Every Little Kiss (20 page)

And actually, Emma thought, Brynn was probably right. Larkin was one of the only people she could think of who might be able to have a decent time with Jake’s obnoxious friend. She bit the inside of her lip, annoyed just remembering the way he’d played on her sympathies.

Might as well get this out of the way.

“I came for a tart. And to ask you something,” Emma said. That piqued Larkin’s interest.

“Oh yeah? Hang on. I’ll come around for a sec.”

Aimee handed Emma her bag and started tending to the next customer. Emma stepped off to the side, beside one of the little indoor tables. Larkin joined her, looking like she’d just stepped out of a bakery-themed photo shoot for a magazine.

“What’s up?”

“Well . . .” Emma hesitated. The two of them had partnered up for plenty of events in the three years since Larkin had arrived, but though they were friendly, they’d never taken the relationship out of the work arena.
Like Brynn,
Emma thought, and wondered if this was another case of a friendship failing to fully bloom because she’d deliberately refused to allow it. Probably. She guessed they would see, because this was a friendly favor on steroids.

“Is this about what that Boston pastry chef the Hardings are bringing in said about me? Because that’s sweet of you, if it is, but I’m fine. I’ve heard a lot worse. If they want to spend a fortune on some jerk who charges a premium just because he was on
Food Adventure
for a minute
and a half like five years ago, they can knock themselves out. I’m busy.”

“Oh. Wow. No, I didn’t hear about that.” She’d deliberately avoided asking anyone about the Harding wedding once she was certain she’d lost the chance to plan it. It helped that she’d had other things to occupy her thoughts, but it was still an open wound, if a smaller one than she’d imagined it might be. It didn’t surprise her that Penny would choose people who were expensive and unpleasant. But hearing that one of them had insulted Larkin rankled.

Larkin didn’t seem as bothered. She waved her hand. “Chefs are dramatic. And catty. Like I said, I’ve heard worse. How are things? Good? No more performance art?”

“Um. No.” She felt her cheeks heat.

Larkin clucked her tongue. “Emma. It was cute. And funny. And now you have your own local legend, lucky. That naked flash mob downtown after midnight must have been really something. Or it would have been, if it had existed. Should have picked better music, though.”

“What am I supposed to have danced to?”

“Spice Girls medley,” Larkin said, then laughed when Emma gagged. “You should come to karaoke with me and Annalise. Seriously. We’re really bad, so it’s okay.”

“Oh.” The invitation wasn’t one she’d ever expected. She couldn’t help but be suspicious of its origins. “It’s not just because—”

“No,” Larkin interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Not because we want you to humiliate yourself in public. We always talk about asking you. I just wasn’t sure you did things outside of work.”

“Things?”

“Well . . . you know. You’re kind of a grown-up, Emma. In a good way, I mean. But I thought maybe you’d think we were silly for going. So I didn’t want to put you on the spot so you’d have to say no and pretend like you didn’t think we were giant dorks. I mean it—we’re
terrible
. But it’s a lot of fun.”

Emma’s response tumbled from her lips without a thought. “I’d love to sometime. And I don’t think you and Annalise are dorks. I just assumed you all thought I was boring. I mean, I am, kind of, but not that boring. But I mean yes. I’d love to. Sure.” Then she dropped her face into her hands while Larkin watched, looking utterly amazed by the outburst. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t get out much.”

She felt a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Oh, babe. You’re one of our people, trust me. You just didn’t know it. Now what did you need to talk to me about?”

Emma looked up into Larkin’s understanding expression and found that it was much easier to ask than she’d expected. “It’s a favor. Sam’s wedding. The best man needs a date, and he asked me to ask you because I don’t think he’s progressed much beyond high school in that department.”
Or a few others.

“Way to sell me on him, Emma.” She looked amused, though, so Emma pressed on. How was she supposed to make Shane sound good when most of what she knew about him was less than appealing? Honesty, she decided, was probably best.

“Shane’s all right. Not great, but all right. He’s also desperate. On the upside, I’ll be there, you’re already doing the cake, and it’ll probably be a good party.”

“And the downside?”

