Every Little Kiss (6 page)

“I was there. Pretty sure you were you. There was a lot going on, but no pod people. I’d remember that.”

“You know what I mean. I was—”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Drunk,” Emma replied, her voice flat. She felt her phone buzz again, so with Zoe looking on, she pulled it from her pocket to look at the message. For the second time today, it wasn’t one of the three people who normally showed up on her phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I hope you’re going to share that,” Zoe said. “I need something in my day that isn’t annoying.”

“‘Hey, Em,’” she recited, then groaned. “Em? Really? Not when I don’t know you, I’m not.” Emma tipped her head back, took a deep breath, then looked down at her phone again and continued. “‘Had fun with you last Saturday. Dinner this weekend? Let me know! Chris.’”

“Chris who?”

“I have no idea.” She combed through fuzzy memories to no avail. She had danced with people. A lot of people. Their faces, however, eluded her. What was her taste like when she was drinking? It might be bad. She might get insanely thick beer goggles. The risk was too much to take, even if she’d been interested in a date this weekend. Which she wasn’t.

A dark-haired vision in a blue uniform tried to butt into her thoughts right then to make a liar out of her, but she pushed it back as best she could. He was hard to forget, though, not only because she knew
exactly
how attractive he was, but because he’d checked up on her. And brought her cupcakes.
Cupcakes!
What kind of a guy did that sort of thing?

She shifted uneasily in her seat while Zoe considered her.

“I have to ask. . . . Why is this bothering you so much? You don’t want to go, you say no.”

“I’m bothered because I don’t even know these people, much less like them.”

“You must have liked them fine last weekend. Though I will admit, you loved the world last weekend. It was cute,” Zoe said. “You’re usually very self-contained. I just think you surprised a lot of people.” She indicated the phone. “Like your new suitors there.”

“It was ridiculous,” Emma said. “I was a joke.”

Zoe’s brows winged up. “Who told you that? You weren’t any different from anybody else. You laughed, had fun, cut loose, celebrated your sister. I mean, I’m no wild thing usually, but you did notice I was wearing a feather boa for most of the night, right?”

“And yet no one is telling stories about you streaking with the village idiot.”

Zoe tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Anybody who actually believes that isn’t worth the breath it would take to correct them. You know this.”

“I just . . . This isn’t the kind of attention I want.”

“Consider it free publicity. Party planner knows how to party,” Zoe replied. “Anyway, give it a week or two and it won’t matter.”

“Yeah, no,” Emma said. “A week or two isn’t soon enough. I’m trying to impress Penny Harding with my business acumen, and all she wanted to do was embarrass me in front of her parents and Seth.”

“Seth. The officer you didn’t share a night of passion with?” Zoe leaned forward, her eyes bright with renewed interest. “Okay,
this
I need to hear. Why was he visiting you?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Emma rushed on, wishing she hadn’t even said his name. “The point is that it’s just given the Hardings one more reason to hire someone else for Penny’s wedding.”

“Penny Harding, aka Petunia Fussybottom,” Zoe said, rolling her eyes. “She’s one of the biggest pains in the butt in the Cove, Emma. I would take her not wanting you as a compliment. You should have smacked her upside the head when she started in. Then you’d at least have some satisfaction, since you’re right—there’s no way she’d pick you. You’re not on her Christmas party list.”

Emma gave a small, rueful smile. The Hardings’ annual Christmas party was always a big event, as was making the guest list. Her mother talked about how boring the parties had been back when she’d gone with her husband, but Emma still wondered what it might be like. She’d never find out, though. Her mother had been off the guest list as soon as her father had died, and any of the current crop of Henrys making it back on was unlikely at best.

“She wouldn’t pick me on her own,” Emma said, “but her father is getting twitchy about the cost. He knows I’ll do it for less than what he’ll find elsewhere. If I put together something amazing, he’s going to push hard to keep everything local. Plus, he’s the mayor, so it looks bad for him to be outsourcing.”

“He’s probably more twitchy about the possibility of it not happening at all. How long was this whirlwind courtship? Two months? I’m not saying I don’t believe in insta-love, but . . . I don’t believe in it. And who falls madly in love with
Penny
?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I
need
this wedding, Zoe. I don’t usually get to work with big budgets, and considering the guest list? There is no better advertising. Penny doesn’t have to love me, but she can damn well have her socks knocked off by my work. I just need the chance.”

