Every Little Kiss (4 page)

“I was hoping that was the sanitized version. I wanted to hear it from you, butthead. Did you not get my messages yesterday? I think I left around twenty.”

“Twenty-one. And I didn’t feel all that well. I didn’t figure you would, either, Tiara Girl.” Emma gave up on the McKendricks’ proposal again and leaned back in her chair. Sam didn’t look remotely embarrassed. And she shouldn’t, Emma thought, feeling a pang of envy. The tiara she’d worn the night of the party had suited her, just like her fiancé did.

Emma hadn’t wanted to like Jake Smith—he was, after all, the guy who had shattered what small amount of self-esteem Sam had managed to cling to through high school. While Emma had perfected the art of “studious and serious” back then, Sam had been determinedly unique in a way that had made her a target for bullies. Jake had been a popular jock whose friends were some of the worst offenders. Improbably, he’d taken a shine to Sam . . . and then humiliated her when she’d just started to open up to him. Emma had nursed her little sister through the heartache and figured that would be the end of it. But when Sam had come back last October, Jake had seemed determined to make amends.

According to the diamond on Sam’s finger, he’d done a pretty good job of it. And Emma had finally had to concede that, yeah, Jake had turned out all right after all. Of course, she’d made him work to get her to admit that. It was only fair.

“If I’m Tiara Girl, then you’re the Dancing Queen. So did he get your number?”

Emma stared at her sister. “Yes. Because the first
words out of his mouth when he woke up were ‘Damn, that hangover looks good on you.’ Have you been painting in a closed-up room? Inhaling fumes? On purpose, maybe?”

“All the time. I like to be able to hear colors and feel sounds. Did you get
his
number, then? No, I don’t even need to ask that. For a second I forgot who I was talking to.”

“You’re honestly looking at what happened as some kind of dating opportunity.” Emma shook her head.

“I’m honestly looking at it as your having verifiable interaction with an eligible male. So, yeah,” Sam shot back. “Aaron agrees with me, by the way.”

That was right—they were neighbors, Emma thought, cringing inwardly at the thought of Aaron trying to help some sort of imaginary relationship along. That was one of the things about living in a small town—sometimes the whole place was a modern-day version of a Jane Austen novel, complete with pushy and incompetent matchmakers.

“Aaron needs a hobby,” she said.

Sam arched a slim blond brow. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I date sometimes,” Emma said, feeling herself begin to bristle.

“I would
love
some proof of that.”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you. I don’t need to go chasing after some guy who was nice enough to hold my hair back while I puked, either, just because he’s cute and male. I’m comfortable with my life the way it is. Just accept it, okay?”

Just like that, their brief interlude of sisterly peace crumbled to dust. Sam pressed her lips together in a thin line, and Emma could see she’d thoroughly exasperated
her sister. It had been this way since they were kids. Sam was a dreamer. Emma was practical. The two things didn’t always mix well, no matter how much they loved each other.

“I could accept it if I thought it was true,” Sam finally said. “Which I don’t. I also don’t think you should chase anybody. I think there should be herds of eligible men darkening your doorstep, vying for your attention by, like, flexing. And arm wrestling.”

It was a sweet thing to say, and unexpected, and very Sam.

Well,” Emma said, both flustered and flattered, “I don’t think I’m in any danger of that happening.”

“Only because people think you’re scary,” Sam said. “I actually think you enjoy that.”

She couldn’t help the small smile. “Maybe.”

“Hmm. I know you think I’m being shallow, Em. I just don’t like your being alone so much.”

“I’m not alone when I’m working,” Emma pointed out, touched by the admission. “And as you keep complaining to me, I work all the time. You’re not supposed to give me concerned lectures, by the way. I’m older, so that’s my job. Anyway, Mom lectures me enough.”