“Well, it could be Shane. I’m not sure. It depends. He’s
not evil or anything, and I don’t think he’ll paw you. He’s just kind of obnoxious. It’s fine if you call him on it, though. It’s an issue he’s aware of.” Larkin laughed softly, and Emma was pretty sure that was a no. “Don’t worry about it, Larkin. I’ll tell him I tried and you were busy. You’re probably better off.”

“No, now hang on. This is Shane Sullivan, right? Tall redhead? Lawyer?”

Emma nodded. “That’s the one.”

Larkin gave a nonchalant shrug. “Okay, why not?”

Emma blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure. I never get to be a guest at weddings, and I like Sam and Jake. Their cake is going to be gorgeous. I’m happy to go eat some of it. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “the guy’s eye candy, if nothing else.”

It was hard to think of Shane that way, but objectively speaking, she supposed Larkin was right.

“Well, great. I’ll let him know.”

“Sounds good. Give him my number or something. Listen, I have to run. Call you about the karaoke, okay? Maybe ask Brynn, too. She’s a trip. I’ll see you Saturday anyway. Mason wedding. Cake made entirely of cupcakes.” She gave her a big grin, two thumbs-up, and then headed back behind the counter and through the kitchen door. “Later!”

“Later,” Emma echoed. And though she wasn’t planning a repeat performance any time soon—or ever—she couldn’t help thinking that in some ways, the ripples from her one night of spontaneity had brought her as much good as bad. Maybe more. It was certainly turning into an argument for not hanging on so tightly to her routine and learning to take a chance once in a while.

Though it would be best, she decided, if those chances involved as little alcohol as possible.

With a small smile and a spring in her step, Emma picked up her bag of treats and headed out the door.

*   *   *

He wasn’t at the station, though a very nice sergeant showed her which desk to leave the box on. It was strange, getting a look at this part of Seth’s life, and it served only to drive home the reality of how little of himself he’d shared with her. The station was small, and a bit cluttered, but everyone seemed friendly. It wasn’t anything like the TV shows she sometimes watched, but since those were usually madhouses, that was actually comforting. His desk wasn’t much to speak of, either, but he had a few things on it, papers and Post-its, and most interestingly, a couple of pictures.

Emma picked up the one that caught her eye first. If she’d wanted proof he had a family, she didn’t need to look any further. It had obviously been taken a few years ago, but there was a younger Seth, with the same big smile, next to a pretty dark-haired girl who looked just his age—his sister. A twin? Anything was possible. On one side of them was a smiling man and on the other side a woman, looking relaxed and happy on some long-ago afternoon spent in the sun.

Things couldn’t be too bad if he had a framed picture of them on his desk, she thought. Maybe he just didn’t want to tell
her
about them. That was a pleasant thought. Frowning, she replaced the picture and picked up the other one. The background couldn’t have been more different. This one was in a desert under a washed-out sky, showing Seth in his camouflage uniform goofing around with another soldier, a tall, good-looking guy with a smile as big as his. Seth’s tongue was out, and they looked like they were having the time of their lives. His best friend, maybe . . . and she thought of the picture above his fireplace.

Emma put it down quickly, suddenly uncertain, and wrote a little note to leave with the strawberry tart before thanking the sergeant and walking out. They were just pictures, but she felt as though she’d been reading his diary or something. Looking places she shouldn’t. Which was silly—everyone at work could see those pictures.

But she wasn’t with him at work. She currently occupied a small corner of his life that didn’t appear to touch any of the other parts. Hopefully that would change, she thought. But it needed to change soon, because the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t one she wanted to become that well acquainted with.

Funny, how meeting him had pushed her to start opening up, even though he’d remained such a mystery. Okay, not really funny. Just upsetting. She headed down the steps, deep in thought, and then started to walk to her car. His voice pulled her back into the moment.

“Emma! Hey!”

She looked up to see Seth jogging toward her and had to take a moment to remind herself that this was the same guy who’d been lounging in her bed all last weekend. Today he was all in sharply pressed blue, his badge gleaming on his chest. She had a fleeting, wonderful, awful impulse to drag him into a dark corner and remove the shirt with her teeth. She quashed that, berated herself for thinking it, and then remembered that such activities weren’t actually off-limits once they were alone together.

