Seth sighed, slid into one of his kitchen chairs, and
looked in the direction of the room where he could still hear Emma snoring lightly. He wanted this—wanted her. But for right now, it was better for both of them if they kept things as simple as possible. Until he was sure his past, and his problems, would stay his own.
E
mma woke up to a number of unfamiliar sensations, all of which took her a few confused moments to sort out. First, the sun was in her eyes, though it shouldn’t have been. Second, she seemed to be lying on . . . leather? Was that leather? And third, apart from the blanket on top of her, she was buck naked.
What—
what
—what
is
this?
She opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, then threw an arm over her head and rolled over. The leather couch crumpled softly beneath her, and Emma found herself looking at Seth’s family room lit in the golden light of early morning. She pulled the afghan she’d been covered with up over her breasts, pushed up on one elbow, and looked around. Apparently she’d spent the night. But on his couch? Alone?
Puzzled, and beginning to have the unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach that usually signaled she’d screwed up somehow, Emma listened for any signs of life in the house. There was only silence, however. Frowning, she drew the blanket around her and stood, wearing it like the world’s ugliest dress as she wandered into the empty kitchen, then back out into the family room, then up the stairs. Nothing seemed strange, though the
comforter was rumpled in his bedroom and a book—some alternate history thing involving the Napoleonic Wars, according to the cover—was propped open, facedown on the bed.
He hadn’t slept with her. She wasn’t entirely convinced he’d slept at all. It was just another piece of the puzzle Seth was turning out to be, and Emma wasn’t sure what to think. So she went into the bathroom to splash some water on her face and used his comb to work the worst knots out of her hair. If she had to do a walk/drive of shame home, she could at least look like she hadn’t just rolled out of bed. Or off the couch.
Still, despite this morning’s weirdness, Emma had to admit that it had never been as good as it had been last night. Just thinking about it had desire curling deep in her lower belly again, and she felt her lips curving into a satisfied little smile despite herself.
“Good” was actually an understatement. Of course, further testing would be required to make sure that this would be the rule and not the exception. Which would be easier if he hadn’t slipped away without even saying good-bye. Her smile faded quickly as doubt crept in. Had something been wrong? Was he sorry they’d done it?
Could she maybe not invent a dozen more problems for herself before breakfast?
Back downstairs, she finally noticed the note he’d left, scribbled on a Post-it and stuck to the coffee table. She snatched it up to read the scratchy, masculine scrawl. Not that there was much of it.
Had to work early—didn’t want to wake you.
Call you later, Snoring Beauty.
Seth
That, at least, made her smile. “I do not snore,” she grumbled, putting the note back on the table. So maybe things were fine, and she was just borrowing trouble. She knew she had a tendency to do that. Still, something felt off. If she’d awakened in his rumpled bed, she wouldn’t have felt so odd. But having been left on the couch while he slept elsewhere made her feel like an interloper.
She was in the middle of picking up her clothes from the various places they’d landed when there was a knock at the door. Hand in midair, she froze, crouched in the process of picking up her bra, which had somehow migrated behind the television set.
A thousand mortifying scenarios played themselves out in her mind in a matter of seconds, each worse than the last. It was one of his friends. It was one of her friends. It was one of her enemies. It was
all
of her enemies. It was all of the above, plus the mayor.
Instead, she heard the rumbling of a motor as a truck started in the driveway, and a quick look out the gauzy curtains showed her nothing but the delivery truck, heading back out after the driver had dropped off a package with a cursory knock. With a noisy gasp, Emma started to breathe again. Seth thought she cared too much about what other people thought. This was probably true, but old habits died hard, and she’d just as soon keep the fact that she’d spent the night with him under wraps until she knew where exactly they were going to go from here. She hurried to find the rest of her clothes and dressed quickly. Just before leaving, she flipped his note over and scrawled her number on the back of it. She wasn’t sure he had it, which made her feel even less certain about last night. Something that had felt so completely right shouldn’t have left her this way only a few hours later.
It only drove home the fact that she didn’t really
know him. Not yet. But she wanted to. That was the one thing she was certain of, and what she held on to as she locked up and walked out the door.
* * *
“Something’s weird.”
“Just one something? That
is
weird.”
