Chapter Twenty-Five
Five Weeks Later
“Okay, I got one,” Emanuela said. She lay on her side, peering at Finn on her screen through sleepy eyes.
“One more,” he said. “Allie will kill me if you get run over by a taxi tomorrow because you can’t see straight in the morning.”
“Jamie would kill you first, and then ship your body off so Allie can tie weights to it and dump it in the Hudson.”
His face went blank at the detail she’d come up with on the spot for his untimely demise. “That is decidedly morbid.”
Her hand flew to her mouth to cover her burst of laughter. “Hey, you started it,” she said when she could breathe again. “You wouldn’t be at the bottom of the river right now if I hadn’t been creamed by one of New York’s finest.”
His gaze roamed her face, his eyes narrowing. The only light in her room came from the bathroom, and the ever-present glow of the city through her window. He looked like he was someplace else for a moment, the thoughts running through his mind transforming his features from one expression, to the next, to the next…
“Finn? Where were you just now?”
He came to at the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry.”
Emanuela propped her head up on her hand and waited.
“Do you remember what you felt last time?” he asked.
She nodded. They didn’t have a name for whatever it was—the sudden onslaught of raw emotion that hit them every so often and ruined even the best of their days apart.
Some days felt normal—whatever that meant in their situation. They called each other to say “Good morning” and went to work, video chatting at night no matter how crappy the connection. The nights she went out with Allie, or Finn stayed late at Simon’s, they texted each other, or at the risk of being corpses the next morning, video chatted anyway because they desperately needed to see each other’s faces. Moments like this when their guards were down, when they shared moments other couples could have face-to-face, they felt tired with longing. There was no cure but to ride it out.
“I remember,” she said, feeling traces of those feelings creeping back up at the memory. “You’re feeling it now.”
He nodded, offering a weak smile.
“Ugh, I’m so sick of this.” She tore her comforter away and climbed out of bed. He called after her, but she’d already flicked on the light and come back to bed, this time sitting Indian style a foot away from her screen. She unceremoniously peeled her nightshirt up and over her head, leaving herself bare from the waist up. She grinned triumphantly at Finn’s softly expelled curse.
“What are you doing?” he asked, stunned.
“Snapping you out of it. Now you… Chop, chop!” she said, snapping her fingers.
He shook his head and did what he was told.
“Good,” Emanuela said, satisfied.
He reached out a hand, flexing his fingers, pretending to grope her.
“Knock it off!” she said with a giggle. “Now back to the question.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Dead serious.”
“Emmi,” he groaned. “Put your shirt back on. I’m okay now.”
She preened a little, straightening her posture to push her breasts out even more. “You sure?”
Another wordless groan and she did as he asked, but took her time turning the shirt right-side-out and pulling it down once she had it over her head.
His face was stone. “Don’t tease me, Emanuela. I’ve racked up quite a few flyer miles.”
She swallowed. “Is it still my turn?”
He smiled, nodding once.
“Okay. Let’s say we get into it while we’re apart—something big that neither of us wanted to compromise on—What would you do?”
“If that was going to happen, I think it would have by now,” he said. “We’ve discussed all the hard stuff, like faith and family.”
“That’s true… Let’s say we have an argument that escalates and we say things that are hard to take back.”
“Well, flowers are out.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And it’s not clear who started it?”
“No, and I’m stubborn. But you’re not,” she said. “So it’s on you.”
“Oh, I see,” he said with a grin. He thought for a minute, and then his mouth widened into a brilliant smile. “I’d ask you to meet me halfway.”
“But I just said we couldn’t—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. Hang on…”
She folded her arms across her chest and waited. He reached for his cell phone and tapped away at the screen. When he looked up again, she was waiting with amused curiosity. “Well?”
“Buffalo, North Dakota.”
“What?”
“That’s exactly halfway between Oak Harbor and New York City,” he said. “Google it.”
She picked up her phone and tapped the name of the city into the search engine. “Oh my God, Finn! This says Population 197! There are more buffalo than people!”
“I’ve always wanted to try a buffalo burger.”
She snickered. “Stop! What the hell would we even do there?”
“Eat, sleep, have angry makeup sex.”
“I can’t believe you!” she said in disbelief. “You’d really do that?”