Zoe stared silently for a moment. Then she said, “Sam’s right. You get a little scary about your work.”

“She says that about you, too, you know.”

“And she’s correct, though I’d be fine with some attractive gentlemen blowing up my phone once in a while. You’ll land the wedding if you want it this bad, because I understand how you operate. We take no prisoners.” Her lips curved in a smile that was more than a little self-deprecating. “It’s that pain-in-the-ass thing we both have going on. But take it from somebody who had to learn to build in downtime for her own sanity—I think you need to try to relax a little. Maybe have some fun with your newfound notoriety.” She shrugged. “A social life isn’t the end of the world.”

Emma snorted. “Says the woman whose work
is
her social life. The First Friday events you put on here don’t count.”

“Ah-ah,” Zoe corrected her, holding up a finger. “I’m with people during them. They count. But I get out when I feel like it, now that I actually have a few friends around here. I’m cautious, not antisocial. I love my slippers and flannel pants best, but there are moments I need more. And anyway, I think I was allowed a settling-in period to figure out what works for me. You’ve been settled in here since birth. What’s your excuse?”

“That I
am
antisocial,” Emma shot back, which made Zoe laugh. Emma tried for a smile in return, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I don’t know. I try so hard to do everything just right, to be the one person in my family people can’t laugh at, and a few drinks and a YouTube video later, people are looking at me funny.”

“Not funny,” Zoe corrected her. “Just differently.”

“I don’t like different,” Emma grumbled, knowing she sounded sulky. She couldn’t help it. It had been preying on her all week, this idea that she’d taken a sledgehammer to the Emma Henry she’d so carefully built to display to the rest of the world.

“Well,” Zoe said, standing and stretching, “like it or not, the cat’s out of the bag. You are not, in fact, a robot. And you have a great smile, which is probably one of the many reasons the phone has been ringing.”

“I think my wet shirt the other night had more to do with it, but you never know, I guess.” Emma stood, too, knowing that it was time for Zoe to close up. She didn’t want to be underfoot any longer. “Thanks for listening to me,” she said. “I would have dumped this on Sam, but she’s busy with Jake today.”

“Hey, you’re wearing a hoodie. I knew it was serious.”

As Emma grinned, surprised to find that her load had lightened a little just from talking it out, her phone buzzed again. The smile faltered, even as Zoe’s widened. “I am apparently a very social drunk.”

“There are worse things. You could have gotten in a bar fight.”

“Granted.” Emma’s hand started to move to grab her phone, but she stopped it. She’d wait until she was outside. “See you, Zoe. Have fun picking up the debris field.”

The sound that rippled up from Zoe’s chest sounded disconcertingly like a growl. “First order of business once I lock up is to drive out to Home Value and get one very nice boot-scuffing mat. Then it’s his move.”

“Should be interesting.”

“That’s one word for it, sure.”

Emma might have laughed, were it not for the glint in Zoe’s eyes being a little murderous. Instead, she found herself trying to mask her growing anxiety when her phone vibrated again. And again. It was bizarre. After all these years, she was sought-after company by someone other than her mom. And though that would have made a huge difference to her once, right now, this was the last
thing she needed. This was quiet, committed, nose-to-the-grindstone time. She’d explored her inner wild thing quite enough for one decade, thanks. Besides, she’d decided a long time ago that love and marriage weren’t going to be for her. Why bother leading someone on? Why even take the risk of getting started? The only acceptable risks, in her mind, were business related. And she only undertook those very carefully.

Maybe it wasn’t a thrilling life, but it was a comfortable one. A safe one. There had to be a way to return things to some semblance of normal. Like, now. She just couldn’t quite figure out what that might be.

“You’re welcome to come over later if you want,” Zoe said. “I’m just going to make a pot of tea and watch movies. It’s been a long week.”

Part of her wanted to. Emma had approached Zoe with the same caution she applied to everyone else, softened only a little by her sister’s affection for her new friend. But unlike most people, Zoe had waited out her standoffishness. Emma prided herself on a minimal need for socializing, but when she felt the urge, it was nice to know she had options.

Tonight, though, she was pretty sure her best option was flying solo. She had a lot to sort through, on top of the work she had.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I should inflict myself on anyone else tonight. I have things to do anyway.”

“Things like drink a pot of coffee and obsess about what other people are saying?” Zoe asked.

