the guest room.
“Nice,” she acknowledged, deciding that opening her eyes would be counterproductive at this point. “But weird. For worst enemies.”
“ Alleged worst enemies.” The door clicked closed.
Emma slept like a rock.