The Trouble With Love (26 page)

And, yet, they hadn’t talked about it. Not any of it. And certainly not their past.

She’d asked the girls whether she should bring it up, and the verdict had been split. Julie and Grace thought she and Cassidy should go with the flow and see where it took them. Julie had insisted that forcing a conversation that wasn’t ready wouldn’t be good for anyone.

And while Riley had agreed that trying to put a label on what they had before their hearts knew the answer would be disastrous, she had
also
cautioned that going too long without having the hard conversation might do more damage in the end.

And seeing as Riley and Sam had avoided just such a conversation for ten damn years, Emma knew she should listen.

But every time she wanted to go there—to ask what the hell they were doing—she chickened out. She was too afraid he’d tell her exactly what she’d told him. That it was just sex.

Tonight, however . . . tonight, Emma hadn’t let herself think about any of that. It had been about turkey and too much wine and delicious carbs and pie. Definitely pie.

It was the usual bunch: Julie and Mitchell, newly back from Maui; Grace and Jake; Sam and Riley. Camille had shown up for appetizers and to inform Emma that her second bedroom was still available and that her “real” building had an elevator.

And Cassidy was there.

Cassidy had been there all day. Prepping the turkey. Arguing with her about the best way to mash potatoes.

He was everywhere, all the time.

And she liked it.

“I ate too much,” Riley said, clearing a salad bowl from the table and setting it by the sink with an exhausted thunk.

“Riley McKenna. I can honestly say I never thought I’d hear those words coming out of your mouth,” Julie said, licking vanilla ice cream off her thumb before putting the scoop in the dishwasher.

“It was Emma’s fault,” Riley groaned. “What the heck did you put in that stuffing, lard? It was the most horrifyingly glorious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Horrifying only because you had six helpings,” Mitchell called from the table, where the guys were sampling Sam’s latest whiskey.

Riley pointed a finger at Julie. “Jules, tell your ball and chain to shut his trap.”

“I’ve tried,” Julie said. “It never works.”

“Yeah, because
I’m
the chatterbox of the family,” Mitchell muttered.

Emma tried to squeeze one last glass into the dishwasher, then gave up, because the damned thing was stuffed to max capacity. She added detergent and started it, before reaching for another bowl to wash.

“No.
Sit,
” Grace said, batting her hand. “Put your skinny ass on that bar stool and drink your drink. We’ll clean.”

“Actually,” Emma said, wiping her hand on a towel. “Let’s
all
sit. The cleaning can wait until tomorrow.”

“You hear that, boys?” Julie called. “You can stop your mad dash to help with the dishes.”

The men didn’t pause in their debate over whether the whiskey had elements of leather in its flavor profile.

Emma picked up her glass of wine and started to follow the women into her tiny living room, and then paused, looking around and taking in the scene in front of her. It was a cheesy thought, but she actually felt her heart swelling.

Which didn’t make sense, because the tableau was a familiar one: couples playfully bickering, Riley eating too much, Sam’s wonderful whiskey, free-flowing wine, nonstop laughter . . .

Maybe tonight felt different because it was almost the holidays.

But in the back of her mind, Emma knew she was lying to herself. Something was different tonight, sure, but it wasn’t the proximity to Thanksgiving.

Her eyes sought and found Cassidy’s.

It was him. No,
them
.

They’d been at the same dinner party before, but never like this. Never as a couple.

Were
they a couple?

It didn’t seem like it. It was so different from how things had been with her previous boyfriends. Heck, for that matter, it was different than it had been with
Cassidy
all those years ago.

It was startlingly comfortable. There was no trying the other person on for size, no trying to adjust to their quirks and habits. No trying not to get annoyed at the other person’s chewing, no painful getting-to-know-you chats in which you scrambled to remember whether
Jackson
referred to his second-grade best friend or his childhood dog.

They simply
were
. They simply fit.

He lifted an eyebrow, as though to ask if she was okay, and she smiled and gave a little shake of her head.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Because talking about it might jinx it.

And therein lay the real problem . . . the downside of everything feeling so perfect.

It couldn’t last. It never lasted.

“Yo, Emma. Grab that bottle and get over here,” Riley said.