“Like you didn’t learn to tune her out years ago.” Sam gave her a knowing look. “Maybe I’m just concerned because you look really tired and unhappy lately. And because you’ve been avoiding me since the party, which was awesome in large part because of you. Not just the crazy dancing thing, either. We had
fun
. So why are you miserable? Is it just the video? It honestly was more funny than bad, and it’s gone. But you still look like you might kill someone if they looked at you wrong.”

Because Sam was right. Emma took a moment and considered how best to explain.

“Here’s the thing. I went to get coffee yesterday when I started to feel human again. A guy sang to me.
The song
, so he must have been there . . . or maybe he’d just seen the video. I didn’t know it existed yesterday. But anyway, the barista winked at me. I know I heard the word ‘cop’ being whispered. Lots of knowing looks, a few laughs, more at me than with me. It’s a great story, I guess. ‘Uptight Party Planner Becomes the Wild Woman of Harvest Cove.’” She looked down at the keyboard. “I didn’t answer you yesterday because I didn’t feel like talking about it. It’s
embarrassing
.”

Worse, it was utterly beyond her control. And control was a thing she valued above all else.

Sam’s hand moved to cover hers, an artist’s hand, slim and elegant with nails done in sparkling black polish. Her voice was gentle.

“Oh, Em. So you let your hair down one night, after all these years of going for the Upstanding Citizen Award around here. So people saw you cutting loose. So what? You deserve a good time once in a while. This probably sounds weird coming from me, but you might want to think about loosening up. Just a little. If you stay this tightly wound, I’m going to worry about you even more than I do now.”

Emma gave her a beleaguered look. “You know better than anybody how doing anything different around here comes back to bite us in the ass times three. Maybe we can blame that witchy ancestor we’re supposed to have. Do you have any idea how long it’s taken me to build a reputation as a boring hard-ass? Everyone here expects us to be flighty screwups.”

Sam poked her. “We come from a long line of wonderful, illustrious flighty screwups. Take some pride in your heritage, woman.”

Emma propped her chin on her hand, covered her face with her fingers, and groaned. “I don’t want to be what everyone expects, Sam. I just want to be boring and dependable so people will keep paying me to be responsible for things. I want to be normal so people leave me alone.”

Sam heaved what sounded like an affectionate sigh. “Two things. One, nobody’s normal.”

“Jake is normal.”

“Jake is full of hidden weirdness, trust me. I wouldn’t love him half as much if he weren’t. Anyway, two: Em, partying too hard on a Saturday night
is
normal for people our age, at least once in a while. Do you even know what regular people do? I’m not joking. I feel like you walk around in a hermetically sealed bubble sometimes. The only way I’m sure we’re related is that when the bubble bursts once in a while, all the awesome comes out.”

“I thought that was tequila.”

“Thanks for that visual.” Sam’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Did he really hold your hair back while you, um . . . ? Because that’s really—”

Emma parted two of her fingers to peer up at her sister. “Can we
not
talk about Seth, please?”

“Seth. That’s right. You said that before. It’s a nice name. Seth what?”

A glare seemed like an appropriate answer, and Sam seemed to get the hint, sliding off the edge of the desk. “Fine. Sit here and brood about the horrors of seeming approachable. The tragedy of having fake hooked up with a gorgeous guy.”

“The misery of having a sister who ought to know that there is nothing good about being the talk of the Cove and a Henry at the same time, yet pretends it’s no big deal anyway.”

That one hit the mark, as she’d known it would. Sam
looked wounded. “Yeah, I do know,” she said quietly. “Sorry, Em.”

“It’s fine.” All she really wanted was to close the blinds and curl up in her bedroom until she felt a hundred percent human again. Barring that, she would throw herself into work until she was too tired to obsess about anything but sleep.

Sam’s arms went around her, another sweet surprise. Emma tried not to stiffen, but she always did. It had been reflexive for too long. After a few seconds, though, Emma relaxed into the hug, allowing herself a little of the comfort her sister offered. Sam dropped a kiss on the top of Emma’s head.

