CHAPTER 87
Finn
I wake up naturally. Emma is next to me, her long hair fanned luxuriously on my arm. Her left hand is curled in sleep, the stunning diamond and emerald in platinum sparking in even the dimmest light. She’s sleeping on her side, facing away from me. I can hear her breathing. She’s deep in sleep.
I lie still for a few minutes, appreciating the moment. A strong profound sense of comfort fills me. And something else…
Happiness. I’m truly happy.
It’s not an everyday kind of happiness, either. It’s more like a fuck yeah! feeling. Excitement. Hope. Optimism.
I’ve won the lotto of love and sex and peace, and the winning numbers are 36-24-35.
I crack myself up.
But I need to get out of bed. I have a big morning planned, full of surprises for Emma, and I don’t want to screw it up. I lift the duvet off me as carefully as possible so I don’t wake her. I sneak a peek of her body under the duvet before I reluctantly cover her once more.
A body like that should never be covered. Her shapely legs, the round and full heart-shaped ass, the curve of her hips, that elegant back that should be on display for the good of humanity if nothing else.
Not all humanity, of course. Just me.
She moved into my room a week ago. I’ve been a single man for a lot of years, and I’ve never shared this room in this house with anyone. But adding Emma’s belongings to my closet, her toiletries to my bathroom, her presence when I wake and when I go to sleep, have all come naturally and seamlessly.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Emma that we are each other’s destiny. We are. All of this was supposed to happen.
I stretch my hands above my head silently, as I take one last look at the sleeping beauty in my bed. Our bed.
Turning on my heel, I head for the bathroom and take a sailor’s shower. I’m not going for a run today because there’s too much to do. Since I fired Emma, and since she agreed to be my wife, we’ve been trying to decide who does what in the house.
Scratch that. I’ve been trying to decide, not her. She wants to continue as before, and complains if I try to clean up or, heaven forbid, cook. And I feel guilty if she does my laundry.
We’ll figure it out. Together.
All I want is for Emma to be happy. I’ll do anything to make her happy, to keep her happy.
After my shower, I manage to get downstairs without waking Emma or Jasmine. Outside, I take the SUV and drive out of the ranch and into town. As I drive through the gate to turn onto the main road, the sun comes up, shooting golden light over the land.
“It’s going to be a hot one.” I make a mental note to check the climate controls in the horse barn and turn on the fans in the stables when I return.
Once in town, I spot the man I have an appointment with. As I approach in the car, he yawns into the back of his hand and checks his watch. Honking twice, I park on the street and hop out.
“Sorry about the early hour,” I tell him.
“Not a problem, Mr. MacLaine,” he says. His eyes are bloodshot, and he forgot to comb one side of his head. It’s a very early appointment.
“So everything is installed?”
“Everything’s done. We left the front untouched, just as you asked.”
“Wonderful. Thank you. Here.” I hand him a business card. “Call my assistant in San Diego, and she’ll set you up on the fifty-yard line for the Raiders.”
“Fifty-yard line?” He stares at the card, then jolts to attention. “Which game?”
“All of them! At least for the upcoming season.”
He looks at the card again, and his face brightens. His eyes even clear. “Mr. MacLaine.” He opens his arms wide and wraps me up in a bear hug. He might be crying. “Thank you so much. The Raiders. Fifty-yard line. This is a dream come true.”
When he finally lets me go, he drops two keys in my hand. “There you go, sir. You have a really great day.”
“I plan on it.”
“Raiders!” he shouts, walking to his car.
Clenching the keys in my hand, I walk to my car too, ready to give Emma her big surprise.
“I thought we were eating breakfast at the diner.” Emma stares down the street to where she thought we were headed, then looks at the building in front of us.
“I was thinking about this place instead.” I gesture toward the grimy, paper-covered windows. It’s a large storefront with floor-to-ceiling windows that takes up a half-block of town.
She looks around, like I’ve brought her here by mistake. “I don’t think this is open. I don’t think it’s anything. It’s empty.”
“For now.” I hand her the set of keys I’ve put on a Cartier gold and diamond-encrusted key chain. “Who knows? It might be a restaurant someday.”
Emma palms the keychain, letting it roll around in her hand, feeling the weight of the gift. The weight of the possibilities. I watch it all play out in her face… the confusion, the awe, the gratitude, the self-doubt, and then confusion again.
“Restaurant? Wait, what’s happening?”
“Maybe you should use those keys, open the door, and check it out. As Jasmine would say, you don’t want to miss that.”
She squints her eyes at me but turns to unlock the door.
We walk inside. It’s a dusty, empty mess, but there are still booths and tables and chairs.
Emma barely glances at any of it. Instead, she walks straight back to the brightly lit kitchen that spills faint light into the rest of the space. I follow her.
I want to be there when she sees it.
It’s large and spotless, filled with gleaming glass and stainless steel and tile.
It’s outfitted with the newest and best in appliances and equipment, everything a professional kitchen would need.
I made sure of it. I gutted the entire back of the building to create this, but I didn’t change the dining room.
I knew Emma would have ideas for how that should look.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
“It’s yours, if you want it.”
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “This could be my restaurant? How, Finn? How did you make this happen?”
“I just did. I made it happen for you, and from here on out, that’s how it’s going to work. You tell me what you want, and I make it happen.”
“But…” she starts. “If I have my own restaurant, I’ll miss you and Jasmine and Yosemite Ranch too much.”
“Oh,” I say, pretending to think that over. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Give me back the keys.” I hold out my hand and she slaps it.
“What I mean, Finn, is that I’ll only want to do it part time.
Maybe open for lunch during the week and have it closed on weekends.
At least until I decide what kind of staff I might be able to hire.
That’ll give me time to pick up Jasmine from school and be home every night. What do you think about that idea?”
“I’m very happy with that idea,” I tell her.
“There’s another reason I’d like to work part time. I want to have kids.”
I freeze. My heart drops to my knees. I would love Emma just as much if she didn’t want children, if she believed that Jasmine was the only child we’d ever need. But the fact that she wants more, that she wants my children…
“I know we haven’t talked about it. But I’ve been thinking…”
“Yeah?” I’m trying to prevent a huge grin from eating up all the real estate on my face.
“I want a big family. Is that possible? Like five more kids. I know that’s a random number, but it’s just that I know how rare it is for a child to have a life of love and security and opportunities.
Maybe we could even adopt someday, in addition to having kids of our own.
I just want… I want…” She looks up to me, her eyes glistening.
“Tell me what you want, Emma.”
“Because of you, I’m filled with so much joy that I just want to share it.”
She falls into my arms, and I hold her close, kissing the top of her hair. “When do you want to start trying?”
“What time is it?”
I laugh and hug her to me as she laughs too.
My phone rings. “Ah, perfect timing. I have to take this, baby.” I click on the video call and hold the phone so that Emma can see.
“Bonsoir, chef,” I say.
Emma’s face freezes in shock. Then her eyes snap up to my face. Then back to the phone screen.
“So nice to see you, Mr. MacLaine.”
“Pierre, this is my fiancée, Emma Clark, soon to be Emma MacLaine. Are we still on to give her some cooking pointers?”
“That’s Pierre La Croix!” Emma points to the phone, her face frozen in shock.
“Hello, Emma!”
“You’re my favorite chef! You’ve taught me so much! You’re the most famous chef in the world!”
“Mais biensur,” he says, chuckling. “Famous for a reason. And I’d like you to be my guest in Paris for some cooking classes. Your husband-to-be suggested perhaps we might do this as part of your honeymoon trip? How does that sound?”
“What?” she squeals, her voice an octave higher than normal. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m going to Paris!”