The possibilities had her blushing before Seth even reached her.

“I hope your cheeks are pink because you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me,” he said.

“Oh, all the time.” She laughed.
No, really, all the time. You have no idea.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, no, everything’s fine. I mean . . .” She held up the bag from Petite Treats, still flustered as she tried to reconcile the conflicting feelings she was dealing with. Trying to push aside what she’d seen on his desk, and how that had made her feel, was as impossible as being angry at him when he was so pleased to see her. “I had to go to Petite Treats for something, so I thought you might like a strawberry tart.”

“Awesome. It’s in the bag?”

“No. This one’s mine. They showed me your desk, so I left it there.”

Was it just her, or did she see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes? Steeling herself, she pushed a little further to find out. “I saw the picture of your family. I guess you really didn’t just drop out of the sky.”

He laughed, but with an edge of discomfort. “No, I definitely didn’t.”

She could feel him closing down, and this time her temper flickered to life. She tried to hold it at bay, keeping her tone light. “Your sister looks just like you. Is she a twin?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, starting to rub at the back of his neck. “Kira is my twin. Older twin. By like a minute. Hey, I’ve got to head in and get my paperwork together. Did you want to grab some dinner or something later?”

Her frustration bubbled to the surface. “Honestly? What I’d like to do is put my high heel up your ass right now. But since you’re in uniform, that’s out, I guess. Enjoy the tart, Seth. I need to go.”

She stalked away, savoring the moment of silence as he digested what she’d said. Part of her looked on in dismay, but the stronger part, the take-no-crap part of her that
functioned perfectly well in most areas of her life, bared its teeth in triumph. She needed that part of herself right now. Because for all of her feelings about Seth, allowing herself to be steamrolled into just accepting whatever scraps of himself he chose to throw her was ultimately going to make neither of them happy.

This wasn’t exactly how she would have chosen to make her stand about it, but she’d work with what she had. Even if all she had was a damn strawberry tart.

“Emma? Emma!” She heard his footfalls, but she kept moving, digging her keys out of her purse. He wasn’t the only one who could be quiet when he wanted to. Her simmering anger made speaking just now a risky proposition anyway. Then he was beside her, and she had to cling to her resolve when she heard the confused anger in his voice.

“What the hell was that for? All I did was ask you to dinner!”

She spun on him, keeping her voice low. “You know very well what that was for.” She exhaled loudly and looked around, conscious of people walking around, of a potential audience. She didn’t want that, for either of them. It allowed her to keep a handle on all the things she
wanted
to say. “Look, forget it. You don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t want to do this here. I’m tired, and I’m going home.”

“Not until I know what I did to piss you off all of a sudden.”

She gave him a dark look. “It has taken me almost a month to find out that you have a twin sister. And actual, living parents. We won’t even get started on the other picture, because that seems to be off-limits, too. So until you remove some of the red tape, my bedroom? Is also off-limits. I don’t want to be used like this. I’m not a convenience.”

He looked horrified. “I would never—”

“It’s my fault, too,” Emma said, feeling clearheaded for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. “I let it happen. It’s just going to stop now. If you want to talk about it, fine, but you have work and I need to cool off. This isn’t the place.”

“Em—” His voice had stopped sounding wounded and it took on a warning tone. All that did was have her yanking open the car door faster. He didn’t try to stop her, but he didn’t look happy.

“Later,” she said flatly, shut the door, and started the car. Seth backed off, but he watched her go. She could feel his eyes on her the entire way down the street.

She was only glad that she managed to wait until the turn to burst into angry tears.

B
y the time he finished his paperwork and was headed home, Seth didn’t want anything but the wind in his face and a clear head. He knew he could have one of them. The other, though, he wasn’t so sure of.

Seth changed quickly once he was home, dumping his uniform over the back of a chair, locking up his gun, and throwing on his favorite jeans and battered boots. He grabbed his leather jacket and helmet, then, after a quick internal struggle, dug out his spare helmet and rubbed the dust off it. Maybe she’d come and maybe she wouldn’t, but it didn’t hurt to be optimistic.

