Driving home in the snow with Emmett sitting in my passenger seat was more surreal than I had expected it to be. In the grocery store, when Anna had been losing her mind screaming, it had seemed like a perfectly natural thing for him to come over—“yes, please, God, any help I can get today” was pretty much the only thought I was capable of at that moment.

But on the short drive home, Anna fell into an immediate, blissful sleep, and all of a sudden it felt more like I had invited Emmett over for no reason at all. He sat in the passenger seat of the car, gazing out the window at the falling snow, and at every red light I awkwardly looked over at him. He’d just come from work and smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans, and he nervously ran his hand through his hair every once in a while.

After a minute of unbroken silence, I turned on the radio. A moment later, Emmett glanced over at me, a slight grin on his face.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head a little. “Nothing,” he said, looking back out the window.

“You’re regretting agreeing to this, aren’t you,” I said.

He shook his head. “Nope.” But when I saw his face at the next red light, he still looked like he was laughing at me. It was like he had some secret.

“Okay, what’s going on, Emmett?”

He snorted before covering his mouth as he laughed, making sure to keep quiet and not wake up the baby. “You really listen to this music?” he said.

“What?” I whispered.

“This. Radio E-Z-Smooth. This was always the station my friends and I made fun of.”

“It’s just calming jazz music,” I protested.

“It’s elevator music,” Emmett said. I stole a glance at him, and he was still grinning.

“It’s not my problem if you don’t like Sade,” I said, trying to hide a smile. “Anna likes it. I assume she’d hate whatever heavy metal you’d want to put on.”

“I’m offended, Ryan,” he said. “I do not listen to heavy metal. Hardcore punk, maybe, but metal? You couldn’t catch me listening to that crap.”

“And I’m sure I wouldn’t even begin to know the difference between the two,” I said.

There was a lull in the conversation, and as we got closer to my block, one of my favorite songs came on the radio.

“Oh no,” I said to Emmett, “You’re in trouble now.” It was Kiss From a Rose by Seal.

“What?” he asked, but before he could say anything else, I started to sing along. Emmett turned to me, his mouth hanging open, as I quietly crooned out every word to the song.

“Oh my God,” he said, “Holy shit, Ryan. I don’t know if I should make fun of you for the horrible music choice, or applaud. You have an incredible voice.”

My face grew hot, and I turned down the heat in the car a few degrees. “It’s passable,” I said.

“No, it’s great,” he said. “Are you a singer?”

I shook my head. “No. I mean, not really. I was in an a capella group in college, though.”

“No wonder,” Emmett said. “Wow. It’s like Frank Sinatra was here in the car with me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You do know that wasn’t a Frank Sinatra song, right?”

“I know, I know. I was just saying you have a great voice.”

“Oh, shut up, now you’re flattering me.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? You’re really good.”

I pulled into my rounded driveway and drove up into the garage. When we got out I made sure to signal Emmett to be quiet—it was a task getting Anna out of the car without waking her up.

From the minute I picked her up, though, it was futile. The crying started immediately, and I gave up on trying to be totally quiet.

I was a little nervous when we got inside—Emmett was the first person other than Stella who had seen my new home in Rose Falls, and now that he was here, it was like I was seeing everything through his eyes. Had it always looked so spare and undecorated?

We walked in through the garage into the laundry room and made our way to the living room.

“You—uh—you can wait here if you want,” I said. “I’m gonna go try to put her down for a nap, and then change out of these awful pants. Make yourself at home—god, sorry for all the toys and boxes. I’m really not fully unpacked yet—I swear I’m usually neater than this—” I said.

Emmett shook his head, looking around. “It’s totally ok, Ryan,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I’ll bring in the groceries and wait for you out here.”

It felt like it took forever trying to get Anna down for her nap, but it was probably only about ten minutes. I turned on her baby monitor, changed into clean clothes, and went back out to find Emmett in the kitchen.

“This kitchen is insane,” he said to me as I walked in.

“I know, it’s bad, I really need to run the dishwasher,” I said.

“No, no, I meant how big it is,” he said. “It’s incredible. This stove has six burners on it. I’m more than a little envious, I have to admit.”

