Chapter 29
Talking about the proposal with Emmeline had been a little awkward for Luke.
She had plans to expand while his business was failing—it was embarrassing, almost, but he knew she wasn’t looking down on him. He could see she was concerned for him.
Even though they were vying for the same investment, she was still worried about him.
Ridiculous woman. He was falling in love with her badly. A part of him had loved her since that very first night, but now the force of it was tenfold. He couldn’t believe his luck. More than a week later, it still felt as if he was living a dream.
She was so loving and caring, with such a big heart. It was as if all of her defenses had stripped away, and he had been given the immense privilege of seeing the truth of her core.
He had seen her as a fierce and ruthless businesswoman, someone who was always in control, who was never fazed. But now he saw that beneath her armor, she was just as human as anyone else: she could be shy and nervous.
He loved her already, but with every new layer to her that he discovered, he loved her more and more. There was no one else in the world like her, and there never would be again.
Luke checked his phone; it was Sunday evening, and she was supposed to meet him at the Baby Dragon Cafe fifteen minutes ago. He was out on Main Street, looking up at the festive lights decorating the cafe’s storefront. It was cold out, but he didn’t mind waiting.
He had waited all these years, after all.
Then, his phone rang. His heartbeat quickened. He wondered if it would ever stop being exciting, being the object of her attention. He knew it wouldn’t, at least not for a long time.
“Hey,” he said, picking up.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m late, I . . .” she started, and his brows furrowed. She sounded frazzled.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I was heading out, when Motu created this huge mess,” she explained. “I’m trying to clean up and—”
“Hey, take a deep breath,” he said. “Do you want me to come over and help you clean up?”
She paused. “If you wouldn’t mind . . .” She stopped herself. “No, it’s okay. I can do it.”
While she had been to his place, he had never been to hers. It felt as if she was guarding her home, afraid to let him in.
He wanted to take care of her. To be there for her.
“Emmy, can I please come over?” he asked.
She hesitated. Then, as if refusing to overthink, she quickly said, “Yes. I’ll text the address.”
Before he could respond, she hung up. A second later, the address came through. He pulled out his whistle to call Sharptooth, then flew over.
She lived in a little cottage up in the hills. It wasn’t too far away from where he remembered her parents’ estate was, and the memory of that night made him apprehensive. The last time he had gone to her place, she had broken his heart.
But things were different now. They were both different.
He knocked on the door, and a few moments later she opened. She was covered in—what was that? A smoothie? It was some thick liquid. He thought he saw chunks of banana in her hair.
“Hey,” he said. “Nice look.”
She didn’t respond, and instead turned to walk into the house, muttering to herself.
He closed the door behind him, following her to the kitchen, which was an absolute mess.
He spotted a blender, which seemed to be the source: there was no lid on it, and all the liquid inside had splattered around like a smoothie had exploded.
The cabinets under the sink were open, revealing cleaning supplies.
Motu sat guiltily on the side, half-hiding behind his wings. He was covered in the same thick liquid as Emmeline.
“I had a long day at work with the dragons,” she explained, sitting on the floor, where it looked as if she had begun cleaning up the tiles.
“And then Saphira said she wasn’t feeling well, so I made and dropped off soup for her, and I didn’t have time to eat lunch at work, so I was going to make a smoothie and Motu knocked into the blender—”
She broke off, releasing a long breath. “I’m just so tired.”
It felt as if she was admitting that for the first time, and even that cost her. His heart squeezed painfully. He hated to see her in distress.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, going to her side. “You’re allowed to be tired.”
“And now I have to clean all of this up,” she said, aggressively scrubbing the floor.
“And Motu, too.” She looked up at Luke with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry. I know we were supposed to go to the cafe—once I get this all cleaned up, we can still go!
” She tried to give him a smile, but he could see it was brittle.
He frowned at her. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Why don’t you clean up Motu, and I’ll clean up in here?”
She stopped scrubbing and blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said,” he replied, pulling her up to her feet. “Go clean Motu up. I’ll handle the kitchen.” He took off his coat, then his blazer, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. She watched, stupefied.
“But . . .” she started.
“Motu,” he called, and the baby dragon flew over to them. Emmeline scooped him up into her arms, and he nodded at her. She made for the exit, then hesitated by the doorway.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll clean up.”
She nibbled on her lower lip, and he walked over, putting his hands on her shoulders, steering her out “Go.”
“Okay, but make sure you don’t miss anything, or it’ll smell because of the milk,” she said. “And make sure there aren’t any streaks and—”
“Emmy, I know,” he said, laughing a little. “Now go.”
She went, and he watched as she made her way to the stairs. He watched her go until she disappeared from sight. A few moments later, he heard the shower running.
