Chapter Fifteen
“DON’T YOU HAVE TO get going?” Owen asked, sweeping the floor behind the counter, pointedly working around Emma where she was banging her head against the geriatric computer system. Again.
The two of them were closing up the shop after a surprisingly busy Sunday afternoon. The register was all settled, and she was just trying get a couple of orders placed when—
“Dammit,” she muttered as the monitor went full blue screen of death.
Maybe the thing always crashed this often, but she swore that the second Granny left town, it had developed an honest-to-goodness vindictive streak against Emma.
“That’s its way of telling you it’s time to go,” Owen suggested.
“Yeah, probably.” She killed the computer’s power. Overnight, it could have a good, long think about what it had done. Standing up, she glanced at the clock and did a tiny double take. “Oh, man, I was supposed to leave—”
“Fifteen minutes ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on.” Owen gestured around. “Everything’s basically done. I can lock up.”
She followed his gaze. Everything did, in fact, appear to be in order—including the new decorations she’d been putting up over the course of the past week.
The whole store gave cozy autumn vibes, which were only augmented by the lingering, delicious scent of the pumpkin spice lattes and treats the café had been serving up all afternoon.
She smiled, proud of the changes she’d implemented—if maybe also just a little bit nervous about what Granny would think of them when she returned.
But Granny had told her to go ahead and make the place her own, and Emma had decided to start taking her up on that, at least when it came to the store’s decor.
She’d been getting good feedback, too, both from locals who came in to shop and from her followers on social media, who had been unanimously in favor of the store’s minor glow-up.
The store’s accounts had been growing, as had her personal ones, opening her up to an even wider community of friends and readers, and she was feeling energized and inspired to keep going.
Tomorrow, in any case.
For tonight, she spent five more minutes locking up with Owen, and then dashed upstairs to her apartment.
The place had been cute enough when she’d moved in, with pale walls and wainscoting, white-painted furniture, and a green couch with about a hundred floral-patterned throw pillows.
But it still didn’t really feel like hers.
Someday, maybe she’d take the time to do something about that.
At the moment, she was racing to change, fix her hair and makeup, and get out the door.
When Hunter had brought up the idea of her coming up to his place to try some more of Chef’s dessert ideas, she’d just about jumped at the idea. A part of her had expected him to back out, after he’d had some time to think, but he’d texted her earlier in the day to make concrete plans.
She still didn’t know exactly what they were doing together, and he’d basically admitted out loud that he didn’t, either.
But all day long, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss.
The hot press of his mouth and the rough brush of his hands.
The solidity of him, and the strength and breadth of his shoulders.
The soft rasp of his beard against her chin…
She clenched down inside as a tingle of wanting hummed through her. Pastries would be on the menu tonight, but she really, really hoped more kissing would be, too.
She was just brushing on a coat of mascara when her phone buzzed, and her mom’s name appeared on the screen. It had been a couple of days since they’d talked; she only had a minute, but she answered anyway.
“Hey!” She wedged the phone between her shoulder and her cheek.
“Hi there.” They exchanged a few pleasantries before her mom brought up the reason for her call. “I just wanted to tell you how lovely the store is looking! I saw that video you posted this morning.”
“Thanks.” Emma chuckled to herself. Her mom didn’t believe in social media, citing a whole litany of privacy concerns, but that didn’t stop her from lovingly stalking Emma on it anyway.
“Those fairy lights and autumn leaves you put up around the cozy chairs. They just reminded me so much of the forts you used to build when you were little.”
“Really?” Emma racked her brain but couldn’t really recall.
“Oh, heavens yes. You were always trying to redecorate your room or make these little cozy reading nooks. And fall was always your favorite.”
“Still is,” she agreed.
“We couldn’t let you get too crazy, of course. Half your forts were structurally unsound, and your father was afraid you were going to turn the place into a literal forest if we didn’t stop you from bringing in sticks and leaves—and they upset your grandmother’s allergies, too.”
“Hey,” Emma said in mock offense. “Those leaves and sticks were very artistic.”
“They were mostly ragweed.”
