9. Emmy
CHAPTER 9
EMMY
When I pull past the imposing gates at the Harrisons’ estate, I take one last glance at myself in the rearview mirror. Neesha insisted on the red lip stain, claiming it would boost my confidence. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t . If anything, this bright red color is like a neon sign saying, “Look at me! I'm trying way too hard!”
Definitely not the right statement for a bookish introvert who’d rather hide behind a potted plant tonight.
I pluck a tissue from the glove compartment and start scrubbing my lips, but it’s useless. This lipstick is like a clingy ex—it’s not going anywhere. I’ll need a power sander to get it off.
As soon as I park my car, someone knocks on my window. Stewart is motioning for me to roll down my window.
I crack the window, glaring at him. “Do you enjoy creeping out women in their cars?”
“I’m helping with parking.” He frowns and looks past me into the car. “Did Dawson bail?”
“No...” I hesitate for a split second. “He’s meeting me here.”
“Haven’t seen him,” he says, folding his arms. “Maybe he’s not coming.”
“Oh, he’s coming,” I say firmly.
“Why wouldn’t I come?” a low voice rumbles behind us.
I spot Dawson’s hulking frame in my rearview mirror first, and my chest tightens. It’s like someone sucked all the oxygen out of the car.
Gone is the college boy who joined me in the wine cellar, with his messy hair and boyish smile. Dawson is a full-grown man now with linebacker shoulders, rugged beard, and a scrolling tattoo peeking out from the rolled-up arm of his jean jacket.
Under his jacket, a white tee stretches obscenely against his chest, like he’s Superman about to bust out of his Clark Kent shirt. He’s dressed casually like me, but everything about his outfit looks higher-end and tailored for his body, like it was sewn around his obnoxiously large muscles. When he approaches my window, I catch a faint whiff of his cologne mixed with the woodsy scent of fall.
“Sorry, practice went late,” he says, opening my door. His hair still looks a little wet and tousled, like he should be in a men’s body wash commercial.
His eyes graze over my outfit, and I can tell he approves. “You look beautiful,” he says, as he places a hand lightly on my back.
If he’s doing this for Stewart, it’s totally working. My heart flutters like a tiny bird inside my chest.
I brush my hands over my pants, which feel tighter than I remember. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
I can hear Mimi’s voice: Accept a compliment gracefully.
And my subsequent reply: Get out of my head, Mimi. I give him a nervous smile. “Um, thank you.”
Stewart glowers at Dawson.
“Let me get you past security.” Stewart gestures for us to follow him.
When we reach the gated backyard, we’re waved inside a garden that looks like a fall movie set. The backyard is lit up with garden lights. Vibrant mums in red, orange, and deep purple line the paths. Colorful pumpkins are stacked like a cornucopia display. It’s like someone dumped a whole pumpkin patch here.
The gigantic patio holds several tables of food overflowing with fall-themed treats, including a homemade flatbread with roasted butternut squash and bacon jam. I make a mental note to pick up some before they run out, along with the pumpkin cheesecake drizzled with caramel sauce.
“Can I get you a drink?” Stewart asks me, ignoring my date. “I was hoping we could talk about bookstore business tonight.”
“Now?”
Dawson steps between us. “This is a party, Stewart. You can talk to her during work hours when you’re paying her.” He glares at Stewart. It’s not even a question. Dawson’s made it clear we won’t talk business tonight.
Electricity zings up my spine when he places a hand protectively on my back that sends a silent warning: Back off.
“Stewie, dear!” Noreen calls from across the decorated patio. “I want to introduce you to someone important.”
Stewart’s face flinches.
Dawson and I look at each other and nearly burst out laughing. Stewie ?
“This conversation isn’t over,” Stewart says before hurrying toward his mother.
I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter.
“No wonder that man acts like a child,” Dawson mutters.
“He’s very persistent. I’ll give him that.”
Dawson touches my arm. “Tonight, there are two rules. No work. No Stewie.”
I laugh. “The second rule is more like my life rule.”
Except now that Stewart’s my manager, I can’t avoid him—something I don’t want to think about right now.
“One more rule,” Dawson says, his brown eyes glowing under the lights. “You need to have fun.”
Now he sounds like Mimi.
He glances at the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Hot cider, please?”
Dawson hurries off while I nibble on a wedge of flatbread covered in bacon jam. At the bar, he chats with Cooper, who looks miserable to be here. His publicist, Blair, probably encouraged him to go so he could network with potential sponsors.
When Blair approaches him, Cooper does something that nearly makes me drop my flatbread. He smiles at her. At least, I think it was a smile. His lips quirked for a split second. If I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it.
