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She walks further into the kitchen and pulls a bar stool out from under the breakfast bar. Sitting down opposite me, she gives me a long look.
“Right,” she says, her voice soft but teasing. “You look about as relaxed as a cat in a bathtub. Anything to do with a certain charming gentleman we both know?”
How she’s come to such a conclusion, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have the poker face I imagine I have, or maybe it’s just because she’s one of my oldest friends and knows me far too well.
Even so, as I roll my eyes, I can’t help the heat that rises to my cheeks.
“It’s not—” I begin, but at the sight of Sharon’s raised eyebrow, I sigh and shake my head. I might as well just surrender. I’m not going to win this battle, am I?
“Okay, maybe it’s a little bit about him.”
“About who?” Debs’s voice carries down the hallway, her person soon following. She walks into the kitchen, her face full of intrigue. “Who are we talking about?”
I’m used to these guys just walking into my house. Apart from the fact that I don’t have the door locked during the day—crime is nearly non-existent in Maple Springs—they both have a key.
Sharon waves Debs to silence and then turns back to me, clearly scared that Debs’s arrival and interruption might break the moment and that I might clam up like a shell.
“Go on,” Sharon encourages, her expression softening. “We’re listening.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the words bubbling up, too tangled and insistent to hold back.
“I don’t know. It’s like, we started this whole thing with an agreement, right? Just a practical arrangement. No feelings, no complications. But now…” I trail off, looking out the window, scared of the words that might leave my mouth. Scared that once they are said, they can’t be unsaid.
“And I keep thinking about the past, about what he did. About how he completely humiliated me and destroyed the little confidence I had. But now… it’s different. He’s different. He’s changed.”
“He’s grown up,” Debs says softly. “Like we all tend to do.”
Sharon and Debs are gazing at me with gentle expressions, and my worry about what I should or shouldn’t say dissipates. These are my friends. They love me no matter what. I’m safe when I’m with them.
“Has he, though?” I say. “He doesn’t have a bad boy reputation for no reason. I mean, let’s face it, he always has.”
“Let’s put the reputations aside for a minute,” Debs says carefully. “You’ve spent the last few weeks with him. What does your gut tell you?”
I heave a sigh and shrug. “I don’t know.”
Sharon looks at Debs. “Maybe we need to forget about Ryan and concentrate on Emma.” Turning to me, she says, “You liked him all those years ago. Before thatthinghappened. Are you worried those feelings might be coming back?”
I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Something like that. We’ve been spending all this time together, and it’s… well, it’s confusing. Part of me is terrified because I remember how it felt back then and how badly it hurt. But the other part of me…” I stop, unsure of how to explain the quiet happiness I’ve felt in hispresence, the sense of ease that was becoming more dangerous than anything else.
Sharon nods slowly. “It sounds like maybe that ‘other part’ of you wants to see where this could go.”
I shake my head violently. “Oh, no. I can’t think like that. Not with Ryan. It’s not… safe. We agreed that this was just business, that we wouldn’t get attached.”
Sharon has an eyebrow raised, and leaning forward slightly, she says. “Emma, sweetie, if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t do things halfway. Maybe you’re already more attached than you’d like to admit.”
Behind her, Debs is nodding slowly.
The words hit me harder than I expect, a gentle reminder of the truth I’ve been avoiding these last few days. I don’t want to be attached; I don’t want to feel that easiness when he makes me laugh, or that flutter of excitement when he looks at me with a particular smile.
I moved past all that years ago.
No. You dug a six-foot hole and buried your feelings in a dark pit, hoping they would never see the light of day again.
Sure; that, too.
But as Sharon’s words settle in, I wonder if I haven’t underestimated my heart.
“Maybe you’re right,” I murmur, running a hand over my face. “I just… I don’t know what I feel. Or when I do feel, I don’t know what to do about those feelings.”