I realized that for the first time since the supply closet, I was alone with Emmett. He was just walking around my kitchen, but in the privacy of my own home, it was so easy to imagine walking over to him, pressing my body against his, feeling again what it was like to hold him in my arms.

He’d fit so well against me. I still remembered what his breath sounded like after he came.

But it was silly to think about. I knew it wasn’t an option anymore.

“I haven’t even used the stove yet,” I said. “Well, not for anything but boiling pasta.”

“Yeah, well, clearly I picked the wrong career,” he said. “If I’d known I could have this kind of house, maybe I would have studied computer science, too.”

I crossed over to the breakfast bar and sat down at the high countertop. “You still could if you wanted to,” I said. “Unless you’re attached to the coffee shop, that is. Do you want to own your own shop one day?”

He looked at me like I was an alien. “What? No. God no. The barista job is just… a job to pay the bills. For better or for worse, I’ve had a lot of food service jobs in my life.”

“What did you major in?” I asked.

He darted a glance at me before looking back down, drumming his fingers on the countertop across from me. “Can’t major in anything if you don’t go to college,” he said. “I tried, for a semester, but it just didn’t really work out.” His face fell, all the excitement drained.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I said, keeping my voice light. “College isn’t for everyone.”

Emmett nodded once but remained silent.

“What is your dream job, then, if not opening your own coffee shop?” I asked, trying to find some topic of conversation to bring his mood back up.

He took a deep breath, finally meeting my eyes again. “I would love to be a graphic designer,” he said. “I do it for fun, and I design a lot of flyers for my friends’ concerts, but without a degree, I’m pretty much screwed for getting jobs in it.”

“Can’t you show people a portfolio?” I asked.

“I’ve tried,” he said. “Rose Falls has so many artists—really good artists—and I just can’t compete. Jobs, contests, all of it… the positions always go to people who have their Masters in Fine Arts or who have already worked for major companies. I’m a small fish in a huge pond.”

“Well, it’s always worth it to try,” I said.

He shook his head, squinting out the window at the snow. “Not always.”

We lapsed into silence for a moment, and the faint clicking of the radiator was the only sound filling the air. I could tell that there was more to what Emmett was saying, that he had certainly experienced failures in his past that he wasn’t quite willing to talk about now.

For a brief moment I got that same urge I’d had with him the other day—I wanted to take care of him, in some strange way, wanted to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright. Emmett always seemed to be brimming with a nervous, flirty energy, but in rare moments, it was like a plug got pulled inside of him, and he fell away. I’d only seen it happen a couple times, but it broke my heart.

I wanted to ask him so much. I wanted to know everything that ate at him, everything he cared about. But that all seemed like too much to ask him right now.

“Well,” I finally said, “If the care you take with making even the simplest damn latte is any indication, I think you’d be an incredible graphic designer.”

He arched an eyebrow at me, but his gaze softened a little. “Now who’s doing the flattering?” he asked.

“You deserve it,” I said.

“You’re just buttering me up because I’m going to make you dinner tonight,” Emmett said, a little spark returning to his eyes.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” I said. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check my email. It was one of my junior developers asking the team a question that could be easily answered by Google.

“…If you have work you need to do, I can stay out of your way,” Emmett offered, glancing at my phone.

“No,” I said, closing the email app and shoving the phone back into my pocket. “It can wait. Want a tour of the house?”

* * *

A couple hours later, Anna was playing on her mat in the living room, and Emmett was standing over a bubbling pot of pasta sauce at the stove. I had given Emmett a tour of the house—it was only a little embarrassing showing him the two extra empty bedrooms and the stupid amount of unpacking I still had left to do. Anna had woken up soon after, and I’d taken her back out into the living room to play with her various light-up toys and singing stuffed animals. Emmett came out to watch, a little hesitant at first and clearly not sure what to do with a baby. But after Anna first smiled at him, he opened right up, and before long he was picking her up and showing her how to make towers out of blocks.

His only source of disappointment seemed to be when I told him he couldn’t, in fact, give Anna a bite of the Snickers bar he’d bought at the grocery store. Bless his heart.

Now, as he cooked dinner, I sat on my favorite seat at the breakfast bar. I could watch over Anna to my left and look on as Emmett worked his magic in the kitchen.