He knew he’d screwed up. He was pretty good at recognizing it, even while he was doing it. He was just having a hard time not screwing up here. This was all moving faster than it was supposed to. He didn’t know what he’d been looking for—he hadn’t expected her to ever look his way, honestly. But she had, and here he was, and she was going to bolt on him if he didn’t fix at least some of what he’d broken.

Maybe it’s better if she goes.
The thought whispered through his mind, and he stomped it out just as quickly as it had appeared. He knew that voice. It wasn’t his anymore.

He managed to wedge the extra helmet into his saddlebag and took off down the road, trying to find some peace in the rumble of the engine, the feel of the machine beneath him, and the control he had over it. It had helped at a tougher time in his life, and he felt it begin to help now. Not enough, though. He needed more. That was new, and so were the fumbling and fear that came with it.

No wonder he was screwing up. And he’d seen the anger in Emma’s eyes, real anger for the first time.

Seth pulled in behind her building, parked the bike, and headed upstairs with dread curling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe she’d be too angry to see him. Maybe she’d tell him to go to hell, that she didn’t have time for an emotionally detached cop who was up here hiding from his old life. Except he didn’t feel emotionally detached right now. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t felt that way in quite a while. Lately, it seemed like he felt every damn thing. But it made one hell of an excuse to keep hiding, not just from his family, but from her.

Knowing that, acknowledging that, didn’t exactly make his night. But it was important, and he knew it.

Through the door, up the stairs, and then to Emma’s door. Seth knocked, heard Boof meow and Emma mutter at him. Then there were footsteps, the turning of a lock, and she was in front of him. Her hair was down, tumbling in thick and unruly waves past her shoulders. She wore sweats and an old T-shirt, and she was holding a half-empty glass of wine. Her eyes were wary and slightly puffy. He couldn’t have felt worse if he’d tried.

“Probably still not a good time,” she informed him.

“It’s what I’ve got,” he said. “Just hear me out, okay? Please?”

The “please” got her attention, at least. And the attraction, still pumping between them like a heartbeat,
would buy him time. Seth hoped it was enough. He was tired of doing this to people who gave a damn about him.

“I don’t get you,” she informed him, taking a sip of the wine. There was a coolness in her demeanor, one he was familiar with from watching her these past six months. That had been fascinating. This was anything but.

“I know.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Well, it’s nice to know you were being deliberately obtuse, then. Thanks.”

Obtuse
. Yes, she was still angry.

“Not deliberately. I— Look, will you come with me? I want to take you someplace. And I’ll explain what I can, I swear.”

She eyed his helmet. “Come with you . . . on the motorcycle?”

“Yeah. Give it a chance. You might like it.”

“I don’t like putting my life at risk, but thanks,” she replied.

“And I don’t like knowing you’re angry at my stupid bullshit when you won’t let me try to explain why it’s there.”

She fell silent, her big blue eyes frank and assessing. “Come in,” she said. “I’ll change.”

Seth walked in as Emma walked away, no invitation in the stiff way she carried herself, and he knew better anyway. He fussed over Boof while she changed her clothes, then looked up when she emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was in a long ponytail, and she wore a dark, dressy pair of denim pedal pushers with a pair of ballet flats and a light cardigan over a thin T-shirt. At her throat were pearls.

Seth recognized it, all of it, as her armor. It made him less inclined to fight her on the clothing, though one element needed to go.

“You’re going to want boots if you have them. Sneakers if nothing else.”

She fixed him with a glare, but after walking away, she returned with a stylish, low-heeled pair of boots that were in no way what he’d meant. They were a middle finger, of sorts, but they would work. He wished she had a leather jacket, but that wasn’t an argument he wanted to start right now. He’d drive carefully.

When he walked out the door, she locked up behind him, then followed silently down to the parking lot. When they reached his bike, he pulled the extra helmet out, then had to fight back a smile when she shoved it on her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

Even now, she could find a way to lighten his mood. She didn’t even know she was doing it, that just being with him was making everything better.