“This will blow over, Em. It’s just a little thing. Nothing’s going to rock your world. People will find something else to talk about in a few days, and that’ll be it. Henryness moment forgotten.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. It might be different if you weren’t more put together than ninety-nine percent of this town, but you don’t need to worry about that.” A soft chuckle. “You’re still not normal, though.”

“Hmm.” Emma smiled, breathing in her sister’s light scent, and for an instant they were children again, blissfully unaware of all the things life was about to start throwing at them. Then Emma pulled away. She needed to, before any of this sudden rush of emotion spilled over and escaped. Crying at work, much like crying in general, was not okay. Something about Saturday night had cracked her carefully crafted defenses, and she needed to shore them up before she found herself weeping over things like puppies and sappy commercials.

“I’m fine. Now go on back to work,” she said. “I know this is blowing your lunch break.”

Sam shrugged. “Nah. I told Zoe I’d grab soup and sandwiches from that new place across the square. Mulligan’s.”

“Tried it. The creamy tomato soup was excellent.”

“Cool. I may have to get that.” Sam started for the door, then stopped, shook her head, and turned. Emma watched, struck all over again by how much her sister had finally bloomed in coming back here, the last place anyone would have expected such a thing to happen. She could still remember Sam as the little girl who had crawled into bed with her for a full year after their father had died, afraid of the dark, afraid of being left alone.

Now, Emma thought, the only one still alone was her.

Way to be completely depressing. And to forget to pretend I know nothing about Mom sneaking around with Jasper Reed. Because, ew.

Sam hesitated, then said, “When you said you wanted to be left alone . . .”

She didn’t finish the question. She didn’t have to, and Emma immediately felt like a jerk for making her sister wonder just what she’d meant. No matter how strong Sam had turned out to be, this was her one weak spot. She didn’t need to be accepted by everyone—but she gave the people she loved all the power in the world to hurt her.

Knowing she had the same weakness, Emma kept that list of loved ones as short as possible. Sam, however, would always be on it.

“You know I didn’t mean you, Sam. You can bother me anytime you want.” She paused. “Within reason.”

Sam’s grin was equal parts pleasure and mischief. “Good. As long as I get to decide what’s reasonable, since we both know you’re just a
little
uptight about your schedule.”

Emma shook her head, looked down, and started typing again. “Mmmhmm.” She really did need to get back to work. There was an appointment in half an hour she needed to get ready for, Brynn would be in shortly, and the day would roll along no matter what she did. It was better to try to keep up with it.

“I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” Sam continued. “Or distract you. Or point out that a police cruiser just drove by with a really hot guy behind the wheel. I think he’s pulling in, actually. Is Seth a brunet?”

“What?” Her gaze immediately flicked back up. She hadn’t been able to keep the panic out of her voice. The thought of seeing him again, now, whenever, was just—

“You’re not even looking outside!” she cried.

Sam burst out laughing. “Gotcha.”

Emma slumped down in her chair, feeling like her heart might beat right out of her chest. “Oh my God. Go
away
. Now, before my legs start working well enough to chase you.”

“Fine. I’ll tease you later when you come down off the ceiling. Love you.” Sam looked inordinately pleased with herself as she walked out the door, leaving Emma with her computer, a considerable pile of work, her afternoon appointments, and her own thoughts—none of which involved a dark-haired cop with a gorgeous smile.

Almost none, anyway.

T
he Harvest Cove police department was small, comprising the police chief, one sergeant, six full-time officers, and two part-timers. Together they managed to run herd on the town of roughly five thousand residents without too much trouble. Given the size of the department, there were no dedicated divisions for traffic or vice—the officers were expected to be able to handle all of it. Seth did, gladly. He’d always preferred to be a jack-of-all-trades, keeping both his mind and his body busy.