And to me, it really did seem like magic. He chopped and diced vegetables like a pro, finally breaking out the kitchen tools I’d gotten as housewarming gifts and never once yet actually used. He moved seamlessly throughout my kitchen, like he belonged there, like cooking was the most natural thing in the world to him.

When he stood on his tiptoes, reaching up to grab a pan or a jar of spices, I couldn’t help but watch the way his body moved. Who knew that cooking could be so physical? I almost felt like a voyeur, watching the way his ass moved under his jeans, or the taut muscle in his arm when he lifted a heavy pot. His dark hair periodically fell over his forehead, and every time, I wanted to swoop in and brush it back, to lean over him as he worked and kiss the side of his neck.

He’d probably punch me if I tried.

After a while, I picked Anna up, carrying her against me, and ventured into the kitchen.

“It smells absolutely divine in here,” I said. Anna let out a cooing sound. “She agrees.”

Emmett flung a towel over his shoulder. “My mom used to make this for us as kids, and it was the first recipe I demanded from her once I moved out. I hope you like it, too.”

“I’m positive I will love it,” I said. “And you’re lucky. The only recipe my mom had was one that involved pouring a can of creamy mushroom soup on top of a big pot of egg noodles.”

“She wasn’t a big cook?” Emmett asked.

“Not in the least. We… didn’t have much money, growing up, and my mom was on her own,” I said. “I think she could have been a great cook, but she just didn’t have the time or opportunity.”

Emmett nodded, leaning back against the counter. His eyes searched mine. “I get that,” he said. “She raised you on her own?”

I nodded. “Yep. My dad left when I was a tiny baby, about Anna’s age,” I said, squeezing Anna a little tighter and pressing a kiss to her forehead. I couldn’t even fathom leaving her side at such a young age, and it gave me a little bit of whiplash, realizing that my dad had done that to me thirty-six years ago.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“My mom and I got by just fine,” I said. “Other than the fact that rural Pennsylvania was so boring I wanted to scream.”

“Did you move from Pennsylvania right to New York City?” Emmett asked.

“I sure did. Got accepted to Columbia after high school and never looked back other than to visit my mom. The city was a massive adjustment when I was eighteen, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I felt like I belonged there.”

“Columbia,” Emmett said, his eyes widening. “Jesus. Fancy. Now I feel even worse being a first-semester college dropout.”

I rolled my eyes. “I couldn’t care less. A college degree doesn’t make or break someone’s intelligence. You’re clearly smart, Emmett.”

He snorted. “Wish I could believe that myself sometimes. Do you ever miss New York City, now that you’re here?”

I paused, weighing his question for a moment. “Not as much as you might think,” I said. “But maybe that’s just because I’m enjoying Rose Falls so much.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but then his eyes darted over to the boiling pot.

“Shit,” Emmett said as a splatter of red sauce bubbled out onto the stove. He crossed back over to take care of it, and I bounced Anna around, heading back into the living room.

Ten minutes later Emmett called out that dinner was almost ready, and I went to set up Anna in her high chair. I pulled out some pureed sweet potatoes for the baby while Emmett plated out our pasta dishes.

I poured two glasses of wine for us and went to sit at the table with Emmett.

“This is probably going to be the best food I’ve had in… God, months,” I said. I spooned some sweet potato into Anna’s mouth, letting her get started on dinner first.

Emmett smiled. “It’s just a simple pasta,” he said.

“Nothing simple about a home-cooked meal,” I said. “Cheers.” We clinked together our wine glasses, and I took a big sip before diving into the meal.

The food was utterly fantastic. The meal was slow, and every thirty seconds I had to turn to Anna to feed her, too, but I was right—it was the best thing I’d eaten in recent memory. As we ate I drained my glass of wine, and while I finished feeding Anna, Emmett got up and poured us both a big second glass.

“Oh,” I said, looking up. “I usually just have one glass a night.”

“Really?” he said, like I was speaking a different language. “Oops. A bottle of wine never lasts me longer than one night. I’m sorry.”

I waved a hand. “No, you know what? It’s fine. I could use a little more, after my day today. But if you’re staying for another drink, I’ve gotta warn you, you’re probably going to have to help me give Anna a bath.”

Emmett’s eyes went wide like he’d just seen a ghost. “How does that work?” he asked.

