6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Trent
I trudge through the snow to Emily’s front door, and I grab the shovel off her porch. I scoop up the snow and throw it to the side, creating a path. After I’ve cleared a decent walkway, I knock on the door.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m supposed to be back in Utica in an hour to meet my date at a bar downtown for some big bash.
With this weather, I should probably be leaving now to stand a chance of getting there on time, but after helping Grady with an electrical issue with his truck, I figured I’d check on Em before heading back out of town.
I knock again and stomp my feet against the cold. When she opens the door, the wind swirls tendrils of her hair not caught in her ponytail around her shoulders. Her brown eyes are alight with surprise.
“Trent! I thought you had somewhere to be tonight?”
“I gotta head out in a minute, but I just wanted to make sure everything’s good at your place? There’s a storm coming.”
Her two-story house is one of the older ones in town and prone to all sorts of finicky issues that crop up out of nowhere.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she says, glancing behind her.
Then I hear the incessant beep.
“Em,” I say, stepping around her into the house. “It’ll take me two seconds to change those batteries.”
“Oh, you don’t need to,” she says, rushing to the kitchen table in the middle of the room and gathering some papers. “I was just in the zone, and I was ignoring it. But I can get to it.”
I toe out of my boots and go to where I stashed batteries last time I was here and one of her smoke detectors started acting up. “Just because Amir isn’t here doesn’t mean you can neglect your own safety.”
“It just started, I swear.”
“Uh huh,” I say, and I go to the closet to get out the little step stool.
“You working on a real estate deal?” I ask, nodding at the spreadsheets and checklists she’s got beside her computer.
She has a knack for becoming laser focused and ignoring everything else around her.
I can be the same way when I’m troubleshooting a car, so I’m not one to give her shit for it.
Her chest flushes, and the color rises into her cheeks. I cock my head, curious.
“Please tell me you’re not making spreadsheets and checklists about one of those app dates you went on.”
I grab the screwdriver I leave handy in the same closet and climb the small ladder to unscrew the smoke detector while I wait for her to answer. When she doesn’t, I glance at her over my shoulder. “What are you up to, Em?”
“It’s private,” she says, tugging down her sweater and hiding her hands in the sleeves.
“O-kay,” I say, drawing out the word. I can count on one finger—this one—the number of times Em has outright refused to tell me something.
“It’s just…” She shakes her head and avoids my gaze. “Private.”
“That’s fine,” I say, removing the old batteries and slotting in new ones. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m not prying.” I screw everything back together and step down off the ladder.
As I’m putting everything away, I try to keep my curiosity in check, but I’m wracking my brain trying to come up with something that’d be private but would obviously require the research of spreadsheets and checklists.
Oh shit. I hope she didn’t get bad news about Amir. Maybe she did get him tested.
“Is everything…” I run my hand over the top of my head and scan her for signs of trouble. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah. Totally fine. I promise.”
“As fine as that smoke detector was?”
“The smoke detector actually was fine,” she says with a hint of a smile, “just complaining a lot. But I’m good at tuning that out.”
“Apparently,” I say.
“I would have dealt with it eventually,” she says.
“Now you don’t have to. Your handyman came to the rescue just in time.”
“I was definitely in mortal danger.”
“Imminent mortal danger,” I agree, and we’re now standing close enough that I could reach out and tuck one of the tendrils of her hair behind her ear. She looks cute when she’s out of sorts, but it’s definitely unusual.
“My hero,” she whispers, looking up at me.
“You got a reward for me?”
“Is that why heroes do heroic things? For the reward?”
“Some heroes are altruistic. That’s not me,” I say, and all I can think about is how soft her lips would feel under mine, which is all kinds of wrong. But the thought is there, insistent.
“You’re one of those morally gray heroes, are you?”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, and it’s pretty fucking sexy,” I say, biting my lip. “I love it when you go all book smart on me.”
She laughs and pushes my chest, making me take a step back. “You’re terrible.”
Emily’s phone on the table chimes at the same time the phone in my pocket vibrates. I take it out and frown at the display.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “They’re closing all the roads in the county. I better get going.”
“If they’re closing the roads, you can’t drive on them, Trent. If you get in an accident, that’s an insurance nightmare. Just stay here. I have a spare room.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, indecisive, and scroll through all the weather alerts. “It’s not going to let up, though, Em. I could be stuck here a while.”
“I’m sure we can find some way to fill the time,” she says with a shrug.
And I really wish I hated all the dirty places my mind goes, but I’m used to having these thoughts about Emily and not following through. It’s become almost like second nature—think incredibly dirty, friendship-destroying thoughts, act on exactly zero of them.
Just then, as though to remind me that I shouldn’t be having any of these thoughts about My Emily, a text rolls in from tonight’s date, asking whether I’m on the road.
Immediately, I write back that I’m stuck in Little Falls with the road closures.
She texts Boo!! and then probably blocks me.
I’ve been out with her a couple times, and she’s become progressively more unhinged.