Unfortunately, nothing in Harvest Cove was going to keep him busy enough to forget about Emma Henry. And by the time he was heading home from his shift at close to four in the afternoon on Tuesday, he’d spent plenty of time thinking about her. What she was doing, how she was feeling . . . especially about that damn video. He’d thought it was cute. She wouldn’t, though. And not just because he knew full well that any gossip about her would have a completely different tone than the good-natured ribbing he’d gotten about supposedly spending the night with a hot brunette.

According to Mark Salvatore, a fellow cop he’d gotten friendly with, some people around here would just love to see Emma fall flat on her face. It didn’t surprise Seth.
That was people for you—they’d find a crack in your armor and lob in a hand grenade, just to see what would happen. Especially if the armor belonged to a woman no one seemed to know well, and who seemed to prefer it that way. Seth had heard her called “icy” more than once.

He thought of her standing there with her hair on end as she tried to figure out how to make him go away without offending him, and he smiled at the memory. Whatever she was, icy wasn’t it.

That certainty, coupled with an inability to shake the images of her that kept wandering through his thoughts, had him swinging by Petite Treats on the square when he went off duty. He made a couple of guesses, then parked in front of Emma’s storefront in one of the old buildings that lined the town square.

Everything here was wood and stone, most of it qualifying as historic and the rest built to look as though it was. A little bit colonial, a little bit fairy-tale, and charming in a way that drew in a fair number of tourists every year, Harvest Cove looked like an ad for small-town New England. They even had a legend about having been founded by witches, and as “proof” could point to the Witch Tree, one of the oldest oaks in the country, spreading its gnarled branches over the small park at the center of the square. It was a beautiful thing this time of year, with its leaves young and green, but it would be in its glory come October. Seth looked forward to seeing it.

It was nice to look forward to things again. He’d spent enough time numb to appreciate the difference.

With a small pink-and-blue box in hand, Seth pushed open the door to Occasions by Emma. There was the soft, silvery sound of a bell as he stepped inside. Seth looked around, curious about what the business Emma ran might look like. That she seemed to have gone with
understated class didn’t surprise him at all. The walls were painted soft gold, a warm contrast to go with the burgundy curtains that framed the big window that looked out onto the square. On the walls hung framed, professionally shot pictures of couples and families at various events—ones he assumed she’d planned. Some of the pictures had a card discreetly tucked in the corner, advertising for the photographer. Seth walked slowly across the wood floor, taking in the elegant furniture arranged into a seating area, the albums set out for clients to browse through, the small samplings of work from what he expected were the vendors she preferred.

It wasn’t boring, nor was it overly busy, and the impression Seth got was one of quiet competence. From the look of things, Emma knew what she was doing.

A carved wooden desk, big but feminine, sat angled in the far-right corner with a pair of chairs facing it. Those were empty, but the desk was not. Unfortunately, it wasn’t occupied by Emma, either. A pair of warm hazel eyes watched him with frank assessment.

“Hi. Can I help you?” Her red hair was pulled back into a long, curly tail, and even from here he could see the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was charmingly pretty, but something in the way she looked at him, and at the box in his hand, suggested she had hidden skills in, say, knife throwing. Hand-to-hand combat. Something. He knew a gatekeeper when he saw one.

“Hi,” he replied. “Is Emma in?”

“She’s just finishing up with some new clients. Is there something I can help you with?”

Seth’s eyes moved to the curtained doorway set into the back wall, and he heard the soft murmur of voices beyond it. She was busy. So much for spontaneity. He shrugged and hoped it looked nonchalant. He’d been
smooth, once. This didn’t feel smooth. Neither did the unexpected rush of heat to his cheeks.

Christ
. So this was what months of celibacy did to you.

“No, I just thought I’d stop in and say hello on my way home. I, ah, brought her something.” He gestured at the box in his hand and felt like a complete idiot. The woman tilted her head and looked at him with undisguised curiosity, then rose swiftly.

“If you want to leave it with me, I can give it to her,” she said, walking forward. She extended her hand, and he wasn’t quite sure whether to shake it or shove the cupcake box into it. After a quick internal debate, he chose the former. Her smile told him he’d chosen correctly.