I’m not even sure Blair noticed, but is it possible Cooper has a tiny weak spot for his publicist? I wouldn’t be surprised, given her stunning looks and equally charming personality. She’s probably the only reason he showed up tonight.
Just then, Dawson returns with two drinks covered mile-high in whipped cream and drizzled with caramel and shaved toffee.
I stare at the drink. “I thought I asked for a cider.”
“Plain cider is so last year,” he says with a smirk.
I laugh. When I take a sip, Dawson’s gaze drops to my nose and his mouth twitches.
“What?”
“You’re wearing the whipped cream.” He bites back a smile.
I wipe my mouth.
“You missed. Can I help?”
I nod. He takes his thumb and gently swipes it over the tip of my nose. Normally that would be weird. But his touch is so light, it almost feels like a butterfly kiss, sending electricity from my head to my toes.
I let out a shaky breath.
Isn’t this the feeling Mimi told me about? Either that, or I’ve stepped on a live electrical wire. How is it possible that a guy like Dawson could be so gentle?
The live band begins their music set, and it suddenly becomes hard to talk without shouting.
“Want to take a walk?” Dawson shouts over the guitar.
“Sure,” I say, following Dawson to the garden path where it’s quieter.
We make our way to the privacy of the garden, where a wooded path winds through beautiful red maples. Fallen leaves create a patchwork of color on the ground, giving me the feeling that fall is showing off just for us. I’m tempted to take off my shoes and squish the leaves under my toes like a kid. The evening feels magical, complete with the distant smoky scent from a nearby campfire.
“What do you do when you’re not going to parties?” Dawson asks, glancing at me.
“I work evenings and weekends, so I don’t go out much. When I’m not at the bookstore, I spend time with Mimi. I don’t know how many years she has left, but besides having the normal aches and pains of an elderly person, she also has heart issues. So I’m the one who’s taken on most of her errands and home tasks. Basically, I have the social life of a seventy-five-year-old.”
He laughs. “I admire that about you.”
“Doing old lady things?” I say with a smile.
“Taking care of her.”
“It’s what family does, right?” I shrug. “It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s incredible, Emmy,” he says, looking me in the eye. “Most people are selfish. They don’t want to go out of their way for someone else. Do you know how rare that is?”
I glance away, bristling under his praise. “It’s not rare in Maple Falls. We help each other around here. I’m the only one in the family who could move into Mimi’s house. Mom and Dad don’t have a big enough place for her, and Dan and Ethan are off pursuing their dreams. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement because I get a free place to live and Mimi gets my help.”
There’s also the glaring reality that Mimi won’t be here forever. It’s now or never— and I choose now.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I do. She hardly lets me do much for her other than cleaning her house and weeding her flower beds, since her knees are bad. But I’ve discovered plunging my hands into dirt is actually therapeutic.”
He gives me a look. “Really?”
“I do my best thinking then. Just don’t judge the dirt under my nails.”
He stops and turns to me. “Let me see your hands.”
I hide my hands behind my back. “Seriously. It’s embarrassing.”
He gives me a look. “I mean it. Let me see your hands.”
I put my hands in front of him. He gently turns them over, and I get that tingly feeling again. “I don’t see a speck of dirt.”
“That’s because it’s dark out.”
“The fact you pull your grandmother’s weeds? That’s love.”
I shrug off his compliment. “Mimi loves her flower beds, and I love her.” My hands feel cold now that the warmth of his are gone.
“What would you do if you didn’t have to care for Mimi?” he asks.
We continue down the path before I answer. “I don’t know. I’d love to own a bookstore someday. Or finally finish that book I started writing.”
“You’re still writing?” Dawson asks.
“Not really. It’s hard to find the time.” But that’s only half-true. I’ve been scared to write, afraid of failing at something I desperately want to do.
“You should start again,” he says. “Mimi would want you to.” He gives me a look.
I know what he’s saying—Mimi won’t be here forever . Then what will I do? Work for Stewart forever? Even thinking about it makes my stomach turn.
I’m so much more aware of time. How little of it we have. How it slips away too fast.
“Do you date much?” he asks, not looking at me as we wind around the garden.
“Have you seen the single population in Maple Falls? Most young people move away once they head off to college. A few years ago, I dated a guy who moved here for a year.”
Dawson studies me. “Oh, yeah? What happened?”
“He moved away for another woman. I caught him sending her text messages behind my back. So basically, he was two-timing me.”
“There’s a special place in H-E-double hockey sticks for people like him.”
