6. Emmy
CHAPTER 6
EMMY
“What wish?” Like I don’t already know. I can feel him there before I even turn.
“It’s your lucky day. Maybe your lucky season.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I want to die on the spot. “You’re horrible,” I whisper.
“That’s why we’re friends.” She gives me a wicked smile. “Plus, it’s so fun to see you turning the color of a watermelon.”
“You’re not helping,” I mutter under my breath.
“Is it possible that you have a crush on him?”
“No! He’s my brother’s best friend, for one.” I glance over my shoulder. Dawson’s in line with his back to us. “And two, he loves to embarrass me any chance he gets.”
“Guys tease when they're into someone,” she says.
“Not him. He finds it amusing to see the effect he has on me.”
Her eyes stray to Dawson’s back. “He’s gorgeous with that beard. Not in the same way Dan is, of course.”
“Ew,” I say, grimacing. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“Dawson’s got that tall, dark, and muscular look. Put him in flannel and he’d be a sexy lumberjack.”
I laugh. The image of Dawson in flannel with an axe stirs a funny feeling in my chest. “He’s still a hockey player. Flannel doesn’t change that.”
She leans toward me. “I don’t get why you won’t give him a chance.”
“Besides the fact he has a new woman every month? Hockey players don’t settle down. Not for one team or one woman. As my friend, help me get out of here before he sees me and brings up the book he bought.”
Her eyes slide to Dawson. “If you want to make a run for it, you’ve got a straight shot to the door.”
“Now?”
She gives me a thumbs up as I bolt for the exit. As I reach for the handle, the door flies toward me and I jump backward to avoid a direct collision with my face. On the other side is Stewart Harrison, my boss’s son. The guy who has repeatedly asked me out for the last seven years and counting.
Stewart’s blocking my way out and looking pretty pleased.
I give him a tight smile.
“Good morning, Emerson.” His lips curve into an arrogant grin that looks so much like his dad’s. I’ve never really liked Hal or Noreen Harrison, even if they own the bookstore and could basically ruin my life by firing me.
Falling for Books has a longstanding history as a mom-and-pop place. The previous owners knew their customers’ reading preferences. They loved recommending books. I’ve tried to continue that tradition, even if the Harrisons don’t frequent the store. Noreen makes her twice-a-month visit for book club appearances. But sales are flagging, despite my best effort.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to cross around him.
He puts a hand across the door so I can’t get past him.
Ever since high school, I’ve made it clear he’s not my type. Arrogant jerks shouldn’t be anyone’s type, but tell that to the population of single women in Maple Falls who treat him like royalty because he’s going to inherit obnoxious amounts of money. Plus, he’s annoyingly good looking and knows it, which annoys me even more.
“Looks like someone’s in a hurry today,” he says, looking over my T-shirt and jogging tights.
“Yes, some of us have to work,” I say, dodging to the right, but Stewart moves with me, blocking my exit.
Stewart doesn’t understand what it means to work to survive. He’s never had a real job because he mooches off his parents. Another annoying fact about him.
“I need to talk to you about some upcoming changes at Falling for Books.”
“Isn’t that your dad’s job as owner?” My stomach churns uncomfortably. Why does Stewart want to talk about the bookstore? He’s never taken an interest before now.
“I’m taking a more active role in the bookstore’s future. Dad’s making me manager. Not that I’ll actually be working,” he says with a laugh. “That’s your job. I’ll be overseeing book selection and all employees.”
“Manager?” I frown. “But I’m the manager. I’ve always been in charge of that.”
“Not officially,” he says. “It was never put into writing.”
I press my lips together. I knew I should’ve made the Harrisons give me a contract when I went from working part-time to full-time after college. But I stupidly trusted their word.
“Picking the books is my job now,” Stewart says. “Your job is to make sure they sell.”
“So, basically, you’re demoting me?” I cross my arms, horrified by this news.
“Not demoting. You’re just getting a new boss.” Stewart looks at my scowl. “You're not satisfied with this?”
“I’m not thrilled about giving up my favorite part of the job—selecting books that satisfy readers . ”
He crosses his arms. “My father and I agreed that anything would be better than those silly novels I saw in the window the other day.”
My fists roll into balls. I selected the most adorable fall romance display using our readers’ favorite seasonal books. Small-town women’s fiction, cute romcoms, cozy mysteries. His comment is an insult to our customers.
What does Stewart know about readers’ favorites? He’d probably choose a book featuring his face to display in the window.
I prop my hands on my hips. “They were voted on by bookstore customers.”
“Then maybe you’re attracting the wrong people.”
“How would you know? You’re never there,” I say before I can stop myself.
He glowers at me, but I don’t back off.