“I’m Brynn Parker,” she said. “Emma’s assistant.”

“Seth Andersen,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.” It occurred to him all at once that she probably knew exactly who he was. The look of recognition on her face said so, anyway. He wondered if Emma had mentioned him, or if the story had come from elsewhere. Hell if he’d be asking. Gossip traveled at the speed of light in this place, a fact he was still getting used to. He guessed he should just feel lucky that he’d managed to fly under the radar for as long as he had.

He started to hand Brynn the box. “If you could just tell her—”

He didn’t manage to finish his sentence before four people emerged from the office in the back. Seth immediately recognized Bob Harding, who’d been the mayor of the Cove for years, along with his wife, Mary, and daughter, Penny. Bob, heavyset, balding, and good-natured in a way that struck Seth as more than a little put on, was talking in the only volume the man seemed to have—loud.

“Looking forward to seeing what you can put together. I’d rather use someone local, but this is Penny’s day, so the final decision is up to her. I’m trying to pretend money is no object, but . . .”

He looked a little pained as he trailed off—an expression Seth didn’t think he’d seen on the man before. Mary and Penny were taking in the displays with critical eyes, their heads together as they murmured softly to each other. Mary was a thin, brittle-looking blonde, one of those people always wearing an expression like they’d just smelled something bad. Seth hadn’t yet determined whether that was snobbery or just unfortunate genetics. Penny, her streaky brown and blond hair in a sleek bob, was a little younger than he was. A manager down at the bank, she was on the pretty side of average and seemed friendly enough whenever he’d encountered her, though short conversations about his checking account weren’t a great way to get to know someone.

Emma emerged last, and seeing her again, here in her element, knocked the wind out of him. She clipped out in a sexy pair of heels, a fitted white skirt with black polka dots and a skinny black belt, and an aqua shirt that hugged her considerable curves. All that gorgeous dark hair, which he’d last seen looking like it had barely survived contact with an electric current, was caught up in a loose bun.

She looked just as sweet as the treat he’d brought her, with the same tantalizing hint of being more decadent than she appeared.

“I think we can offer a much better price for the same level of quality you’ll find in a larger city, Mr. Harding. I’ve planned some beautiful weddings here, and I think when you . . .”

The instant she spotted him, her voice died. It sounded smoother now, Seth noted. Not hoarse anymore. Her eyes were huge when they looked at him, the bright blue of the open sky. Her silence—not to mention her stare—drew everyone’s attention right to him. As Seth waited patiently for Emma to remember what she was doing, he gave a small smile and a nod to the mayor.

“I—I’m . . . sorry,” she said with a soft, embarrassed laugh, eyes darting between Seth and her prospective clients. “I just wanted to say that I think you’ll all be very happy with what I put together.”

“Well, we’ll find out next Tuesday,” Penny said. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, though they warmed considerably when she saw him. “Hi, Seth! What are you here for? Planning a party or looking for ones to crash? I hear you were busy with that this past weekend.”

Emma didn’t flinch, but her mouth tightened just a little. It had been a cheap shot. Penny Harding might be perfectly pleasant to him, but she didn’t seem to care for Emma much. This visit, Seth guessed, had been her father’s idea. The Hardings had money, old money, and lived out on the coast road called the Crescent where most of the original families had big historic houses. Still, Bob Harding was no multimillionaire, and, like a typical father of the bride, he was probably starting to panic about how much he was going to spend. Plus, as mayor of the town, bringing in a bunch of outside professionals for his only daughter’s wedding wouldn’t look very good. Local made sense, if there was someone in the Cove who could deliver quality.

He bet Emma could, but she was going to have to work at least twice as hard to convince the Harding women that she was up to it. That much was obvious. The
dynamics were interesting, even if he didn’t want to get sucked into them.