“I would. If I thought for a minute that we were falling apart, I’d book us a room at the…” He tapped something into his phone again and frowned. “Well, there isn’t a hotel in Buffa—”
“Oh my God!” Emanuela lost it. “We’re doomed!”
He ignored her, scrolling the small screen on his phone with one finger. “Fargo is very close by, several hotels. Can you live with three stars?”
She took a deep breath to halt her laughter, blowing slowly as she exhaled. “I can live with three stars. Only for you.”
“I know.”
“Fighting with you could get costly.”
“Well, I’ve recently come into some money.”
She snickered again. “Your turn.”
Finn’s expression sobered then. “What if I could help fix a broken friendship?”
“Finn—”
“I spoke to him, Emmi. We talked for at least twenty minutes.”
“That’s great,” she said stiffly. “I’m happy for you.”
“Emanuela—”
“It’s not on you, Finn. Philip betrayed my trust. He has to come to me.”
“I’m not denying that. I’ve lived long enough to know that even good people do shitty things sometimes. I know how much his friendship meant to you and how stressful it must be to work with him the way things are right now.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to resent me later.”
Though his words were getting through to her, she wasn’t ready to admit she wasn’t completely indifferent to her fractured friendship with her boss. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, but in her reserved tone. “I’m fine. The gala is just a couple of weeks away and then I can put this whole thing behind me.”
****
“Anata wa totemo shinsetsu desu,” Emanuela said courteously into her office phone. “Oyasumi nasai.” The client on the other line graciously corrected her and her face heated. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, switching back to English. “It’s morning there. Of course! Sayonara!” She hung up with a sigh and rubbed her temples, scolding herself for her blunder.
“Your Japanese is still great,” Philip said from her doorway.
“I—” She nearly jumped from her skin. “Thank you.”
She eyed him for a moment, not sure she wanted to open up to him. He looked comfortable leaning against the doorframe, his hair tousled, his hands stuffed into his pockets. She narrowed her eyes. There was something different about him. His deep brown eyes were nearly clear of the circles that surrounded them for… How many weeks has it been? They’d been walking on eggshells around each other for so long—only speaking professionally and not daring to make prolonged eye contact—that she hadn’t noticed his newly trimmed hair, his clean-shaven face and his noticeably less tense posture.
“Em.” His gentle voice pierced through her thoughts, and she snapped out of it. She must have been staring a hole straight through him.
“I’m off my game,” she said. “I was slower than usual. They spoke much faster than me.”
“You’re out of practice.” He shrugged. “You missed Tokyo this year.”
She looked away just in time to see Lydia quietly leaving for the day. “I know.”
“Brian doesn’t know a lick of Japanese. And he’s not that nice to look at,” he said with a grin. “I really had to have my wits about me this year without my partner around to keep me straight and charm our competitors.”
“Philip…”
“I don’t deserve it—I know I don’t, Em. But if there’s a chance that things don’t have to end this way—” He looked at her more intently this time, pleading with his eyes. “Think about it, will you? Your forgiveness would mean the world to me.”
He didn’t stick around for her response, and she didn’t have one anyway. She needed time to think about accepting the olive branch he’d extended.
****
“Don’t call yourself a chef if you’re gonna let a little tiny cake kick your ass, Jamie,” Allie yelled across her kitchen, waving Emanuela over to a barstool.
Emanuela obediently sat down to observe the spirited exchange between her two friends and gorge herself on the smorgasbord of baked goodies resting on Allie’s counter.
“Listen, okay? These are not cakes, babe. They’re the vittles of little demon spawn. Even the pan looks evil.” His exasperated complaint came loud and clear through the speakerphone.
Allie sighed and joined Emanuela at the counter. “Well, the little demon spawn is here in case you want to say hi.”
His tone immediately brightened. “Hey, gorgeous!”
Emanuela grinned, quickly swallowing the macaron she’d stuffed into her mouth whole and barely chewed. “Hi, Jamie! What on earth are you doing?”
“I hate to break it to you, Em,” he said in a deathly serious tone, “but the woman you thought was your friend all this time is actually a witch.”
“Oh come on!” Allie said, planting her flour-covered palms against the counter.
“She is,” Jamie said. “She’s trying to force me to practice her black magic to keep you under her spell.”
Allie rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to teach him how to make canelés and he’s being such a wuss about it.”