The thought shook him, and he tucked it away. It was nothing he was ready to say out loud . . . and nothing Emma would want to hear. Not right now.

“Okay,” he said, slinging a leg over the seat. “Get on behind me.”

He thought she might change her mind at this point and nearly had his fingers crossed as he willed her to come with him, but he needn’t have bothered. Slowly, stiffly, Emma got on behind him. She seemed to understand that she would need to hang on, but the arms that went around his waist felt so rigid and brittle, they might break.

That would have to do.

Seth started it up and roared out of the parking lot. He heard Emma’s muffled yelp and felt her arms tighten around him, which he tried not to dwell on as he headed out of town and along the shore. She did better than he’d have guessed, back in the beginning. Still, she had a ways to go to relax. At least she hung on.

He took a left off Hawthorne and headed out of town, keeping to the two-lane roads that hugged the coast. The wind smelled of the sea, the breeze that flowed over his skin cool without being cold. He could smell the earth and air, and finally felt himself steadying, centering. Emma held on tight, curling into the back of him. He was used to riding solo, but today, this was better.

About ten miles outside of town he pulled off into a small state park, which was still quiet on weekdays this time of year, before summer rushed in with campers and cookouts and groups of summer rec kids. A couple walked along the stretch of beach in the distance, holding hands. The gulls were in an ecstasy over something left behind on a picnic table, but there was little sound beyond their cries and the soft rhythm of the waves.

Seth parked the bike, feeling Emma’s grip on his tighten for a moment, then loosen as she slid off. He pulled his helmet off, then watched her do the same. Her hair was mussed beneath, which matched her disgruntled expression. He didn’t ask whether she’d liked the ride. In her current state, she probably couldn’t have answered it honestly, and that was fine.

“Come on,” he said. “My table’s over here.”

“You have a table?” she asked, carrying her helmet and trailing slightly behind him.

“Sure.” He led her to a scarred old picnic table right at the edge of the place where grass turned to sand, stepping on the seat and sitting on the top to look out at the gray waters of the Atlantic. He set his helmet behind him, then looked at Emma and patted the spot beside him. “You can sit if you want.”

She had to think about it, and something twisted painfully in his chest while he watched her do it. But after a moment, she sighed, dumped the helmet next to his, and
climbed up. She left space between them, though, but that wasn’t a surprise.

They watched the ocean silently for a few minutes, until Emma spoke. Her anger seemed to have gone, but that cool edge remained.

“Well? You wanted to talk.”

He collected his thoughts, and then started. Slowly. “I know you feel like I’m not letting you get to know me. I know in some ways that’s probably true. But I wasn’t in a great place before I moved here.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. After I got out of the military, I went home. Close to home, anyway. Jacksonville. Big police department, new opportunities. I thought that was what I wanted. It was what I’d wanted before I went to college, and I’d always figured, hey, ROTC, help pay for school, get out in the world, fight some bad guys, defend freedom, whatever, then come back and be a police officer. I’m oversimplifying, but I was young. And naive.”

“So was everybody, once.” She shrugged. “I take it Jacksonville didn’t work out?”

“No. It wasn’t the job. I mean, good group of people, busy as hell. But I couldn’t find a rhythm. I was home, except it didn’t feel like home anymore. Everything was the same and I was different, but people just expected me to fit right back into place. My parents, my sister . . . and it wasn’t their fault, but they didn’t know what to do. I had trouble sleeping. I wasn’t interested in reengaging. Old friends called, and I blew them off. All I did was work and hang around my apartment. And ride.” He looked at her, watching him with those inscrutable, impossibly blue eyes. “I got the bike after my third tour in Iraq. The doc I saw thought it was a great idea. Stress relief, as long as I didn’t wrap it around a tree or anything.”

“The doc. Therapy?” She frowned.