I’m forever loyal to the customers of Falling for Books. We’re not the most eclectic bunch of readers, but we’re the heart and soul of Maple Falls. People who love good stories and chatting about fictional people as if they’re real friends. We’re content with quiet weekends filled with books and cups of tea.
“Maybe we should chat about this more,” Stewart says. “How about at the fall party my parents are hosting? I’m sure we could talk over dinner.”
Behind me, Neesha coughs my name. “Em!”
I ignore her. “I’m not going with you.”
“Even to talk?” he asks. “At some point, you have to.”
“She can’t,” a voice growls behind me. I spin around to see Dawson’s steel gaze locked on Stewart.
Stewart’s eyes flick to Dawson. “Why not?”
“Because she’s going to the party with me,” Dawson replies without looking at me.
My breath catches. I’m caught between a guy who makes angry hives break out on my body, and one who makes my heart feel things I shouldn’t.
“Is this true?” Stewart asks me directly.
I pause, then look at Dawson. “Yes, he’s my date,” I say, even though I know this is a bad idea. Because once it’s out there, I’m committed.
Stewart tilts his head, studying us to see if it’s true.
I make myself move closer to Dawson and give his arm a pat, only to realize I'm patting what feels like a boulder. Seriously, no man should be walking around with biceps that huge, even if he is holding a coffee carrier with four cups. Either the man is working for a food delivery service in his spare time or consumes coffee at an alarming rate.
Dawson’s eyes trace over my workout wear. His mouth quirks at the corner. “Good run?”
I nod and thread my fingers through my knotted ponytail. Nothing can fix how disheveled I look right now.
“You were always so fast,” he says.
How does he know this?
“Oh, right,” I laugh. “The night I tried to leave you behind at the party.”
I glance up at him and I’m immediately mesmerized by his eyes. He’s not my usual type—his hands are calloused from hockey. He’s rough and mysterious and his hair looks amazing without any effort. Plus, he’s always ready with a hockey pickup line that’s so cheesy it actually circles back to charming.
I need an emotionally sensitive man who reads books and quotes my favorite parts. Not someone who punches people in the face for a living.
Of course, there was that one time he quoted Jane Austen.
“I’m enjoying that book you recommended,” he says, holding my gaze.
“What book?” Stewart asks.
Dawson blinks, like he’s forgotten he was there. “I’m Dawson Hayes. We met at your Halloween party four years ago.”
“Yes, I remember. With Emerson,” he says in an annoyed tone. “What book did she recommend?”
I glance at Dawson and hope he can see my desperate pleading not to tell Stewart. This will only reinforce Stewart’s opinion of my book selections.
Dawson looks between us. “It was a hockey book,” he says. “I’m in town for the charity tournament, playing for the Ice Breakers.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Stewart would never guess it’s a romance book.
“I thought you weren’t in the NHL yet,” Stewart says. He means it as a jab since Dawson hasn’t moved up yet.
“I was in the AHL until two weeks ago,” he says. “But I’m moving up to the NHL after these charity games.”
He’s moving to an NHL team? I try not to let this news hit me hard, but it deflates me like a week-old birthday party balloon. Once Dan moved up to the NHL, we hardly saw him. I doubt Dawson will ever return to Maple Falls after this.
“What great news,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment.
Dawson shrugs. “I thought I might settle down and quit hockey, but I haven’t found a reason to yet.” He stares at me until I look away. I can’t imagine him ever finding a reason to quit hockey. He was meant to play the game. He and Dan will play until their bodies fall apart, but they’ll never quit.
Stewart turns to me. “I’ll stop by the store Thursday night to talk to you about ordering new books for the front window display.”
“That’s when I host book club,” I reply. “I can’t meet.”
“Get my mom to host it. You have a meeting with me.” Then he brushes by me into the bakery.
“Stewart!” I yell, but he ignores me. I let out a frustrated huff and then turn to leave.
“Wait, Emmy,” Dawson calls.
I rush out the door without looking back, even if Dawson did just save my butt.
I have too much to think about: Stewart as my new boss, the store in jeopardy, Dawson pretending to be my date to an event I now have to attend.
Dawson jogs to catch up with me. “I see you’re still running away from me,” he jokes, carefully balancing his coffee carrier. “Do you know how hard it is to balance four cups of hot coffee while moving this fast? Dan is going to be ticked if I spill a drop of his caramel macchiato.”
“I thought four cups might be too much for one person,” I note, not slowing my stride.
“Team run,” he says. “I’m taking it back to the Hawk River Lodge where the guys are staying.”
“They couldn’t come themselves?”
“I like doing it. And Cooper is notoriously grumpy unless he gets his coffee.” He waits a beat. “Okay, Cooper’s always grumpy, but the coffee perks him up a little.”
He sneaks a glance at me. “Plus, I thought you might be here.”
I stop on the sidewalk. “Who told you?”