I couldn’t suppress a laugh. “It’s not that difficult. She doesn’t throw a fit… usually. I’ll show you how I do it.”

We cleaned up the table and put away the leftover food, and Anna only fussed her normal amount in the high chair as we worked. A couple times I bumped up against Emmett in the kitchen, and he always put his hand on the small of my back as some gesture of apology.

Every time he touched me, even the slightest bit, it sent a jolt of warmth through me.

Soon after, I set up Anna’s little chair in the bath and ran the warm water. As I washed her, Emmett entertained her with bath toys, and it turned out to be one of the easiest baths I’d ever given her. She didn’t struggle and whine as I washed her downy hair—instead, her eyes were on Emmett, and she laughed as he made silly faces.

After I’d given her a bottle, she started dozing almost immediately, and before long, she was down to sleep. I left her in her room and went back out to the living room where Emmett was drinking more wine.

“There’s still a little more if you want some,” he said, nodding over to the bottle.

I hesitated. I normally didn’t drink much, especially on nights that I had Anna with me—typically as soon as she went to sleep, I opened my laptop and got right back to work.

But I also didn’t usually have a beautiful guy in my living room. I looked at Emmett, smiling on the couch, his eyes just the slightest bit relaxed from the wine, and I felt like there was a magnetic pull on me. I wanted to have another glass of wine if it was with him. Hell, I wanted to extend this evening with him as long as I possibly could.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Emmett said, seeing my hesitation.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I went back into the kitchen and opened up a whole new bottle of wine, bringing it out and setting it on the table in front of us. “I want to.” I refilled both of our glasses and sank back onto the couch next to him, letting out a long exhale.

“It has been a long, long day,” I said, reaching up to rub the back of my neck.

“I can imagine,” he said. “Anna is amazing, though. You’re… you’re a really good dad.”

Emmett didn’t know me that well yet, so he couldn’t have known how much that simple statement meant to me. But some combination of the wine, the exhaustion, and his presence hit me with a wallop to the chest, and suddenly I felt ridiculously grateful.

“It was all I really wanted in life—to be a good dad, to be there for my child in a way that my own dad never was,” I said. “Thank you so much, Emmett.”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s true. You’re great at parenting, from what I can see.”

“Not just for that,” I said. “But for everything today. I mean, shit, you had the bad luck of running into me in the grocery store, and now I’ve stolen you away for the whole day. You’re the one who’s incredible.”

“If I had gone home, I probably would have just eaten a ton of pasta while watching some shitty TV show,” he said. “Trust me, I’m glad I came over.”

“Have you always been so good at cooking?” I asked, taking a big sip of wine and turning toward him on the couch.

He puffed out a laugh. “God, no. When I was a teenager, I don’t think I cooked anything other than instant ramen noodles. I actually started a small fire once at my boyfriend’s house in tenth grade.”

I grinned. “A fire? Jesus, what happened?”

“I was trying to make bananas foster like I’d seen on TV. They pour alcohol into the hot pan and set the bananas on fire. Let’s just say I haven’t tried that ever since. He also broke up with me a week later—I can’t be sure if it was because of the fire, or just because of irreconcilable differences.”

“You actually had a boyfriend in tenth grade?” I asked. “Wow. I… didn’t even fully accept that I was gay until college.”

Emmett nodded. “Yup. You could probably say that I came screaming out of the closet. I was very vocal about being bisexual throughout all of high school—I was mad about it, even. Everybody just called me gay, and it pissed me off, and I made a huge point of letting everyone know that bisexuality was a real thing, and that’s what I was.”

“That’s actually extremely admirable,” I said. “For a kid that young. I was scared to even look at boys in high school.”

“Well, I probably should have been scared,” Emmett said, running a hand through his hair and then reaching out to grab his wine glass. “People definitely fucked with me for it. I had my fair share of enemies, bullies, all that. But to me, it was worth it. I couldn’t be anyone other than who I was.”

I puffed out a laugh. “I probably would have had the biggest secret crush on you if we’d gone to high school together,” I said.

Emmett laughed, then took a sip of wine. “No, you wouldn’t. I dyed my hair crazy colors, put it up in mohawks, had piercings, and blasted punk music all the time. You would have been scared of me.”

I shrugged, lifting an eyebrow. “You never know. I mean, I was the most quiet, nerdy kid in school, but I’m sure I would have thought you were dreamy.”