I laugh. “Did you just spell a word with double hockey sticks ?”
He grins sheepishly. “My mother was very strict about being respectful, especially around women. It’s why I’ve got the cleanest mouth in the league.”
“That’ll happen when you use double hockey sticks, instead of letting it rip.”
He shrugs. “I’m weird that way.”
I laugh. That’s exactly something I would say. I like people who don’t fit the mold, because I never have either.
Dawson glances at my boots. “That path was not kind to your shoes.”
I look down. Mud mars the side of my boot, with several leaves stuck to the heel.
“I just bought these,” I grumble. Replacing them is not an option on my salary.
“Here, let me.” He kneels and peels away the leaves with his hands. Then he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes off the mud. “That should do it.”
“You dirtied your handkerchief for me?” I place a hand on my heart, blown away by this small gesture. “Also, what kind of man carries a handkerchief?”
He laughs. “Call me old-fashioned, but it comes in handy.”
I blink and glance at his leather boots, which are spotless. Some might even say immaculate.
I suddenly feel light-headed. “I think I need another drink.”
He takes my empty glass. “A grande cider with a cloud of whipped cream? Or maybe a bite to eat?”
“Surprise me,” I say. I find a nearby bench and sit, massaging my temples.
It’s just a coincidence that he has nice shoes. It doesn’t mean anything.
As Dawson waits at the bar, a perky blonde approaches him. My stomach twists when she flashes him a smile.
I’ve seen her before. She looks like the former cheerleading captain and homecoming queen from Dan’s class who moved away after graduation. Even after all these years, she’s got an uncanny resemblance to Regina George from Mean Girls, the embodiment of plastic and perfect. Just the kind of girl athletes go for.
A smear of jealousy shoots across my chest.
Even if this is a fake date, I don’t want the humiliation of someone else flirting with Dawson. I weave through the crowd of people, my eyes on her. When I close in, I cringe at her excited squeal.
“I’m so excited to meet you!” She claps her hands, cheer-style, in Dawson’s face. “Tell me all about the Ice Breakers! I’d love to hear more about what you do on and off the ice.”
The bartender hands her something fruity with a pink umbrella, and she tips the glass greedily to her lips, looking at him under lowered lashes.
I freeze, staying a few steps away.
I can’t do it. I can’t watch this unfold or stop her from stealing my man.
Dawson barely even gives her the time of day. “Thanks, but I already have a date.” His eyes cut to me and his lips curve into a smile. “She’s the only one I’m interested in tonight.”
The woman follows his gaze. “Dan Roberts’s sister?” Her brow creases. She can’t remember my name or believe he’d want someone like me.
Dawson’s gaze stays locked on me. “Her name is Emmy, and she’s whip-smart and beautiful. A rare combination in a woman. And way too good for me.”
My stomach spirals. Dawson’s turning her down. For me.
Her smile falters before she walks away.
When Dawson spins back to me, his eyes land on me like a dart to a bullseye. “There you are,” he says, his voice softening. “The only woman who catches my eye tonight.”
I can’t move. Those dark eyes grazing over me have rewired my brain circuitry.
That’s the power of a devastating compliment—it knocks you flat, making you feel like the only woman in the world.
He studies me, then frowns slightly. “Emmy, you okay? You’re a little pale.” He touches my arm with a gentleness that makes my heart leap.
“I’m okay!” I say, flustered.
I’m not okay, but I can’t explain that to Dawson now. I wheel around, looking for a way out. “I should go.”
His brow furrows in concern. “But what about dinner? I thought we could live a little and start with dessert. Aren’t you hungry?”
My eyes land on the offered cheesecake and my stomach rumbles. It’s my favorite kind of cheesecake and I’m furious at myself for leaving without a bite.
“I’ll pick up something on the way home,” I say, beelining for the exit.
I don’t turn to check if he’s watching me. Because if I see those eyes, I’ll probably never leave.
When I reach my car, he’s still behind me. “Emmy, is something wrong? Was it something I said?”
I spin toward him, wanting to keep this short. “I’ve had a lovely evening, Dawson. But I really need to get home. Mimi’s waiting on me.”
He rubs his chin. “That’s strange because Mimi texted me tonight. She said not to let you come home before midnight.” He checks his watch. “And it’s only eight thirty.”
I scoff. “Mimi forgets I’m a grown woman who decides my own bedtime.”
“You’re right.” Then he leans against my car. “But you won’t get far tonight. Not in this thing.”
I prop a hand on my hip. “Are you insulting my car just because it’s old?”
“I’m just stating the obvious.” He nods toward the tire.
It’s completely flat.