She complied, topping off everyone’s glasses as she settled onto her new gray love seat next to Julie.

Julie poked her arm the second she sat down. “Okay, I swear this is the last time I’ll bug you about this, but I need to ask just one more time to clear my conscience. Are you
sure
you don’t want to come to Connecticut with us on Thursday? Mitchell’s mom makes a mean turkey.”

“Or Brooklyn with us,” Riley added.

“Or Wisconsin with us, although our flight leaves tomorrow, so you’d better make that decision, like, yesterday,” Grace chimed in.

Emma glanced down at her wine, feeling a bittersweet pang as she realized that every one of them had just used the word
us
. Come with
us
to Connecticut. Come with
us
to Brooklyn. With
us
to Wisconsin.

Emma wasn’t part of an
us
.

Because no matter how good things were between her and Cassidy in bed, no matter how compatible they were
outside
of it, there were some things they couldn’t overcome. It was like their sexual chemistry had set off some sort of adrenaline kick that prevented them from feeling the pain.

And once that adrenaline wore off . . .

Emma knew what that heartbreak felt like.

“Ems?” Julie asked, touching her arm, softer this time. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. And thank you for the invitations, truly. But I’m actually headed to North Carolina for the holiday.”

Her friends exchanged puzzled looks. “Since when? I could have sworn we just talked last week about our plans—”

“Since Saturday. My dad’s been bugging me about it for weeks and I’ve been saying no, but . . . he wore me down.”

Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. Her father had gone ahead and bought her a plane ticket without her consent. Something Emma could have ignored if not for . . . Daisy.

Her twin still responded to Emma’s texts, but she never initiated them anymore. And whenever Emma called, it went straight to voice mail. Emma wanted to see her sister in person to dig beneath the surface.

Even if it meant sitting around the table and playing nice with her father while he prattled on about Sinclair Media and the fact that he had no successor for the company since neither daughter was interested, and Daisy had gone and gotten herself a “damned divorce,” and Emma . . . well, Emma up and left the table whenever her father dared to mention Cassidy.

So. The holiday should be
great
.

“Well, that’ll be fun!” Julie said brightly.

Emma gave her a look. “It won’t be. But can we just . . . not talk about it? Holidays are supposed to be stressful, right?”

“But—”

“Subject change,” Emma pleaded. “Please.”

“Oooh, I have one!” Grace said, sitting up straighter and directing her attention to the guys at the table. “Hey, Cassidy, is it true that you’re hiring a sports editor?”

Julie and Emma twisted in their seats to face the men.

Cassidy squinted at Grace over his whiskey tumbler. “Where’d you hear that?”

Grace pursed her lips and glanced at Jake. Cassidy gave his employee an annoyed look.

“Okay, look, it’s like this,” Jake said, setting his glass on the table. “I
may
have been in your office earlier today, and I
may
have seen something on your desk that I shouldn’t have. And I
may
have mentioned it to my pretty wife.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Cassidy said.

“Oh, I do!” Sam said. “I got this. Mr. Malone, son, why were you in Mr. Cassidy’s office?”

Jake stared at him. “Are you trying to do a principal impersonation?”

Sam gave him a patient look and Jake squirmed. “You’re good at it. Okay, um, I was in Cassidy’s office because I was looking for something.”

“Looking for . . .” Sam prodded.

“Condoms,” Jake said matter-of-factly.

Julie snorted, but Sam merely gave a sage nod. “You were seeking contraceptives.”

“Yes, to, um, fornicate with my wife.”

“Actually,” Emma said, peeking over the top of the couch as she watched the interaction. “One can’t fornicate with one’s wife.
Fornication
by definition is sexual intercourse with someone you’re not married to.”

All four men stared at her. “How does she know that?” Jake whispered to Cassidy.

“Don’t ask me. I
didn’t
marry her, remember?”

Emma shot him the finger.

“Emma’s quite right on the definition,” Mitchell said. “But let’s get to the heart of the story. Jake, did you find the condoms?”

“That is
not
the heart of the story,” Cassidy said. “My entire point was—”

“I
did
find condoms,” Jake interrupted. “A box actually. A box that had been opened and whose supply had been greatly depleted.”

