Emma had just reached the end of Main Street when her stomach growled. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time.
Eleven o’clock. Not quite lunchtime, but then the gingerbread had been several hours ago. And again, she had nothing better to do right now—she was in a holding pattern until Michael returned from his camping trip.
Turning, she made her way back to a tiny café tucked into the side of a building. When she’d passed the first time, the smell of grilled meat and garlic had tickled her nose; it seemed as good a place as any to eat. Food was a welcome distraction.
At this rate, she’d have gained twenty pounds by the time Michael returned.
“Table for one?”
“Please.” The hostess, a young woman with a cherry-colored ponytail and a mile-wide smile, didn’t seem to think that Emma eating alone was at all strange. Emma, however, winced as she was seated at a tiny table at the very front of the restaurant, one right next to the window that reached from the floor all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Picking up her single menu as the woman cleared away the extra place setting, Emma shifted in her seat, self-conscious.
You’re just a tourist catching some lunch. Nobody cares except you.
The truth was, she’d never spent this much time alone. She was always with her mother, with Matthew, at work, or with friends. In reality, she knew that no one was staring at her, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel like she was on display.
It was the waiting, the not knowing. It was driving her crazy.
That’s going to stop right now.
“You’re going to open this menu and order the first thing you see,” Emma muttered to herself, fed up…well, at the moment, with everything.
Raising her chin, she opened the menu and stabbed her finger onto the page at random.
Bison burger on a charcoal sesame milk bun with sea kelp relish.
Her stomach heaved. Not her first choice—she was not very adventurous with food.
But when her server came back, she ordered it. She would eat it, too.
Your life hasn’t been working very well for you so far, Emma. Time to try something new.
As she waited for her food, she stared out the massive window at the busy street. In a park across the way, men dressed in coveralls stood in the basket of a fire truck to lace bright lights onto a very high pine tree, as if the area needed even more holiday cheer.
Emma herself wasn’t feeling any. She’d always loved Christmas, and with her mother being who she was, there were countless traditions to be looked forward to—cooking with her mother Christmas Eve before Matthew and his family arrived to eat. Midnight mass, after which they would each open just one present. Waffles with peach preserves for brunch, followed by an afternoon spent in quiet, reading or playing cards.
This year? Emma didn’t know if she’d be home for Christmas—and by home, she meant back in Georgia.
The shiny perfection of what she’d understood to be her family was no more, and she didn’t quite know where to go from here.
One day at a time.
“Here you go!” Emma’s server returned, setting a plate down on the table. “Careful, it’s very hot!”
“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, but the second the woman was gone, she reached for her napkin to cover her nose. It looked like a hamburger, she guessed, but the scent of the grilled meat was strange, very gamey, and she didn’t care for it at all.
She wanted to return the plate and order something she was comfortable with—a nice Cobb salad, maybe, or something with chicken.
She thought of the way she’d felt after she’d been brave and kissed Nick first. The rush of power that came from putting herself out there, even if she knew that he was a player.
That was the Emma she wanted to be.
Trying not to wrinkle her nose, she lifted the top of the bun and peeked at the burger. It looked normal, if she didn’t count the fact that the bun was black and garnished with what appeared to be seaweed.
Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted the thing to her lips and took a big bite.
Her stomach rolled again as she slowly started to chew. The bun itself was surprisingly tasty, light and sweet, even though it was black. The meat, though, tasted like smoke and oil on her tongue, and it was only heightened by the saltiness of the seaweed stuff. Raised to be polite, she chewed, and chewed, and chewed, but just couldn’t bring herself to swallow.
“Has anyone ever told you that you show everything you’re thinking on your face?” The voice that had haunted her throughout the night and early morning hours wasn’t expected, and she sucked in air, choking on the gamey meat. Grabbing for her napkin, she spat out her food, then looked up, though she already knew who was there.
“Saw you through the window. Careful,” Nick warned as he swung into the seat across from her. The table was so tiny, and he was so long, that their legs tangled together beneath the tablecloth. “Anton’s very temperamental.”
“Am I supposed to know who Anton is?” Emma’s voice was weary as she reached for her water glass, desperate to wash away the taste of the meat. Her pulse leapt as Nick leaned back in his chair, fixing her with that intense stare that she’d already come to love.
Stupid girl. She’d heard what Charlie hadn’t said, exactly—Nick was a player. Someone was going to get hurt here, and it wasn’t going to be him.