“It was a pretty quiet weekend, actually,” Seth finally said. “No party crashing. Just had to help with a little party downsizing. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Oh.” Penny looked disappointed in the answer, or maybe just his lack of reaction to the question. Maybe she was mad because she hadn’t been invited. Somehow, he doubted she’d been in attendance. If she wasn’t in Emma’s circle of friends—if such a thing even existed—Penny wouldn’t be in Samantha Henry’s, either. He was still sorting out the community he now lived in. It mattered to the job, even if he didn’t get out much on a personal level. Getting everyone straight took time, though—people’s connections were as intricate and complicated as a spider’s web.

“Well,” Penny said after a moment, “typical weekend in the Cove, then. I guess you probably didn’t move here for the fun and excitement.”

That made him smile. “Nope.”

“That’s right. You’re Steve and Ginny Andersen’s nephew,” Bob interjected. “You’re settling in well, I take it?”

“Very,” Seth replied. “Thank you. This place is just what I was looking for.”

“Well, that’s what I like to hear!”

“So what
are
you in here for?” Penny pressed. She did it with a smile, prying but still polite. “Police department throwing a party of its own?”

He was suddenly very conscious of the box in his hand, and of the eager audience waiting to see whether he and Emma were actually involved, or semi-involved, or incriminatingly awkward. He wasn’t a big fan of
audiences. Especially when there was a decent chance he was about to get shot down in a big way. He did his best to sound casual.

“I’ve never been in here before. I was driving by and decided this was the day to come in and check it out.”

“You’re welcome to look around,” Emma said, her smile forced and overly bright. She looked a little like she might bite him if he wasn’t careful. “I’m just going to see the Hardings out.”

He gamely pretended to be interested in a large photo album while she ushered the Hardings to the door. Flipping the pages, Seth was impressed with Emma’s willingness to take on both the stylish and the slightly weird. He knew he wouldn’t want to be responsible for pulling together a
Star Wars
wedding.

The best man had dressed as Chewbacca. That was friendship, right there.

While the Hardings said their good-byes in the background, Seth perused photos of weddings, a few corporate functions, family parties—things from small and intimate to grand. The range and quality of the work were interesting enough that he jumped a little when a voice sounded beside him.

“Can I help you with something, Officer?”

“Uh.” A quick glance around told him that Brynn had vanished into the back offices somewhere. He was relieved to get the one-on-one meeting he’d wanted. Emma, however, seemed the opposite of relaxed. She was holding herself so stiffly, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her start vibrating.

“It’s Seth,” he reminded her, though he knew she hadn’t forgotten. She wanted distance, and formality was one way to give him a push. He guessed she’d be disappointed when she figured out he wasn’t that easy to move.
Remembering the box in his hand and the purpose it was meant to serve, Seth lifted it and held it toward her.

“Here. I was in the neighborhood, so I brought you something.”

“Oh.” Emma didn’t just look surprised—she looked shocked. “I, ah . . . um . . . thank you.” She lifted one hand, then jerked it away as though the box might burn her. Flustered, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear, and with a series of short, jerky motions, accepted the gift. Seth worried a little that she might drop it, but she pulled it together once both hands clutched the box. At that point she simply stared down at it as though it were a foreign object.

Seth grinned. He couldn’t help it. This, not the cool, competent businesswoman, was the woman he’d come to see. He was quickly discovering that Emma was completely, awkwardly charming when he knocked her off balance. That was something he seemed to be good at, so why not? Hadn’t he moved to Harvest Cove to remember how to enjoy the simple things? This was pretty simple, and he was enjoying the hell out of it.

“You can open it,” he prodded gently. “The box isn’t the present.”

“Right. Of course,” Emma said, her cheeks turning deep pink. She breathed out a nervous laugh as she flipped the lid open, immediately rewarding Seth with a smile that was pure delight. In that instant, he was as genuinely happy as he’d been in ages. It was a feeling, both surprising and wonderfully simple, that he didn’t have time to wonder over. She looked up to meet his gaze, eyes crinkled with amusement.