Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BILLIE
Every year for her birthday, Mom organizes a full dinner party and invites her close colleagues and friends.
When I was younger, I used to chalk up these massive, elaborate dinners to her love of food—she’d spend hours in the kitchen, trying out new recipes.
Tonight, I’ve concluded that while she loves to cook, she also loves to plan; every detail has been considered—from matching napkins to place cards written in calligraphy.
It’s the perfect night, for sure.
The only thing that could make it better? If Emmett would look at me. We’ve been sitting directly opposite each other all dinner, and for the entire three-course meal, he’s concentrated on talking with our neighbor, Terry, and Dad about hockey and classic cars.
It feels like I don’t exist to him anymore, and I know it’s because he’s trying to avoid me.
It would be a lie to claim that I haven’t missed our check-in chats via text, but I also get why he’s backing away and putting distance between us.
Things have shifted since I returned from Austin.
The air feels thick whenever we’re in the same room.
And while there’s a delicious kind of tension simmering between us, one that reached an all-time high in my apartment a few days ago, that atmosphere also doubled as a warning.
We’re treading a fine line through very murky waters.
One false move, and we could easily tumble right over the edge—or even into bed together.
When Emmett confessed his attraction, I battled to inflate my lungs, let alone admit to feeling the same way.
The young-girl crush I had on my dad’s best friend has morphed into something much more.
Something I never felt for Tucker or any other guy before him.
Emmett commands a room, but doesn’t demand its attention because he already has it—every pair of female eyes, to be exact.
And as I gaze around the table with at least seven other women, that fact has never been as obvious as it is tonight.
My eyes land on Maria. With long, sleek black hair that falls just past her shoulders, she’s undoubtedly one of the most glamorous women I’ve ever seen.
Tonight, she’s wearing a fitted red velvet dress with a sweetheart neckline that cuts just above her bust. On her wedding finger, she wears a different ring from the engagement rock Emmett gifted her just after they graduated from college—something Mom would frequently talk about and fawn over.
Like she can sense my eyes on her, she tears her attention away from Emmett and sets her focus on me. I offer her a warm smile, which she tries—and fails—to return. If I didn’t know better, I’d interpret her stoicism as hostile, convinced she has my apartment rigged with surveillance equipment.
Maria holds my gaze, forcing me to be the one to look away.
I stare into my half-finished glass of red wine, the first alcoholic drink I’ve had since giving birth to Blake.
“Has everyone finished with their dessert?” My question is automatic and definitely an excuse for me to stand and grab Blake’s baby monitor. “I can clear the dishes if you are.”
“No, no, sweetheart.” Mom flaps her hand at me, her voice slurred, actions clumsy. “We can deal with those later.”
“It’s fine. I got it,” I say, rounding the table and beginning to collect dishes.
When I reach Maria’s bowl, she holds up a finger, asking me to wait. “I’m not done with mine just yet.”
“Do you plan on licking it clean, Maria?” Mom chuckles.
Reaching into the center of the table, I’m aiming for the small jug of cream but completely misjudge it, knocking what’s left all over Mom’s pristine black tablecloth.
“Shit! I’m sorry,” I groan, grabbing the jug on my second attempt and heading straight for the peace and quiet of the kitchen.
“Is Billie doing okay?” I hear Maria ask under her breath just as I cross the threshold. “She looks really stressed out tonight.”
It takes me all of a minute to pack the first load of dishes into the dishwasher, clattering them together as I go.
Determined to keep my brain busy and away from unhelpful thoughts, I move to the silverware next.
“Billie?” Emmett’s gruff voice is unmistakable, although it doesn’t stop me from working.
Not until I feel the rough edges of his palm as it wraps around my upper arm, asking me to stop what I’m doing.
“What’s going on, Billie?”
At the question, I spin around to face him, a fork in one hand and a ladle in the other.
He rolls his lips together, eyes dropping to my hands. “You aren’t planning to attack me with those, are you?”
“I’m not sure how much damage can be inflicted with a ladle.”
Emmett cocks his head to one side, studying my expression for clues. “I guess that depends on how mad your attacker is. Personally, I know this fiery redhead who very much lives up to her reputation. If she isn’t giving me back talk, she’s trying to bruise my ego over our age gap.”
Despite my shitty mood, I can’t help but smile.
He reaches out and takes the ladle and fork from my hands, placing them into the dishwasher. “What’s going on, Billie?” He repeats his previous question.
Since the moment our eyes connected, he hasn’t taken his off mine, and I feel his weighted gaze all the way into my toes.
“That’s not a question I can answer.”
There’s barely any space between us, but Emmett’s tall frame still manages to swallow the remainder.
He gazes down at my left wrist; the dainty rose gold bracelet featuring a “B” he gifted me after Blake’s birth rests against my skin.
I love it so much, and I told him that straight after I opened it.
“And why is that?”
The half glass of wine I had earlier burns into my cheeks, or maybe it’s down to his proximity. Either way, I know I’m revealing how much this man affects me.
In a cream silk cami and black faux leather pants that accentuate my curvy figure, I know I look good tonight, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I went the extra mile, aware that Emmett was going to show up.
I thought he’d back out after everything that went on, but I should’ve known better than to assume he’d let his friends down.
And that’s what he is—a friend to my parents.