Emmett looked down at the couch, but I saw the hint of a smile on his lips. “So… you came out in college?” he finally asked.

“…Kind of. It was a long process, really,” I said. “I didn’t tell my mom until after college, but I obviously knew much sooner. Remember how I said I joined an a capella group in school?”

Emmett nodded.

“I didn’t even mean to join. It was on a total whim. This guy in my freshman dorms heard me singing in my room, and he came and asked me if I’d want to join their group. I’d never been in anything like that—the only extracurriculars I did were strictly math-oriented—but this was at the beginning of college, and I felt like I needed to get out of my shell. So I joined.”

“That’s kind of adorable,” Emmett said.

I smiled. “That same guy—Tim—started taking me out to dinner, even bought me drinks a few times… it’s so obvious in hindsight, but at the time I had no idea that he was hitting on me. I was way too thick-headed, way too inexperienced. One night at a party, he leaned over and kissed me.”

“Aww,” Emmett said, a huge smile on his face. “Was he your first boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “Nah. I was way too scared of that as a freshman, and he quickly found some other guy. But I didn’t regret the kiss. It felt like I was finally confirming that yes, I did like guys, and it wasn’t all in my head.”

I considered telling Emmett about my first real boyfriend—Joseph—but I knew it wasn’t the right time. Because the story of me and Joseph had ended badly, and the last thing I wanted to do was depress Emmett right now.

“Y’know, my first kiss story is actually pretty damn similar, except it happened in high school,” Emmett said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, turning toward me on the couch and leaning in a little. “So, you’ll be totally shocked to learn that I was in a punk band in high school,” he said.

“Never could have guessed,” I joked.

“Yup. Our music sucked, and we could barely play our instruments, but it was so much fun. I was friends with the drummer, and I looked up to him in just about every way. He also dated both guys and girls, and he kind of showed me that it was okay to do that. One night after our first little concert in some friend’s basement, we were high on life, and he kissed me outside on the front stoop of the house.”

“Okay, that is so much more adorable than my story,” I said.

Emmett smiled. “It was pretty cute. We kissed a few times after that, usually after concerts, when everything felt magical and electric. But he ended up with the girl who was the lead singer of the band, and they moved to New York City right after high school ended.”

“Do you still play in a band?” I asked.

He shook his head, reaching down to fiddle with the seam on his jeans. “No. I still go to a lot of concerts, but now I just make all the flyers for my friends’ bands. I could show you some, if…”

I nodded quickly, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his photos and showing me various poster and flyer designs he’d done for a bunch of local bands.

“Emmett, these are like, spectacularly good,” I said, gazing down at the pictures.

“This one is for a show that’s happening this Saturday,” he said. “You could come if you wanted. The band is called The Bunny Four. They’re punky, but they might even play a few acoustic songs, so it could be okay even for your delicate sensibilities.” He grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Text me that photo, I’ll see if I can make it on Saturday,” I said, then gave him my phone number. I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to attend—Saturdays were one of my only days without Anna, and I often spent them working—but it was nice being invited.

“You do these all on your own?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Trust me, it’s just for fun—I can turn my brain off when I work on designs, and I sort of get lost in them.”

“Your work is really impressive,” I said, finally handing the phone back to him. “Jesus. If my company ever needs flyers for one of their events…”

He shook his head, pocketing his phone. “No. Companies don’t usually like my style much, anyway. A few years back I really was trying to apply to a lot of open submissions and contests, and some person with your standard flowery designs always won.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” I said. I put my wine glass on the table, realizing that it was nearly empty, now, and I was feeling the alcohol more than usual. I leaned back on the couch, turning toward Emmett. “I feel like you have so much more talent than you realize.”

“You’re too kind to me, Ryan,” he said, and I held back the urge to tell him that he deserved it.

* * *

“Ryan, I’ve gotta ask you something,” Emmett said quietly.

He had long since drained the rest of the wine in his glass, and now he worried his bottom lip a little, like he was trying to decide what to say.

Suddenly the room felt a little smaller, and I became aware of how close we were sitting.

I swallowed, nodding. “Of course, anything,” I said. I knew that this was probably going to be it—this would be the moment when he said he didn’t want to see me again or told me that I made him uncomfortable coming into the coffee shop.