Luke went back to the kitchen, cleaning up. The mess wasn’t too horrible, but he was extra thorough just in case. After he’d finished cleaning everything up, he made Emmeline a fresh smoothie, since she said she hadn’t eaten.
He was just pouring the smoothie into a glass when Emmeline came back down. Motu flew in behind her, squeaky clean, while she hadn’t changed herself.
“For you,” he said, handing her the glass. She looked dumbfounded as she looked around.
“It’s so . . . clean,” she said, impressed.
He snorted. “I’m not entirely useless, you know.”
“It’s not that—it’s just, no one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” she replied.
He furrowed his brows. “But you’re always talking about how you do things for your sister and family and friends,” he said.
She looked away. “I like doing that.” She frowned. “That makes it sound like no one ever wants to do things for me, which isn’t true. I guess it’s just hard for me to let other people do things for me. It makes me feel . . . bad. I don’t know why.”
“But it’s how people express their love for you,” he told her. “You should let them.”
“Well, thank you for cleaning up in here. And for this.” She held up the smoothie.
“Of course. After you finish, let’s get you cleaned up, as well.”
She glanced down, where there were dried splatters of smoothie all over her clothes and skin. “Right.”
“I’ll run you a bath,” he said.
Before she could protest, he left the kitchen, looking around the rest of her place as he went for the stairs. Motu followed after him, going to a little bed in the living room.
Her home was so her. It was neat and orderly, which was to have been expected, with a sleek and modern design; but there were homey elements as well: framed pictures, toys for Motu, mementos and trinkets.
He wanted to dissect every inch, to ask her about everything, but there would be time for that later.
Right now, he went up the stairs and found her bedroom.
In the attached bathroom, he ran a hot bath, the space quickly filling with steam.
There was a bottle of bath salts and soap on the tub; both looked hardly used.
He squeezed some of the soap in as Emmeline entered behind him. “I got those ages ago,” she told him. “But I never have time for baths. And I love baths.”
“Well, you’ve got time now,” he said. “Come on.”
Her lips twitched. “Now you’re just trying to get my clothes off.”
He laughed, holding his hands up. “My intentions are pure, promise.”
Though he was surely having impure thoughts as she reached back to unzip her dress. He turned around, reaching for the door.
“Wait,” she said, voice quiet. “Stay.”
He stilled, his heart pounding. He didn’t trust himself to turn, so he stood with his back to her, listening to the sound of her clothes hitting the floor. Then, he heard the water splash as she entered the bath.
“Luke,” she said, just his name, and he couldn’t bear it.
He turned. She was submerged in the water with her back to him, most of which was covered with her dark hair, which looked like a cloak of black silk. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she glanced over her shoulder, as if nervous.
He didn’t know what to say, but he wanted to be there for her.
“Do you want . . . Can I wash your hair?” he asked, amending the statement. He had noticed that she rarely asked for anything, even when she wanted it.
She was so used to giving, but not used to receiving. So if he had asked “Do you want me to wash your hair?” she would never admit to wanting that. But if he asked, “Can I wash your hair?” it let her know that it wasn’t any trouble, that he wanted to.
She bit her bottom lip, thinking. Then, she nodded.
She reached over for the shampoo, silently handing it back to him. His pulse quickened. He had never shared such intimacy with anyone.
Crouching down beside the bath, he lathered the shampoo onto his hands, then worked it into her hair. She tilted her head back, releasing a long breath. He washed the shampoo from her hair with a rinse cup.
She closed her eyes and he saw her cheeks shine with tears. His heart twisted painfully. He didn’t know what to say; he didn’t think there was anything to say. So he continued washing her hair, hands gentle.
When he finished, she wiped at her eyes, then noticed black on her fingertips from where all her kajal and mascara had smudged. “Can you give me a makeup wipe?” she asked. “They’re in the drawer.”
He did as requested, watching as she wiped around her eyes to get all the makeup off.
It was his first time seeing her bare-faced. She was always beautiful but there was something especially beautiful about her now. She looked so . . . young. He knew she was young, but it was the only word he could think of.
He was so used to her looking like someone who was perfectly in control and in charge, someone who didn’t need anyone—but, like this, she looked like she could need him. Like he could take care of her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll be out in a second.”
Nodding, he rose to his feet. He left, closing the door behind him.
In her bedroom, he went to her bookshelf, looking at her collection.
He spotted a worn copy of Letters to Milena, and he thought about one of his favorite passages, how Kafka wrote that—in his mind—he was dressing Milena with light, wrapping her in blankets of complete acceptance and giving himself to her.
Luke wished he could do the same with Emmeline, that he could make her feel safe, always.
The bathroom door opened, and he turned as Emmeline came out, all dried up. She was dressed in a silk pajama set, a camisole and shorts that were criminal.
She stood by the doorway, a little nervous, and he went over to her.
“Okay?” he asked, peering into her eyes.