12. Waterfalls #2
“And he has a neck tattoo,” Dinah adds, like she’s making a pros and cons list and that neck piece is at the tippy top of the pro column. I can absolutely never tell her about what lives under his shirt. She wouldn’t survive.
Joey squeals something completely out of character for her. “Oh, I see it. Whoa… the whole, I’m-a-doctor thing, covered in bad-boy tattoos and glasses? Yeah, he’s definitely got some things going for him.”
“He’s totally the quiet, mysterious type, too. Roman talked to Jack, and he said Jordan is kind of shy, but that he’s also been sprucing up the farm. Right, Em?” Chloe asks, completely unaware that she’s just given Bree the perfect stilettos to don as she kicks me while I’m down.
She saunters in my direction, wearing strappy heels on a random Wednesday morning, willy-nilly, like comfort wear. The audacity of this woman.
I sink further into the floor. In Keds.
It would be awfully wonderful if I could disappear right now. Move to another town, state, planet. I’m not picky. No such luck, though, as Bree stops directly in front of me, oh-so satisfied with where this morning has taken her. She’s obviously feeling blessed indeed.
I begin to tick my fingers off of my thumbs, when all I’d really like to do is rip the adorably pink Knotty & Nice bag, filled with my sister’s homebaked goods, right out of Bree’s perfectly manicured claws.
No one as mean-spirited as her deserves those perfect, buttered balls of dough, worth their weight in gold.
But, I also just announced I spent a half-clothed night in bed with someone who is not my husband, so I don’t deserve pretzels either.
Now I’m embarrassed and unreasonably sad. I love Dinah’s pretzels.
Almost as much as brownies.
“Well, aren’t you just constantly surprising us all, Emory,” Bree hisses.
She is so clearly gleeful to have been here for my public service announcement and is no doubt planning the group text thread she’ll be hitting send on the moment she leaves.
“I knew you were playing coy the other day… And to think you tried to be all high and mighty about our new vet, strutting him around your farm like the hired help, when all the while you were just waiting to slip into b—”
A pretzel bite blindsides Bree, smacking her in the cheek. It falls to the floor, leaving a perfect, oily imprint behind. It almost brings tears to my eyes.
“Oops,” Joey winces. “Slipped.”
I’m so glad she’s home.
Bree scoffs but takes her bad attitude and her undeserved bag of pretzels with her, slipping out of the shop almost unscathed.
Joey licks her fingers unapologetically as Chloe gives her the stink eye but doesn’t reprimand her. No, Chloe sets her butt back on a swivel stool and pats the one next to her. “If you think we are leaving before you give us every nitty-gritty detail, you are absolutely bonkers.”
“Agreed,” Joey says.
“Amen,” Dinah chimes, hands lifted in the air. “Single mom and a handy man? Forced proximity. A second chance. It writes itself.”
Chloe nods, enchanted, staring at Jordan through the window again, as he’s stuck in conversation with the Cottens but has definitely let his eyes flick our way more than once.
Now we get to watch as Bree crosses the street in his direction, no doubt bringing all of her charm along with her. So that’s great.
Chloe pays it no mind, though. “Oh my gosh. Y’all, this is just like my pick for book club. We’re starting it tonight… Single mom, tattooed military guy, and he has brothers. Does Jordan have brothers?”
“Only child,” Dinah answers Chloe, and the rest of them actually pout.
“Oh, you should totally come to book club tonight, Em,” Brooke says. “I’m hosting. We’re eating beef stew and learning Irish step dancing… because the family in the book is Irish.”
I would, quite literally, rather hang out with the entirety of the PTA.
My sister holds out her hand for me to take, giving it a light squeeze. She’s obviously thrilled by the development causing me so much distress, but I also think she’s saying, Whatever you want to do, Em. I’m right here. Book club. Chit-chat. The floor’s yours.
Which is a lovely sentiment, but all I can picture doing right now is running away.
In a perfect, Emory-is-fine-and-everything-is-fine world, I’d ignore my current confusion until it went away.
I’d pretend, mask, avoid. Push down these icky feelings of mine—deep, deep, deep down—until they disappear forever.
But five days of avoiding the topic with my sister, running myself ragged on the farm, and not seeing the man in question has made me more vulnerable than I like and no closer to ridding myself of these pent up feelings than I was five days ago.
“Why don’t you tell us how it happened?” she suggests, with stars in her eyes. “Did you fall asleep while he read you a book? Or maybe you weren’t feeling well, and he took care of you.”
The girls let out audible sighs. I’m thoroughly annoyed and wondering if I can Uno-Reverse this day—and a host of other decisions—including my choice to come in here.
“This isn’t a romance book, Dinah Belle. It’s my life.”
“I know it isn’t, Emory Marie.” She crosses her arms, doubling down with my middle name and the no-nonsense tone she rarely whips out.
“But it could be a romance if you would allow it. From the moment Jordan showed back up, you’ve been so insistent on hating him, but the truth is, he’s under your skin.
Right in the sweet spot between your pride and passion. ”
I roll my eyes. The girl could dream up a romance reading the back of a cereal box.
“I can tell,” she continues. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it. You want him.”
“I can’t want him, Dinah!” I shout, but lower my voice when it begins to shake. “I can’t. And I need your help to… I… I’m so sick with myself,” is all I can say before tears begin to impede my vision. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Oh, Em.” Dinah hops from her seat and pulls me in, softening immediately. Before I know it, I’m at the gooey nucleus of a group hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You have history,” Brooke says over my shoulder. “A friendship.”
“And he’s obviously adorable,” Chloe adds. “Like, I’d name a bunny after him in a heartbeat.”
The girls laugh, and I can’t help but laugh with them. Surrounded by women I’ve never fully opened up to has me feeling a new wave of emotions, with gratefulness at the helm.
“I just don’t think I can do it,” I admit. “Because of our history. What if I only feel the way I do, because he’s the first man to show me attention or to love Molly. Or what if I’m feeling… things”—because I still can’t fully admit what exactly I’m feeling—“because of our friendship?”
Always a voice of crazed, but solid logic, Joey squeezes my shoulder.
“You are a smoke show, girl. A hot mama. You’re young and gorgeous and so put together, it’s insane.
You run a business, operate a farm, and make sure everyone around you is taken care of.
Of course, he’s shown you attention… just like the countless other men I’ve seen try to get your number nearly every time we’re all out in town. ”
Something about the way Joey and her sister give compliments makes me want to squeeze each of the women in this circle and tell them the ways they’re all individually amazing. Starting with Dinah, who adds with a smirk, “Jack adores Molly, and you didn’t fall in love with him.”
Then Brooke, who’s married to her best friend after years of running from her feelings for him, says, “Your friendship is what makes this a really great foundation for something. If you want something…”
“What do you feel, Em?” Chloe asks. “Really. When you think of Jordan, what do you feel about him?”
Guilt. Attraction. Shame. Excitement. Comfort. Potential. Confusion… Peace.
A flood of emotions frays my nerves and brings more tears to my eyes, exactly as the bell dings, just past our huddle, and a throat clears.
“Um, Re— Emory?” Jordan steps into the bakery, but the girls don’t relinquish me from their embrace. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“What do we do?” Chloe whispers, but she’s terrible at it, and Jordan coughs, clearing his throat again.
“You could start by learning to whisper,” Joey hisses.
“And you could start by chewing a piece of gum. Your breath is trash today.”
Brooke inclines her head to the man standing behind us. “Not the time, girls. Not the time.”