Really, I’d been amazed that he hadn’t said it a long time ago. I’d been waiting for him to tell me off again since the day I apologized to him.

Finally, he spoke. “How come you’ve been so nice to me?” he asked.

I was stunned into silence—that hadn’t been the question I’d been expecting at all, and it hung in the air while I figured out how to wrestle with it.

There were all kinds of answers: Because I have an unrequited crush starting to blossom for you, because you’re mysterious and fascinating, because I have this odd urge to protect you, because you were the best sex I’ve had in years. All of those answers were wildly inappropriate, and probably exactly what Emmett didn’t want to hear. He’d made it perfectly clear that our hookup was a thing of the past, and the logical part of my brain also agreed that it was for the better to leave it there.

But there was one answer that was true but also safe.

“I’m nice to you because you’re nice to me,” I said, shrugging in a way that I hoped looked perfectly casual. “I mean, for God’s sake, Emmett, you’ve been nothing but kind to me in the coffee shop, and today you cooked for me. To be honest, it seems like you know what it means to be a good friend, even to someone who was a complete stranger a week ago. I mean, people like you are the reason I wanted to move to a smaller town in the first place.”

He was silent, just watching me, gently running his hands through the back of his hair. His cheeks were a faint shade of red, but I realized that I had no idea if it was from the wine, or from what I’d said.

“I like you, Emmett. It’s as simple as that,” I said.

He paused for a moment before finally speaking. “I like you, too.”

I puffed out a tiny laugh. “That’s an improvement,” I said. “You didn’t like me the night of the wedding, I can tell you that much.”

A small smile appeared on his lips, and he waved a hand like he was shooing away a fly. “I did, actually,” he said, shifting slightly on the couch. “That was kind of the problem. I decided I liked you, and that already felt weird and strange after a hookup… and then I thought you had a wife. It felt like a slap in the face. If you’d been less intriguing, I probably would have just rolled my eyes and walked out without saying a word to you.”

Intriguing. Jesus. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had described me that way.

His eyes looked sleepy in the low light of my living room, but when they met mine, an electric fizzle shot through me. Emmett was beautiful when he forgot to fix his face with a frown or a furrowed brow—at that moment, I realized that I was likely seeing a side of him that most people didn’t get to witness.

He had become unguarded after I’d told him I liked him. This wasn’t the version of him that I thought needed protecting; it was a version of him that had let his guard down, that was free from whatever weight normally burdened him.

It was stunning, and his gaze and the wine made me feel like I could ask him anything.

It also made me feel like I wanted to kiss him, badly.

“Emmett… do you—do you think we could spend more time—”

My words were cut short by a shrill beeping that floated through the air.

“Fuck,” I muttered, launching off the couch to run toward the sound of my pager. As I got up, I accidentally knocked my leg against Emmett’s.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said over my shoulder as I went to grab the pager out of my shoulder bag and silenced it. “People at work only page me if it’s an on-call emergency,” I said.

Emmett laughed as I stared at the little device. “You have a beeper still? I thought only doctors and people from the early nineties had those.”

I cut a glance toward him as I pulled out my phone. “It almost never gets used,” I said. “Like I said, it’s only for emergencies, and only if they can’t reach me any other way… Jesus, I have six missed calls from them.”

“Did you have your phone on silent?” Emmett asked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and lounging back on the couch.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t put your feet on the table,” I said, and he quickly took them off, sitting up straighter. “It was just… an expensive purchase.”

Emmett held his hands up like he was being questioned by a police officer. “I’m really sorry,” he said.

My heart raced. I dialed my group at work and held the phone up to my ear. One of my team members had apparently been dealing with a downed server for hours, and she sounded nearly hysterical. I told her I would call her back and then headed back out to the living room.

“I need to put out a fire at work,” I told Emmett as I rushed to grab my laptop and opened it on the kitchen table. “I apologize, Emmett. This doesn’t usually happen. Shit. I knew I should not have had those extra glasses of wine.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s fine,” Emmett said. “You’re allowed to live a little. Want me to pour you another? Sometimes it’s fun to drink and work.”

I cut my eyes over to him. “No, it’s really not fine,” I said. “Not when my company is actively losing hundreds of thousands of dollars an hour because the server is down, and I wasn’t there to manage bringing it back up.”