Everyone looked at Cassidy awaiting explanation, but Cassidy was not that kind of guy, and he merely took a sip of his whiskey.

Julie poked Emma in the back. “Office sex,” she whispered.
“Nice.”

“Yes, I’m hiring a sports editor,” Cassidy asked. “It just got approved this afternoon. Everyone happy now?”

“Not hardly,” Riley said. “I want to go back to how exactly you used all those condoms. How empty was the box, Jake?”

“Are you going to hire Cole?” Emma interrupted quickly, hoping to avoid a prolonged analysis of exactly how each of those condoms had been used. It was no secret that Emma and Cassidy were sleeping together, but that didn’t mean Emma was dying to spill the details. Even if they were
really
delicious details.

“I’d like to hire Cole,” Cassidy said. “But I’ve been trying to hire that guy for a year. He’s been hell-bent on remaining a contractor.”

“So why not let him stay a contractor?” Sam asked.

Cassidy shrugged. “Not my call. The order came from above. It comes down to budgeting. Capex versus opex, you know?”

“No,” everyone said at the same time. Except for Mitchell who said yes.

Julie sighed and gave her husband a warning look. “You get one sentence to explain.”

“Capital expenses versus operating expenses,” Mitchell. “Freelance wages are often pulled out of capex funding, so if that’s on short supply, they’ll want to hire an employee, whose salary comes out of opex—”

“Got it,” Julie said, holding up her hand. “So there might be no more money to pay for Cole as a contractor, but he could work as a full-time employee . . .”

“If he wants to,” Cassidy said.

“Yeah, that’ll be the trick,” Jake mused. “That guy hates the idea of settling down in any capacity.”

Grace snapped her fingers. “That feels so familiar. Why does that feel so familiar?”

Emma smiled into her wine. Jake had famously had an acute case of wanderlust before finding Grace. Him accusing Cole of not wanting to settle down was a definite case of the pot and kettle being the exact same shade of black.

Riley chose that moment to let out a huge yawn, which set off an entire chain of yawns, which had Grace looking at the clock.

“Holy crap. It’s almost one!”

“On a school night, too!” Sam said, making a scolding noise.

“Shut it,” Riley said around another yawn. “Not all of us are self-employed.”

“Maybe our boss will let us come in late tomorrow,” Julie said, fluttering her eyelashes at Cassidy.

“
That’s
not going to do it,” Riley said. “Emma, take your shirt off. Then
you
ask him.”

“I’m all for this plan,” Cassidy said, “But for the record . . . I’m not your boss anymore, remember? Camille’s back.”

“Like I could forget,” Grace muttered. “Is anyone else having a hell of a time understanding her newly developed Australian accent?”

“I asked if she wanted to go grab lunch today, and she actually uttered the phrase
shrimp on the barbie,
” Julie said, standing and taking her wine glass to the kitchen. “She had to say it, like, eight times before I could understand her.”

“Hey,” Jake said, punching Cassidy’s arm as he put the cap back on the whiskey. “I know you’re not
their
boss anymore, but you are mine. Can I come in late tomorrow?”

Cassidy gave him a dark look, and Jake shot him a finger pistol. “Right on. See you at nine sharp.”

There was a flurry collecting the last of the dishes, and Riley arguing with Sam that they did
too
want some of the leftovers. Emma retrieved the pile of winter coats from her bedroom since her coat closet was stacked with boxes she had yet to unpack. Then came hugs and cheek kisses, and a sleepy debate over whether the day before Thanksgiving was a real workday.

Cassidy made no move to leave with the rest of the group, and nobody questioned it.

Emma didn’t question it.

A wave of sleepiness was threatening to knock her over, and she couldn’t wait to crawl beneath the covers and snuggle up to Cassidy. Maybe open the window a crack so the bedroom would get nice and chilly while they stayed warm beneath the covers.

But one glance at his face told her that he had other ideas.

And not the sexy kind, either.

Cassidy was
pissed
.

Chapter 27

“Everything okay?” she asked nervously as she locked the door behind Sam and Riley.

He ran a hand over his face, looking tired. “Okay, full disclosure that I’m trying really hard not to get mad about this, but I am having a damned difficult time of it, so I need to just say this.”