Pulling a breath into my lungs, I let my gaze drop to what he’s wearing—a white dress shirt that’s open at the collar, revealing a glimpse of chest hair, along with a peek at his toned body, one I had the pleasure of touching not all that long ago.
Emmett has this way of carrying off casual so effortlessly—sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a TAG Heuer watch decorating a muscular wrist.
As my mouth waters, I swallow thickly, determined to get ahold of myself.
“Because you already made it clear that we can never speak of us again.”
He wets his lips, but it isn’t because he wants to kiss me, even if I hope that the temptation has crossed his mind. “I thought we agreed that was the right thing to do?”
He’s right; we did. Not that it helps to quell the need.
“Everything just feels awkward, is all.” I lean forward and grab a kitchen towel from the counter behind him, ready to dry off the dishes Mom already cleaned.
Frustrated, Emmett practically snatches it from my hands, flipping it over his left shoulder.
“Talk to me, Billie. I don’t want to lose you from my life because things got a little weird. That’s the last thing I want.”
On a sharp breath, I shake my head slowly. “I’d say that horse has already bolted, wouldn’t you?”
Emmett moves even closer. If there wasn’t a foot’s height difference between us, we’d be nose to nose. Instead, he towers over me, head bowed and eyes burning with a need I can’t decipher.
I hope it’s a need for me, but I suspect he’s after answers.
“If you’re unhappy, then you need to tell me. I never want you to be unhappy and especially not because of something I’ve said or done.”
I look off to the side, rain beating against the kitchen windows. It’s pointless, going over old ground. We’ve already set the boundaries, and I’m not about to be reckless and test his willpower, even if my body screams to do just that.
“There are a lot of things in my life that aren’t ideal at the moment. Some of them I can control, and others I can’t. I’m not unhappy, Emmett, but I do need to focus on what’s going to serve me.”
His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline, but he doesn’t speak again.
“I think I made a mistake, moving into that apartment.”
“How?”
I pull the towel from his shoulder and turn around to face the drainer. “Everything’s falling apart. From the cupboards to the flooring. And the other day, when I tried to run a bath for Blake, the hot water failed.”
When Emmett’s palm wraps around my waist, a couple of his fingers creep beneath the flimsy material of my cami. Aside from him taking my hand, it’s the first real skin-to-skin contact we’ve shared, and I brace a palm on the counter in front of me, trying to steady myself.
Wow.
“Billie, look at me.”
I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. I’m determined not to let anyone see how overwhelmed I am. “Just give me a second, okay?”
With the way he’s holding me like this, we both know we’re taking a risk on being seen.
“Not good enough, I’m afraid. Look at me.” His voice is harder, a demand sitting behind his firm tone.
“I’ve complicated your life enough,” I say, scrunching the towel in my left hand. I want to throw it at the goddamn wall in frustration.
Emmett grips the other side of my waist, slowly turning me to face him.
God, Jesus, he looks like a freaking dream. Waves of brown hair falling over his forehead, stopping just shy of the black frames on his glasses.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and he closes them, squeezing them shut like he’s in pain.
“You made exactly the right call when you moved into that apartment. Sure, it needs some work, but it’s yours.
A home for you and Blake and a place you can decorate however you want.
That day you moved in, I saw it in your eyes, in the way you danced around the kitchen with your baby girl.
That was the start of something new for you. ”
“How long were you watching me for?”
He just grins down at me, hands still planted on my waist. I swear I feel his thumbs circle my skin, but I don’t look down to double-check.
“Long enough to establish that you are, in fact, the world’s worst dancer.”
I balk, the hand gripping the towel now pressed against his chest. “Take that back.”
He shakes his head, and I swear when he dips it lower, he considers pressing his forehead to mine. “No, never. Not until you admit that you’re a kick-ass mom who just bossed life and got her own place.”
I narrow my eyes playfully. “I’m a kick-ass mom who just bossed life and got my own place … even if I’m still a terrible dancer.”
His face breaks into a panty-melting smile. “Good girl.”
I can’t help it; the words tumble from my lips like a waterfall. “Maybe, one day, you can take me dancing and show me how it’s done.”
I brace for him to pull away or at least drop his hands from my hips. He does neither, holding me in place against the counter, chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.
When he parts his lips to speak, I draw a deep breath into my lungs.
“Ha-ha! Yes. Let me just check if Billie is making the coffee.”
The sound of Mom approaching rips our bodies apart, Emmett backing several steps away. He grabs another towel from the side and begins wiping down an already-clean countertop.
Mom appears in the doorway with Maria following up behind her with the rest of the dishes I forgot to collect.
She pauses when her gaze lands on Emmett, clearing his throat as they both step into the kitchen.
“Billie and I were just figuring out how to use your new coffee machine, Freya.”
It’s a poor alibi, and he knows it.
Not that Mom is any the wiser. She’s too high on life—and booze—to notice as she makes her way to the machine and begins filling it with beans.
“That’s an interesting comment, Emmett.”
My attention snaps back to Maria as she sets the remainder of the dishes down in front of him, lips pursed, eyes suspicious.
“Given, the last time I checked”—she tips her chin at the coffee machine, and Mom fires it up—“that’s the exact same model we used to have right before you ended our marriage.”