Emma leaned against the trunk of the Witch Tree and shot her sister a dirty look. Sam was sketching a few feet away with the world’s most innocent expression on her face, which meant she was being a jerk on purpose. Emma carefully put the remains of her picnic lunch to the side, scooped up a handful of sticks and dirt, and threw it at her sister.
“Hey!” Sam shook the dirt off her sketch pad. “I’m being sympathetic!”
“No, you’re being a brat. Would you listen for a second, Georgia O’Keeffe? This is serious.”
Sam sighed, looked resigned, and put the pad aside. Then she scooted forward until her knees were nearly touching Emma’s. “Okay. Lay it on me. But if you’re going to go into some sort of shame spiral because everybody knows you’re sleeping with Seth Andersen, you might want to think about not parking your car in his driveway all night when you get a booty call.”
Emma blinked. “When I get a— Damn it, Sam, could you find something else to call it? It was
not
a booty call! It was a . . . a . . .”
“Unifying experience? Night of transcendent physicality?”
“I will cut you. Don’t think I won’t,” she warned her giggling sister. “You suck. That isn’t the way I talk.”
“It is in my head when I’m mad at you,” Sam admitted, not looking the least bit guilty. “Oh, stop. I’m just teasing. But I did figure that’s why you wanted to have
lunch. Though I appreciate the fancy picnic spread and lack of pudding cups. I keep telling Jake they’re made of chemical sludge, but he just can’t quit them.”
“That’s because he’s kind of a big five-year-old,” Emma replied. “And no. Believe it or not, I don’t care that people know we slept together. You know Jenny, the barista at Brewbaker’s? This morning, she asked me if he had any single cop friends I could fix her up with. Apparently she loves men in uniform.”
“And you didn’t turn volcanic red and run away?”
“No. I said I’d ask him. Then I paid her and left.”
Sam’s blue-green eyes widened. “Oh my God.”
“I know.” Emma hunched her shoulders and sighed. “Seth thought I was crazy when I asked him to pretend to date me, but I was right about what it would do: no more random guys texting me, no new versions of my party story, no more random passersby singing ‘What a Feeling’ to me. Now it’s just ‘Hey, guess they must have liked that one wild night of passion because look, more sexytime,’ and I really don’t care.”
“Wait. You asked him to pretend to date you?”
“Once. He said no.”
Sam dropped her face into her palm. “Em. Honestly. That’s so . . . you.”
“I’m just going to pretend you mean it was a logical and simple solution to a nagging problem and move on.”
“Whatever floats your boat.” Sam folded her arms on top of her knees and watched Emma with renewed interest. “I wondered why I hadn’t heard from you. Sorry I’ve been so busy, Em. I know I tease you, but you don’t usually have actual problems. Just the imaginary problems you like to obsess over until you destroy them with your mental laser beams.”
Emma pressed her lips together. “You could at least
pretend
you don’t think I’m a spaz.”
Sam smiled. “You’re a lovable, extremely competent spaz. And you hide the spazziness well from the general public. How’s that?”
“It’ll do.” Emma shifted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s okay that you’re busy, Sam. You’re getting married in a month, you’re with a gorgeous guy who’s crazy about you, you have a cool job and, you know, a life. I know you’ll find me when you need me.” She hadn’t meant to sound so sad about it, but it seeped through anyway. While she kept her head down, nose to the grindstone, everyone else was passing her by, including the little sister who’d always needed her for support, even when they bickered otherwise.
Sam placed a gently reassuring hand over one of Emma’s. For once, Emma didn’t stiffen at all. She needed the comfort, however small.
“
Em
. I’ll always need you. I was glad you wanted to have lunch with me out here today, no matter what it was about.” She tilted her head to study her sister more closely. “Something
is
wrong. I can see it. What happened?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” Emma blew out a breath and looked up into the gnarled branches of the Witch Tree, green dappled with golden light. “I haven’t seen him since Tuesday night. You know, the infamous booty call.”
Sam’s eyebrows went up. “It’s only Friday. I mean, has he called? If not, that’s a dick move, and I will personally go beat him up, but otherwise . . . I mean, he works weird hours, right?”
“Sometimes. He’s not on nights right now.”
“But you’ve talked to him, at least.”