“Nobody told me.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Okay, Dan may have hinted that you regularly run in the park and stop here afterwards.”
I spin on my heel and continue walking. “So you tracked me down instead?”
“To say thanks for the book,” he says. “And to apologize for surprising you the other day. I didn’t mean to make it awkward.”
I’m always a bumbling mess whenever Dawson Hayes is around, like a dumb middle-school girl who can't keep it together around a hot guy.
“You don’t need to apologize, Dawson. I’m a big girl.”
He glances at me again. “How long has Stewart been your boss?”
“Since this morning,” I grumble. “And it’s possibly the worst news I could have gotten today.”
Two older ladies openly gawk at us from across the street. Mrs. Nelson, my former English teacher, has her mouth hanging open, while Shirley May from the diner waves at Dawson, like he’s some kind of celebrity. It’s infuriating the attention these hockey guys attract.
“Welcome to the Maple Falls gossip mill,” I mutter under my breath.
I need to get Dawson to stop following me or everyone will be asking me who my new boyfriend is.
I pick up my pace, nearly running down the sidewalk. Dawson somehow keeps up while balancing the coffee carrier. Is there anything this man can’t do?
“It’s not like Stewart’s going to do any work at the store, right?” Dawson asks.
“Of course not. He’ll just make my life miserable, like a bloodsucking leech.” I rub my forehead.
“I’ll make sure he stays away from you,” Dawson promises. “Like in another universe.”
I let out a laugh. Dawson still thinks he can protect me from Stewart?
I stop at the intersection and turn to him. “That will be impossible. You’re only here for the fall, while I’m here forever .”
He frowns like he’s about to say something, but I don't stick around to find out what. Instead, I wheel around and step into the street.
“Emmy, watch out!” Dawson yells.
Brakes squeal as my body is thrown to the pavement. But it’s not the cold steel of a bumper that hits me. It’s Dawson’s body. His arms wrap around my head as he rolls me away from the car’s tires.
My eyes flutter open and Dawson’s square jaw fills my line of vision.
His worried eyes trace over me. “Are you okay?”
That’s when I notice the scratch next to his eye. He doesn’t flinch when I reach for it. He’s more concerned with whether I’m hurt.
“Yes, I’m good,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “But you aren’t.”
A car door slams and a frantic woman cries, “Are you alive? The light was green and you stepped into the street.” She rounds the bumper of her car and looks down at Dawson and me tangled up together.
It’s Mary-Ellen McClusky, the queen of town gossip.
I’ll never live this down.
“I’m alive, Mary-Ellen,” I groan.
“Emmy? Are you hurt? I’m calling 911!”
“Don’t move,” Dawson repeats, looking at me sternly. “You could have broken something.” Then he bends slightly to catch my gaze. “Can you see okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sit up, my breathing still ragged from the shock.
Dawson stops me. His hand slips around my waist, holding me firmly so I can’t wiggle out of his arms. His eyes slide down my body, studying my legs and arms as his fingers graze over my cheek to make sure I’m okay. When he looks me over this way, it makes something in my chest warm inside, like I’m something precious to him, something worth saving. The way his eyes soften is something my brain can’t make sense of. Dawson the goalie and this man in front of me are two different people.
My brain is caught in a loop of replaying Dawson tackling me, the crush of his body on mine, the way he maneuvered me into a roll so he took the brunt of the fall. I can still feel his body pressed against mine, the way we tangled together, so he could keep me safe.
“I want to make sure you’re not injured,” he says softly. He’s cradling my head, his fingers woven through my hair, while his other hand holds my waist securely.
“I think you’re the one who’s hurt,” I say, nodding toward his scratch. “The cut on your face is bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” I say, thinking of how this whole scene could’ve gone terribly wrong. “You saved me from getting hit and risked your own life. You could’ve ruined your hockey career.”
His lips curve into a crooked smirk like he finds my logic amusing. “Are you saying I should’ve let you get hit instead?”
“It makes more sense! You’re a professional hockey player who needs his arms and legs while I’m just a disposable retail worker.”
He shakes his head. “I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Emmy. To me, you are not disposable. And I won’t stand by and watch you get hurt.”
His words make my breath catch. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me so affectionately, his hand gripping my waist. Does he know he’s holding me protectively? It’s not the kind of touch a stranger would give. It’s a touch that says you matter to me.
Mary-Ellen shrieks, “Oh my goodness, I think there’s blood all over my car!”
A dark liquid drips off the hood and puddles onto the asphalt.
Dawson shakes his head. “Not blood, ma’am. Coffee.”
When Dawson rushed into the street, he threw the coffee carrier, which landed on Mary-Ellen’s hood in a brown explosion of caramel macchiatos and Americanos.
Dawson’s lips twitch as he surveys the mess. “The guys won’t be thrilled about this.”