“Maybe.”

“Well, you have fun with that. If you change your mind, I don’t plan on leaving my couch, so I’ll be home.”

“We’ll see. If not tonight, then soon.” Emma gave a half wave and turned to go, feeling another vibration of her
phone. She had a single, fleeting moment of temptation—what would it be like if she took Zoe’s advice and tried to just enjoy the attention? But that impulse was gone almost as soon as it appeared. She had to stick with what worked. After all, doing things her way had earned her some measure of success, respect. . . .

And most of all, it had kept her safe. It had saved her the hurt her sister had endured, among other things. She hadn’t been able to protect Sam, but she could damn well protect herself.

No matter how lonely it got.

Emma called out a final good-bye before walking back out into an early evening that was clouding up just like her thoughts had. Still, she didn’t turn toward home, though the instinct to do just that was strong. For once, she knew there was plenty of time for work later—all the time in the world, it sometimes seemed. Right now was for thinking—and walking—until she got her head on straight and came up with a plan for how to move forward.

She cast a single, worried look at the darkening sky before heading down the sidewalk. At the rate things were going, she knew she could be walking a long, long time.

B
y the time the sky opened up, Seth had weeded the front flower beds, planted a couple of young trees, and refilled the bird feeder out back. Some younger version of himself, still rattling around in his psyche, was horrified that he’d spent his day doing what he’d once considered “old people activities.”

The rest of him felt tired, sweaty, and too good to care.

His house had been a little rough around the edges when he’d gotten it, but it was really starting to come together. The little Cape Cod had gotten a fresh coat of paint about a month ago, and the yard looked great. It would look even better once all his new plantings took hold and filled out. He knew himself well enough by now to know that he needed some kind of sanctuary to get away from the world occasionally.

The second he’d stepped into his house, he’d known this was it. He rarely had company, apart from the birds. That was fine by him—birds had a healthy respect for personal space.

The rain started all at once, like someone turning a shower on full blast. A single roll of thunder was all he got as a warning, but it was enough to send him into the garage just ahead of the downpour. He was about to
close up when he saw a lone figure pounding on Aaron Maclean’s door, already as drenched as it was possible for a person to be. Whoever it was, she was out of luck—his neighbor had been gone all day. He glanced quickly over the sodden gray hoodie, the torn jeans, the long and dripping hair. Then she turned her head so that her profile was visible, and he had to do a double take.

Emma. Of course it was. Because the instant he decided something was no damn good for him, it would magically appear at every turn. He had a brief, unpleasant urge to just shut the door and head inside, letting her sort the rain out on her own. It wasn’t like going out of his way for her had gotten him anything but grief so far. But a combination of deeply ingrained politeness and the still-strong, if unwanted, attraction had him calling to her.

“Emma! In here!” He waved his arms at her when she looked around, and for once she didn’t hesitate where he was concerned. She made a mad dash toward him, arms wrapped around herself as though that would somehow keep the rain off. The sky flickered, and another roll of thunder sounded, loud enough that he could feel the vibration. Emma ran into the cool, dry garage. When she looked at him, her eyes were enormous, her fair skin pale. She was completely soaked.

“Hi,” was all she said. Water dripped from the pert little tip of her nose.

“Hi, yourself.” He wished he could be a little less interested in kissing a few of those droplets away. He knew damn well the kind of reaction he’d get. The frustration, however, didn’t mean he couldn’t be friendly. “Did you walk all the way from the square?” She was a good three miles from home, and even if she was an avid walker, he’d never seen her out here before.

“Yeah.” She looked sheepish. “I didn’t notice how dark the sky was getting until it was too late.”

“I can see that.” He thought about driving her home immediately, then saw her shiver. She really was soaked through. And that miserable protective instinct, the one he couldn’t seem to turn off where she was concerned, kicked in and took over his mouth before he could do much about it. “Come on in and dry off.”

He took the fact that she didn’t bother to argue as a mark of how miserable she felt. “Okay,” she said, and offered him a weak smile. “Thanks.” She scurried past him, her feet leaving watery prints on the cement floor, and let herself into the house. He followed, curious. Something was different about her today, and it wasn’t just that she looked like she’d been swimming while fully clothed. Maybe it was just that this was the first time she’d actually run toward him instead of backing away.