Okay, fine, dragging ragweed into the house probably wasn’t great.
But there was a little squirm of discomfort in her gut.
Now that her mother brought it up, Emma did have vague memories about having her creations confiscated.
She’d been so proud of the things she’d made, and she’d had to watch them get tossed back out into the woods behind her house, and she hadn’t even been able to make a fuss about it.
She couldn’t go upsetting everyone with her histrionics, after all.
Swallowing hard, she blinked away the sour memories, focusing instead on adding a touch of highlighter to her cheek.
Oblivious, her mom continued musing, “Anyway, you used to have so much fun with that kind of thing. It’s nice to see you getting back into it.”
Her mother changed the subject to their upcoming travel plans. As Emma listened and finished getting ready, she kept thinking in the back of her mind about what her mom had said.
Emma was finding a lot of satisfaction making the store more aesthetically pleasing, but she’d thought it was something new, inspired by what she’d seen on her feed, and by the gorgeous autumn scenery here in Vermont.
But who knew? Clearly her parents hadn’t given her much free rein; and Brock had always preferred minimalism, so she hadn’t flexed her interior design muscle much in their space, either.
But maybe it really was something she’d always loved, and now that she had the opportunity to, she was simply rediscovering it.
As she finished her conversation, catching up with her mother, she regarded herself in the mirror.
Maybe she had a lot more to rediscover about herself, now that she had the opportunity to, too.
Five years into owning the place, Hunter was only now discovering that his cabin was a barren bachelor pad. With Emma due to arrive any minute now, he glanced around in despair.
Had the place always felt this empty? This bare?
He’d always viewed his space as simple and efficient.
He didn’t need much. But the plain white walls suddenly stared back at him.
He could have put some pictures up at some point, but it had never seemed important before.
The one, lone bookshelf housed his tiny collection of books, as well as a couple photographs.
A shot of his family from… before. Framed school portraits of his niece and nephew, and his sister’s holiday card photo of her and her husband and the kids.
The TV sat on a low, wide wooden entertainment center, and opposite it stood his plain black leather couch.
There was a matching recliner next to the window, for days when he wanted to read a book or drink his coffee in the sun.
There was one fleece blanket for chilly nights and the two square pillows that had come with the couch, but there weren’t any other touches of color or comfort.
At night, he drew plain, white shades over the windows. Even the rug was a muted gray.
The kitchen wasn’t any better. A plain pine table with two chairs. Stainless steel appliances and gray, granite countertops and matte, off-white tile.
Everything was serviceable, but there wasn’t any life to his house. It wasn’t a home. And he hadn’t really noticed until now.
There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it at this point, of course.
As if to prove the point, the low rumble of tires on gravel sounded through the quiet air.
He quick-checked the steaks he had reverse searing in the oven.
It was too dark at night to fire up the grill at this point in the season, but at least part of the fantasy he’d entertained the day before about cooking for Emma had become a reality.
Now as to the other fantasies he’d been entertaining about her… especially after he’d pressed her into the wall and kissed her senseless, her fingers working magic against his scalp…
The doorbell rang, and he forced himself to pull his mind out of the gutter.
He opened the door to find Emma standing there under the porch light, looking like a vision. Her dark hair hung in shiny waves, her cheeks pink from the autumn chill. A big, fluffy, deep-orange scarf was wrapped around her neck about fifteen times, which was… adorable, actually.
And he should really stop standing there, gawking like an idiot.
“Come in,” he said gruffy, pulling the door wider and stepping aside.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him in a way that melted him. She unwound that scarf and tugged off her jacket, revealing a fitted, plaid, button-down shirt and jeans that hugged her curves in all the right ways.
He took her things and hung them up on one of the hooks by the door, taking his time with it all to keep his reaction to how beautiful she looked in check. When he turned around, it was to find her surveying the place, and self-consciousness rose inside him again.
Swallowing, he curled his hand around the back of his neck, rubbing the tight knot of muscle there in agitation. “I know, it’s kind of basic.”
“It’s nice.” Breathing in deeply, she shifted to face him, and her smile was utterly genuine. “It smells all woodsy and clean.”