“Yeah. I spent four of my six years in the army in the desert, Em. It . . . You see things during war. It’s not how anybody thinks. Long stretches of nothing, and then these short patches of hell. And you feel like . . . People back here just don’t get it. I mean, they can’t, I guess. And you come back and it’s like you were off-planet for that year. People say nice things, and that’s great, but they don’t want to hear about how your buddy got blown up by an IED, or how you watched a car full of kids get shot up at a checkpoint because the parents were too afraid to stop. Or how you think you’re helping people, and then politics go and screw up all the good you thought you did. So you come back, and some of your buddies can’t flip that switch to reintegrate. They quit functioning, and you worry that it’s going to happen to you, too. Especially because you feel numb a lot of the time. You have nightmares. You can’t sleep.”

“PTSD.”

He hesitated. He didn’t know why. Then he nodded. “Yeah.” He knew there was no shame in it. But everybody had their own ideas about what that label meant, even though the reality encompassed a huge spectrum.

Emma appeared to be digesting this, but he didn’t see worry or pity in her gaze. Only the quiet thoughtfulness he’d seen her exhibit on more than one occasion. “Did the therapy help?” she finally asked.

“It did.” He nodded. “I was proactive, and I had a good doctor. And I was lucky. She’s the reason I’m walking around with a clean bill of mental health, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But recovery isn’t a straight line, and nothing is perfect. Most of my symptoms are gone, but I figured out the hard way that I’m not quite . . . the same. I don’t like the crush of a big-city PD. Some
guys thrive on that, and I might have once. But it reminded me too much of combat sometimes, and I don’t like kicking into that mode anymore. I do better with a small command, being able to make a visible difference in a community. Slower, I guess, but in a good way.”

“Harvest Cove,” Emma said. He nodded.

“That’s what I was hoping, anyway. So far, so good.”

She sighed and looked out at the sea. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of this from the beginning?” she asked.

“I don’t like talking about it.”

Emma turned her head to regard him, and the corner of her mouth curved up in a wry smile. “You don’t say?”

Seth gave a soft, embarrassed laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “I thought it would be better to
not
start with my problems. I’m flailing a little here, Emma. I wasn’t expecting you.”

She seemed to consider that. “Well,” she finally said, “that makes two of us. So what about your parents? Are you not speaking, or . . .”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Seth said. “They just worry. When I left, I didn’t give them a lot of notice. They didn’t want me to go. I needed the change. They watched me struggle when I came home from the war that last time, and I think they were scared that this time I was going to end up . . . I don’t know, worse.”

“Like your friends.”

He breathed out, looked at the ocean. “Like my friends. I think the only reason they didn’t come chasing after me was that my uncle is the one who convinced me that the Cove was the place. Steve had a little bit of a hard time when he got out, too. Different wars, same place. Having him around helps.”

“I like your uncle.”

“So do I, and so do my parents, which is a good thing.
I love my family. I’m not from a bad home or anything. They’re pretty normal. I mean, except Kira, but we’re used to her.”

“You didn’t want to tell me about them, though. About anything,” Emma said. She’d gone from sounding cool to sounding sad, and Seth thought that was almost worse.

“I thought taking it slow and keeping things, ah, light would be better to start. And you’re more interesting than I am.” He gave her a small smile, but she didn’t return it.

“So . . . wild sex and limited conversation. That’s what you want.”

Seth cringed. “Jesus no! I haven’t had an actual girlfriend in over two years, Emma, and that relationship didn’t end well. I’m rusty, not an asshole. Is that really what you think of me?”

“No.” She chewed at her lip and looked away. “I’m not great with people, Seth. I never have been. So unless you spell it out for me, I’m probably not going to be able to figure out what you’re after here.”

That was the big question. And as he watched her, looking out at the ocean as the wind toyed with her hair, the only answer he could come up with wouldn’t clarify a thing for either of them:
her
. He didn’t want to lose her. Emma and her smiles and the sunshine she brought into his life. Emma, whose every little kiss made him want a thousand more. She’d turned a life that was quiet and gray into something unpredictable and new, and she’d turned a little town he’d taken a big chance on into a place where he might really belong, all of it so quickly that his head was still spinning. He just didn’t know how to tell her. Not in so many words. Not when every move he made with her seemed to set the ground shifting
beneath his feet. The fact that he didn’t want to run from it was important.
She
was important.