Working It

27

Emmy

Unwilling to get out of bed just yet, I curled myself against the sheets, remembering the way Ben’s hands would tunnel under the blankets until he found my sleeping form. He’d tug me closer, scooting my body across the bed until he could spoon his body around mine. I smiled sleepily at the memory. His warm palms would caress my skin. With one hand resting flat against my belly, he’d burrow his face into my neck and inhale against my skin.

In bed at night in the silent darkness, the memories refused to fade, somehow growing in their intensity each day I wasn’t with him. When my brain would stop replaying our intimate moments, I didn’t know. But I hoped whenever that happened, it’d also take away the deep ache in my chest.

“Emerson Jean, get outta that bed,” my mom drawled, pulling the blankets off my legs.

“Ugh,” I groaned, rolling over and curling into a ball. Getting out of bed had become surprisingly difficult in the weeks since my breakup with Ben. I’d fled for Tennessee, quit my job at Status without any notice, and packed only one small bag.

I felt bad because Ellie was holding my room open, paying my half of the rent in the hopes I would soon return to New York. I had no plans to do that. There was nothing for me there now.

“Come on. Enough of this. I made your favorite pecan buns with caramel sauce and coffee. No more moping.”

It was easy for her to say. Her heart hadn’t been put through a blender. To make matters worse, my brother, Porter, was living at home again after ending his lease with a roommate. As if I needed any more spectators to my demise. My mom hadn’t had us both under the same roof in years. Porter was now twenty and though he’d yet to determine his direction in life, my mother cherished having him around. And I was half-worried Porter was going to drive up to Manhattan in his beat-up old pickup truck and hunt Ben down to kick his ass. I may not have objected much.

Ben had called and texted me nonstop until I changed my number. I couldn’t get sucked back into his world. I didn’t belong in it from the beginning. I was a simple southern girl. I wasn’t cut out for the level of drama that followed him around. And if he was the father of Fiona’s baby, they’d be linked for life. Even if he wasn’t, I doubted he’d ever cut ties with her. He didn’t see things clearly when it came to my old boss. I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t put me and our relationship first.

I was left to mourn the loss of him in my life, knowing the ache I felt would never fully heal. But I couldn’t hide in Tennessee forever. I needed to go back to New York, if not to stay, to at least see Ellie and collect the rest of my things.

Ben

One Week Later

Seeing Emmy standing on the curb at the airport was surreal. I’d been seeing her everywhere—imagining every long-haired brunette was her—so it took me a second to realize that this time it was real. She really was here.

It took every ounce of restraint I had to avoid pulling her into my arms, holding her against me, pressing kisses all over her pouty mouth. Her expression was weary—guarded. And I hated how she seemed to be on high alert around me. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but I knew I’d lost that right.

“Emmy . . .”

She stared straight ahead, looking determined to ignore me. I watched the way the wind lifted the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. I wanted to bury my face in her neck and kiss that spot just below her ear.

My feelings for her hadn’t changed. Not one bit. I loved her. To the very depth of my being. I needed her in my life. I knew I’d fucked up time and again with Fiona, but I needed Emmy to hear me out.

Ignoring me, she raised her hand in the air, waving at a cab. It zoomed on past.

“Emmy, wait.” I reached for her but stopped myself. She wasn’t mine to touch anymore. The thought was sobering. To be near her again and not have the right to reach out and take her in my arms was a strange realization. I didn’t like it.

“How’s the baby?” she asked, her voice cold and unemotional.

That was what I wanted to explain to her. “We should talk, Emmy.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, I do. There are a few things you should know.”

When she spun around to face me, all the venom in her expression dissolved. She’d been suffering just as much as me. She closed her eyes briefly and drew a shaky breath. I wondered if she was being hit with a barrage of memories like I was. Her soft laughter, sharing a glass of wine at a sidewalk café, teaching her curse words in French, feeding each other in bed at night. And, of course, making love. Her willingness to experiment sexually and the chemistry we shared were off the charts. There were so many things I missed about her, and I wondered if she missed me, too. Or did she only remember the bitter way things ended between us?

“Please. My driver’s here.” I indicated the black sedan parked at the curb. “Let me take you home and explain.” I had no fucking clue where to start, but I couldn’t let her walk away, for fear I’d never see her again. I picked up her bag without waiting for her response.

She straightened her mouth into a polite line and allowed me to help her into the car.