“Anton is the chef.” Lips curled into a smile, he leaned across the table, picked up Emma’s burger. “If he saw you spitting out his food, he’d ban you from the premises.”
Emma wasn’t sure that would be bad, so she was shocked when Nick lifted the burger to his lips and bit in. The moan of pleasure he gave as he chewed the disgusting thing was nearly obscene.
It made her think of that second kiss, alone in her cabin.
She gulped at her ice water.
“You’re crazy,” Nick said, holding the burger out for her to take back. When she shook her head vigorously he snatched it back. “This is amazing. Do you know that it takes weeks to get a dinner reservation here?”
“People are that excited to eat that?” She shook her head. “I’ll take some fried chicken and grits any day, thank you very much.”
“You’d rather have grits than grass-fed bison, wild-harvested sea kelp, and artisan bread baked by someone who trained as a pastry chef in France?” Laughing quietly, Nick shoved another bite in his mouth, speaking around it. “You’re more like Mike than you could imagine. He’d rather stay home with a box of Kraft mac and cheese than eat something like this.”
“Good to hear I come from sound stock,” Emma retorted, butterflies taking flight in her stomach when Nick again fixed her with that stare. “I don’t suppose you’ve gotten an update on when he’ll be back yet?”
“Haven’t heard from him.” Nick set the remains of the burger on the plate and gazed at her with speculation. “Are you sure it’s him you want to ask about?”
“Yes.” Emma instantly sat up straight. Why was he even here? She’d all but thrown herself at him last night, and he’d left. After her conversation with Charlie, she just felt stupid when faced with him and his ridiculously gorgeous face.
The man apparently collected women like some men collected baseball cards. And yet he still hadn’t wanted her. She wasn’t going to fall into that trap again.
“I don’t believe you.” Stealing her water glass, he took a sip, leaving her gaping at his audacity. “I think you want to ask why I left last night. I think you want to ask when I’ll kiss you again.”
“Shh!” She slammed her palms down on the table. “Must you be so loud?”
“Aah…I’ll come back in a minute.” Emma looked up to find her server standing beside the table, trying to hold back a grin. Looking around the small restaurant, she saw signs that more than one person had overheard. One woman she recognized, her cab driver yesterday—was her name Meg?—winked and gave her a thumbs-up.
It was mortifying.
“That’s enough.” She wasn’t staying to wait for a check. Pulling a stack of bills from her purse, she flipped through them with confusion—they were all different colors here, like Monopoly money. Overcompensating, she slapped a reddish-orange fifty-dollar bill down on the table and pushed away from the table.
“Hey, whoa.” He was right behind her. Of course he was—he was the most confusing man she’d ever met. He followed her right outside, where she dropped her bags of purchases into the snow and ground her teeth together. “What was that?” he asked. “You’re, what, embarrassed that people know you kissed me?”
“Stop yelling!” Looking around, cheeks flushing red, she glared at him.
He folded his arms across his chest and waited.
“Yes, okay? I don’t regret kissing you, but I don’t want the whole cotton-pickin’ town to know about it!” The South in her voice thickened as her anger crackled, which just upset her more.
“I see.” He uncrossed his arms, and Emma had just long enough to catch the wicked flicker in his eyes before he moved right in front of her, close enough that if she sighed, their chests would brush against each other. “You’ve been talking to people, haven’t you? Think I’ve been playing you. Playing my best friend’s daughter, just for the hell of it. That those kisses meant nothing to me.”
Oh, God, he wasn’t getting quieter—if anything, he was louder. Emma closed her eyes for a long moment, but when she opened them again no giant hole had appeared to swallow her.
“Oh, I see.” She looked up; the infuriating man was smirking down at her, his sinfully full lips twisted. “You’re trying to convince me that they meant nothing to you.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to be giving her an out here.
The problem? The Emma she wanted to be might make mistakes, like kissing the biggest player in town, but she didn’t try to hide them. She didn’t regret.
She stayed silent, and his wicked smile turned up a notch.
“Well, there’s an easy way to prove that it meant nothing to either of us. You know, just so we don’t wonder anymore.”
Oh, no. She knew what was coming—her heart started to thump against her rib cage.
“That’s right,” he said, cocking his head in the most infuriatingly sexy way as she glared up at him, pulse thundering, cheeks stained scarlet.
“Kiss me again.”