The thought fascinated him—almost as much as it unnerved him. He knew that part of the reason he’d felt free to fixate on her a little, enough to try out his rusty flirting skills, was that she was safe. As in, he had no chance with her at all, which in turn meant there was no chance of him screwing things up.

Bet she’d love to know how good you are at that. Maybe just tell her why you picked a tiny town this far from home to move to. That’ll send her right back out the door soon enough.

He shut down the nagging, taunting voice as quickly as he could, but his uncertainty stayed to hover like the rain clouds outside. Seth flipped the light switch on the wall when he walked into the house, the kitchen brightening instantly. Emma stood in the middle of the small room, dripping on the linoleum. She had been looking around, but focused on him immediately once he shut
the door. They considered each other silently for a moment. She looked as though she didn’t quite know what she was doing here. That made two of them, but wondering didn’t change anything.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ve got some sweats you can borrow. We can toss all that in the dryer, I’ll make coffee, and when everything’s dry, I’ll get you home.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know that,” he interrupted her, hearing the snap of irritation in his voice. But could she just once accept something from him without making a big deal of it? “I’ll get the sweats. Stay put.”

Seth headed out of the kitchen and upstairs to his bedroom, where a quick look through his drawers netted him an old pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist—necessary if anything of his was going to stay up on Emma—and a comfortably worn police academy sweatshirt. He grabbed a towel from the linen closet, carried everything back downstairs, shoved it all unceremoniously into Emma’s arms, and said, “Bathroom’s right by the front door. Bring the wet stuff out and I’ll get the laundry going.”

She blinked, but she didn’t argue with him. Emma silently headed out of the kitchen, though he caught the single, confused glance she threw over her shoulder at him on her way out. He pretended to be busy getting out a pair of coffee mugs, though what he was really doing was attempting to get his head back in some kind of functioning order before she walked back out wearing his clothes, probably looking good enough to—

Yeah, might want to stop right there before your gutter brain gets noticeable, genius.

Seth bit the inside of his cheek and tried to focus. He knew he wasn’t the only one who felt the tension
between them, strong enough that it sometimes seemed about to start shooting sparks. For whatever reason, she didn’t seem to want anything to do with it, and he was in no position to press her about it. But this was his house, she’d busted into his otherwise pleasant day off, and for once, she could at least do what made sense instead of making things more difficult. He didn’t think that was too much to ask.

When he heard the bathroom door shut, Seth found his coffee-making interrupted by the insistent thought that Emma was peeling off her wet clothes, piece by piece, in his house. He braced himself against the counter, bowed his head, and sighed heavily.

Keep it casual and friendly. That’s all you have to do. You’ve managed it with everybody else. . . . Why not her?

Right.
She might be soaked to the bone, but right now, he knew he was the bigger mess. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. So he locked away his heated thoughts as best he could, took a deep breath, and put the coffee on.

*   *   *

Funny, the things being cold and wet could make you do. For instance, getting naked in Seth Andersen’s bathroom. That was one she hadn’t seen coming. Then again, doing things she normally wouldn’t seemed to be a trend lately.

Emma stripped off her sodden clothes, wrung the water out of her hair in the sink, toweled off, and found that she was too glad to be warming up and dry to feel all that strange about the situation. No doubt that would come later. For the moment, she concentrated on cinching the waist of Seth’s sweatpants so that they would stay up on her, then pulling his soft, blue sweatshirt over her head. He was on the tall side of average, but slim, so while his
clothes were too big, she wasn’t completely swimming in them. But having his clothes against her bare skin, breathing in the light scent that permeated his house—his clean and very male scent—felt decadent in a way she’d never experienced. For a brief moment, she didn’t feel as though she belonged wholly to herself anymore.

Her reaction, a shiver not from cold but a kind of raw desire so swift and fierce it took her utterly by surprise, made her bite hard on the inside of her cheek to try to clear her head.

This is not the time. Not now, not ever. Get it together.

It didn’t work all that well, but it was enough to get her moving again. A look in the mirror was satisfactory, if not thrilling. Emma used her fingers to slick her wet hair away from her face, gathered up her wet clothes in the towel, grabbed her phone, and padded out of the bathroom on bare feet.

The warm, comforting smell of coffee brewing soothed her, as did the patter of rain against the windows. Emma looked around as she headed for the glow of the kitchen, taking in a house that seemed comfortable, if a little Spartan. A nice leather sofa and chair sat opposite a good-sized flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There was also a small fireplace with a framed print propped on the mantel. The subject matter prompted a soft, silent laugh, and she shook her head.