He turned back to the living room. I saw him tapping away at his phone, and a minute later he slipped it back into his pocket. “Okay. I just requested a cab to come pick me up. It’ll be here in under ten minutes. I’m going to leave you alone.”

I nodded, my anxiety spiking as I glanced over the flood of error messages and warnings in my work email account.

I’d fucked up. I’d really fucked up. We didn’t have outage problems like this often at my company, and my group in particular had a near-flawless track record for our response times.

This was going to be a black mark for us—not only for me but for all of the people who worked under me, too.

Emmett was pacing around back to the living room, and out of the corner of my eye, I idly realized that he’d picked up the wine glasses and went to start rinsing them out in the sink.

“You don’t have to do that,” I called over.

“What?” he said, turning to me with a wet wine glass in his hand.

Crash. “Fuck!” Emmett yelled as he jumped back from the shattered glass. He’d dropped it on the tile floor, and glass shards were now scattered across the kitchen.

My cell phone started ringing again, and as I worked on my headset, I saw the baby monitor lighting up and heard the sounds of Anna beginning to cry.

“Oh, no, she heard the shatter,” I said, sucking in a gulp of air.

“I can go pick her up, see if I can calm her down—” Emmett started to say.

“No,” I said firmly, tossing my headset down on the table as I stood up. “No. Please, Emmett, can you just go? I can’t deal with this right now. I’ll see you another time.”

I crossed the living room over to Anna’s room and picked her up, trying and failing to soothe her. She just kept wailing, and I knew that it was going to be a while before I got her to go back down to sleep again.

My head began to pound as I took her back into the living room. As I walked back out, I heard the front door shut quietly, and saw Emmett walking toward a waiting cab at the front of my house.

I gritted my teeth. I’d been rude to him. I knew it. But suddenly it felt like everything had slipped out of my control.

I put Anna in her highchair with a bottle while I worked, fielding phone call after phone call for the next hour.

We finally managed to repair the server forty minutes later, but not before one of my group members actually broke down in tears on the phone with me. She’d had to miss out on her mother’s seventieth birthday party to go into the office that night.

When I’d finally reassured myself that everything was running properly again, I left my laptop and picked up Anna to bring her back to bed. She fussed a little, but within a few minutes had drifted back to sleep. I swept up the broken glass in the kitchen silently, slowly, as I tried to breathe through the churning feeling in my chest and my head.

Everything was technically fixed, but nothing felt right. I had failed at work, struggled to keep my child happy, and certainly had ruined whatever modicum of trust that Emmett might have developed for me.

As my anxiety dissipated into the background like volume being turned down on static, everything started to feel still again. When I was sure that I’d gotten every last shard of glass off the floor, I leaned back against my kitchen counter, pulling in a deep lungful of air.

On the counter near me, I noticed a small Tupperware container that I’d completely forgotten about until then.

Emmett’s homemade lemon cake.

I pried off the top, the scent of lemon zest and sugar hitting me all at once, like a bracing spring breeze.

I grabbed a fork and dug in. The first bite was good—really good—but by the end of the slice, I was convinced that Emmett must have put some secret drug in the cake. I felt human again, by the time I finished eating. The cake had such a delicate crumb and the perfect amount of lemony glaze, and I wished I’d had two more pieces.

It seemed like anything Emmett did was somehow just slightly magical. It had been amazing to have sex with him at the wedding, but tonight had felt even more special. I’d felt like I’d made a connection with him, and I could see developing a real friendship with him, like we had a future.

But as I washed out the container, all I could think was that Emmett felt like more of a stranger than ever. I couldn’t even have a relaxing night at home without work getting in the way, and Emmett certainly had realized that tonight. He knew now what my reality was: crying babies, work, and precious little else. Emmett was used to having fun, and usually, there was nothing holding him back from doing just that.

He had a life on his own terms. He made his own rules.

I could see, finally, why he wouldn’t want to commit, wouldn’t want to be tied down. He’d told me he was attracted to me—and sure, I believed him. I had seen it in his eyes even tonight.

But attraction wasn’t enough. Emmett and I lived in different worlds. I knew I couldn’t be the thing that held him back from the life he wanted.