It’s possible she’ll show up in Little Falls looking for me.
Might be for the best that I’m not keeping this date tonight.
“You all right over there?” Em asks, nodding at my phone.
“Just canceling my date.”
“Violet getting a little violent?”
“Potentially,” I say with a little laugh. “She’s probably calling me an asshole to all her friends right now.”
“Maybe you should start dating a different sort of woman,” she suggests.
“What would be the fun in that?”
“You know there’s nothing wrong with engaging in a serious, committed relationship.”
“I find that to be a very interesting comment coming from you,” I say, dropping my phone back into my pocket and taking off my coat to hang it over a kitchen chair.
“Hey, I’ve done serious and committed.”
“Me too,” I say.
“No, you have not.”
“I have.”
“Name one person.”
“Your sister.”
“We both know that’s total bullshit.” She laughs.
“I was seriously committed to that lie for a whole year. That’s impressive. You have to admit that.”
“I admit nothing,” she says.
That’s fair. I’m glossing over the wide-reaching consequences of that lie, so it’s probably best if we leave it there.
“You didn’t book yourself a hot date for tonight? Amir’s gone for almost two weeks, and you’re not taking advantage of the empty house?”
“I’ve decided the dating game is not for me. Deleted my profile yesterday.”
“I’m going to have my Saturday nights back? No more drunken phone calls? That’s disappointing.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“Survive but not thrive,” I say. “ The Flirty Englishman ’s profits will be down. No more shandies. No more late-night shared meals. They’re going to call begging you to resume dating.”
“The food and the shandies were the only positives of my weekly dating nightmares.”
“Ugh. You wound me,” I say, splaying a hand over my heart. “I don’t rank?”
“Over the shandy, but perhaps not the food,” she says, rubbing her fingers along her chin as though seriously contemplating it.
“I won’t tell Kai you’re downgrading his shandy.”
“Only to upgrade you. Really, you should approve of that rather than ratting me out.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Sullivan. I was supposed to be getting drunk off my face and making out with a hot woman. While I do have a hot woman still,” I say, gesturing to her, “I do not have the beer.”
“I don’t have beer,” Emily says, a slight flush to her cheeks. “But I do have a bottle of wine and another one of champagne.”
“You have champagne?” I follow her to the fridge. “What are we celebrating, My Emily?”
She has the door open, and I’m peering over the side.
When she glances up, our faces are too close, reminding me of all those thoughts I try to keep at bay whenever we’re in close proximity.
I love that sometimes she smells like lemon when she’s been cleaning, and sometimes, like now, she smells like peaches.
I just want to take a bite. It’s especially hard when she returns my flirty banter, as though she enjoys it too.
“Seems like getting drunk on fancy shit and playing a few rounds of strip poker might be in order,” I say, my voice huskier than it should be.
“No one is stripping,” she says.
“I’ll happily strip for you. Wouldn’t be the first time.” I start to pull on the back of my shirt, and she grabs my wrist.
“Trent.” She gives me the same look she gives to Amir when he’s on the verge of getting himself in trouble. Even that’s a fucking turn on, and it really shouldn’t be. Why do I like being scolded by her?
Flirty banter fucks me. Her getting impatient with my flirty banter fucks me even more.
“You want me back in line,” I say, dropping my hand.
“Please,” she says, grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge instead of the champagne. “If this is your starting place tonight, we may not survive the storm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I know not to take you seriously, but sometimes you push it just a bit too far.” She cracks the top off the white wine bottle, and I realize it’s not that fancy. No need for a corkscrew.
Rather than digging into her comment, I ignore it.
Partly because my flirting is semi-serious.
She’s one of my favorite people to talk to, to hang out with.
Being around her is one of the easiest, most natural relationships in my life.
I might not be able to say exactly how or when that happened, but I know it’s true.
But I’m also very sure that I have no intention of ruining our friendship, jeopardizing the relationship I’ve built with Amir over the last year.
The kid has lost two important men in his life, and I know I’ve made myself a third.
Having lost my father at a young age, I would never want to cause him more heartache because I followed my dick when I really needed to follow my brain.
Anything that happened between me and Em would have to be short-term and mean nothing, and I don’t see how anything good comes from that.
Unlike Em, who’s been drunk around me several times with no serious slips or incidents, I’ve been very careful not to be drunk around her.
“Maybe just one glass,” I say. “We can watch the ball drop.”
“Sounds like a responsible plan,” she says, pouring us each a generous amount.
“Responsible, huh?”
“You don’t like that word?”
“It’s not one I’ve often had associated with myself.”
“I think you just sell yourself short,” she says, handing me a glass.
“When you look in the mirror, you see the foggy haze of your past, but I see you, Trent Castillo. I see all of you. And you’re pretty fucking great.
Even when you’re being responsible.” She taps her wine glass to mine and leads the way into the living room.
I stand for a beat, watching her walk away, wondering whether I dare let her comment sink in.