“Oh yeah, he calls. We talk. Sort of.” Emma ground the heel of her shoe into the dirt and frowned at it. “He’s actually very easy to talk to.”
Sam looked at her curiously. “You know, normally you’d welcome a guy who was making a concerted effort to
not
crawl up your butt immediately. I’m not sure I’m seeing the problem here.”
Emma rolled her eyes, wishing she could articulate this better. That had always been one of her strengths, being able to use words as tools or shields or even weapons. But this thing with Seth—she couldn’t put her finger on it. It just didn’t feel right. And it was more than just waking up on the couch Tuesday morning. . . . It was the unshakable feeling that he was tiptoeing around her for reasons that had roots in the vast, unknowable space that was his past.
“I talk. He asks questions. I talk some more. I’ll bet you he could now answer all sorts of questions about me. I even . . . We even talked about Dad, a little.”
Sam looked taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t think you did that.”
“I didn’t. I don’t. That’s what I mean. He’s so . . .” She sighed, then growled. “He won’t talk about himself, Sam. I barely know a thing about him. He’d just found out that a friend of his had killed himself when I showed up on Tuesday, and he had nothing to say. He looked terrible, but it was off-limits. Which I understand to an extent, but it isn’t just that. Where he grew up, how he grew up, his parents, his time in the army—
nothing
is fair game. I get a hint of information, and then he changes the subject.”
Sam appeared to mull this over. “Well, it’s early days yet, right? Despite the, ah, booty call. Are you sure I don’t get to call it that? You called it that.”
“I was being facetious. No.”
“He’s probably just really reserved. Not that—oh, look at you blush. I guess he wasn’t reserved in bed, huh?” Sam flashed a delighted grin before her expression softened again. “Really, though, you might just have to give him some time. Maybe there’s an evil ex. Maybe it’s a soldier thing. Or maybe it’s just him. If you like him, though, keep working at him. You’re good at wearing people down. Like the ocean. Or a natural disaster.”
“Such flattery.” Emma arched an eyebrow, but Sam looked unrepentantly amused. “I
know
,” Emma continued with a groan. “I know it could be anything. I’m just not used to this. He wanted me. I decided I was on board with that, which was kind of a huge deal. So what’s the problem
now
? Why does it have to keep being complicated?”
“I think the problem is that people
are
complicated, and you’re used to your work relationships, which are a lot more . . . transactional.”
“You’re not a work relationship,” Emma pointed out, “and we do just fine.”
“Em, you’re my older sister. If you don’t know me after all these years, after growing up in the same house, you have unfixable problems.”
“I made friends with Brynn!” Emma said. “We took off and went shoe shopping after work yesterday!”
“Well, you’re not sleeping with Brynn, to my knowledge, and also good for you! She seems fun, and you both have an unnatural love of girly suits.” Sam patted her hand. “Look at my baby, all grown up and making friends.”
Emma pressed her lips together. “Did I mention I’ll cut you? I think I did.”
Sam snorted. “Empty threats. You’d hate jail.” Then
she sighed. “You really like this guy, don’t you? I’ve never seen you so twisted up over someone.”
Emma hung her head. Admitting it felt like waving a white flag, which was something she wasn’t normally inclined to do. But there was no avoiding the truth. “I do like him. I don’t really want to, but I do.”
“You think if you fall for him, he’ll leave.” It wasn’t a question. Sam knew her better than anyone. Emma nodded.
“Or worse. He’s got an awful black eye right now, and it was just some routine thing. He’s a cop.”
Sam’s eyes were full of understanding. “Yes, he is. And he’s a good cop, or you wouldn’t like him so much. But his having a dangerous job doesn’t mean you couldn’t keep him. It doesn’t mean you’d lose him.”
Emma flinched. “I’ve known him for two weeks. I have no idea whether or not I’d want to keep him.” She knew she sounded defensive, but Sam, being Sam, had cut through all of the bull and gotten straight to the heart of the matter.
“You don’t expend this much energy on anything unless you’re serious,” Sam said. “I can’t imagine this is any different. You really like him, and he scares the hell out of you.”
She nearly denied it, then decided not to bother. If she couldn’t be honest with Sam, what did she have? “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted. “I know it’s irrational. Not everyone up and dies terrible deaths for no reason, or screws you over and leaves.”