Emanuela gasped. “Yes!”
“Don’t get too excited,” he said, irritably. “I did something. Tell me what I did.”
“I can’t see you,” Allie snapped. “Besides, it could be anything. You have to start over.”
“What!” he yelled, and then something crashed to the floor. “No way. The damn batter sat in the fridge for two days. I am not starting over.”
Allie threw up her hands.
“Okay,” Emanuela said, mediating the quickly deteriorating situation. “Hang up and dial us back on video.”
A few minutes later, Allie was watching Jamie on Emanuela’s tablet, her face screwed up. “Put them back in.”
“They’ve been in there for over an hour,” he said. “They’re going to burn.”
“They’re not gonna burn, okay? They’re not even close to done.”
“They’re golden brown.”
“They have to be deep brown,” Allie said, patiently. “Deep, deep brown. They’re gonna need another hour.”
Jamie looked at Allie like she was certifiable but obeyed, placing the copper pan of precious little French cakes gently back on the oven rack and shutting the door.
Emanuela took the tablet from Allie and grinned at Jamie. “You hate baking.”
She got a snort in reply.
Jamie was put out, but Emanuela laid it on thick, opening her eyes wide and giving him a little pout. “You love me.”
“Well, since you’re obviously hopelessly addicted to these little demon cakes, and Allie insists they’re only good for about five hours—”
“On the outside,” Allie said from her place at the sink.
Jamie wrinkled his nose. “Anything for you, gorgeous. You know that.”
Emanuela mouthed a quick “Thank you” before Allie snatched the tablet away.
“Send me a photo when they’re done. If they’re ugly, we have to start over.”
“Ugh, goodbye.”
****
Allie and Emanuela walked arm-in-arm along Gramercy Park West. Autumn had finally arrived, the humidity of summer making way for the crisp, cooler air and shorter days of late October. The leaves of the tree-lined streets in the manicured neighborhood were a rainbow of reds, oranges and golds. They fluttered overhead, or drifted above people in chunky knits and wool-blend coats walking their pedigree dogs. Allie dragged Emanuela out for a walk beneath the old-fashioned street lamps to work off some of the dessert she’d devoured over the space of twenty minutes.
“Thanks for the dress, Em.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t very subtle.”
Allie nudged Emanuela playfully with her hip and navigated their path around the park’s gated perimeter. “Spill. I tried to stay out of your business until you were ready to tell me, but my patience has its limits! This is really happening, isn’t it?”
Emanuela giggled nervously. “I guess it is.”
“You guess?”
“I’m obviously moving,” Emanuela said. “But I think we’re both nervous about specifics.”
They synchronized their turn onto North Gramercy, Allie shaking her head in amusement. “You two have been at it like rabbits since you met each other but you draw the line at shacking up?”
Emanuela laughed at that. Allie was right, of course. “I know it sounds ridiculous but it just feels different somehow. It’s hard to explain…”
Allie glared at her. “I’m gonna need you to try, hon. My oven is still on.”
“He wants me to move in with him. But I know him, Allie. We’ve been flirting with the word marriage a lot and it’s— I know it’s coming. I just don’t know when he’s gonna make his move.”
“I knew it was coming too in an odd way,” Allie said, slowing their pace. “I’m really happy for you, Em. I know I have a weird way of showing it—”
“The canelés.”
Allie’s smooth, pale skin blushed prettily. “Jamie and I thought you might get homesick—at least in the beginning. We wanted you to have something to make you feel better. And since I’ve never seen you use anything but a coffeemaker and a microwave…”
Emanuela gasped, stopping their steps abruptly. “Not true! I just don’t have time to cook.”
“Okay, hon,” Allie said, giving Emanuela’s hand a patronizing pat.
They were quiet for a moment, and it occurred to Emanuela that what they’d been referring to as “the future” was becoming a present reality.
“Oh my God,” Allie breathed.
“I know.”
“We have to pack! We have to list your apartment. We have to figure out what furniture you’re taking—what clothes I get to keep—”
“Whoa,” Emanuela said, her eyes wide. “Don’t give me a heart attack, okay?”
Allie grinned. “Right. Sorry.”
Emanuela took Allie’s arm again and turned them back toward her apartment. “Okay, show me what you’re wearing to the gala.”