This was definitely a guy’s house. Even if he did have actual hand towels and scented soap in his bathroom.

She headed back to the kitchen and stopped short as soon as she entered. Seth’s back was to her as he poured the coffee, and she let her eyes skim over him from head to toe. It was, she realized, the first time she’d seen him out of uniform. And the jeans he wore, faded and a little ragged, with wear marks on the pocket where she
imagined he’d stuffed a wallet hundreds of times, fit him in just the right way to make her mouth water. Emma watched how the taut muscles of his back and shoulders shifted beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt as he moved, and she realized, with a sinking feeling, that even the tanned back of his neck was sexy as hell.

What am I doing here? Dating him would be a bad enough idea even if he wasn’t a cop!

Unfortunately, he didn’t look like a cop right this second. All he looked was good.

He must have heard her approach because he spoke without turning around. “What do you put in your coffee?”

Emma licked her lips, sucked in a shallow breath, and tried to get her pounding heart rate under control. “Um. Cream and sugar. If you have it.” Her voice sounded abnormally breathy. She needed to get a handle on . . . whatever this was.

“I think I can scrounge up a carton of milk and some sugar somewhere around here.” He did turn then, walking toward her with all the casual grace of a jungle cat. “I’ll take those. You might as well get comfortable.”

Somehow, she managed not to melt when he took the pile of clothes from her, even when his warm hand brushed against hers.

“Great. Thanks.” She managed to walk to the small circular table and sit in a chair, though she felt stiff and awkward and out of sorts all at once. Maybe it was that her face was on fire. Maybe it was the hint of a tattoo she’d seen on Seth’s biceps when he’d taken the clothes from her. Or maybe it was just
him
.

Emma folded her hands in her lap, pressed her knees together, and tried desperately not to think about sex.

Seth was gone for only a minute or so, and Emma
heard the dryer start up somewhere else in the house. He was completely silent when he moved, she noted as he walked back into the room. It should have made her nervous, but he was so casual about it that she doubted he even realized how silent he was.
Probably helps him not get killed on the job,
she thought, and immediately felt her stomach start to knot.

His life isn’t my responsibility.
So can we fixate on something less upsetting while we’re wearing his clothes, please?

He brought two cups of coffee to the table in heavy ceramic mugs, one a speckled royal blue, one that was a mix of autumn colors, shades of brown and red and green. She looked at them with interest, glad for the distraction from her own thoughts.

“These look handmade.”

“They are,” he said, liquid brown eyes meeting hers for a fleeting, electric instant before flicking away again. It helped to think he might find it as disconcerting as she did, though she knew it was just as likely he felt nothing at all. She’d shot him down once already. He’d probably moved on, no big deal. Unlike her, for whom obsessing over what would be “no big deal” to most normal humans was a full-time occupation.

“I was in Vermont a while back. Hand-thrown pottery seems to be kind of a thing there, so I brought back some mugs. They’re nice and heavy, and I drink a lot of coffee, so . . .” He trailed off as he brought a spoon, a sugar dish, and a carton of milk to the table, then sat across from her. She noted he didn’t put a thing in his own coffee, drinking it black. It made her feel fussy, putting her two teaspoons of sugar and a healthy splash of milk in her own.

She stirred, sipped, and decided it was pretty good
even without her favored vanilla creamer. Emma studied the swirls the milk had made in her coffee, feeling his eyes on her. Funny—it had stopped bothering her a long time ago when people looked at her. Seth, on the other hand, had unnerved her from the moment he’d awakened Sunday morning. The difference, she suspected, was that Seth actually seemed to be
seeing
her. And not at her best, for the most part. Or at least, not the way she wanted to be seen.

Steeling herself, Emma lifted her gaze to find Seth studying her. Their eyes locked again, and this time he didn’t look away. She could feel the buzz of their connection like an electric current, surprisingly intense but not at all unpleasant.

Like Zoe, she didn’t believe in insta-love, and found insta-lust more something to be suspicious of than to indulge in. But this feeling she got around Seth—this was something new. The kind of thing that happened to women decidedly less boring and considerably more beautiful than she was. She didn’t know whether to revel in it or run before something terrible happened.