Page 39 of Resisting the Temptation (Broken Shelves #3)

Ben

W hile Emma finishes packing, I make myself comfortable on the desk chair in her room.

Her room is… not what I expected. Her office at work is so organized and neat, but her room is the complete opposite.

There’s a pile of clothes laying on the end of her queen-sized bed. Her sheets are hot pink with matching pillowcases, but instead of a matching comforter, she’s got some type of homemade quilt that looks like it’s made out of old T-shirts.

Maybe it’s because she’s been packing, but instead of putting her clothes back in the closet if she doesn’t want to take them, she tosses them on the end of the bed.

She has a wall full of random pictures in mismatched frames above her baby pink desk, which is covered in an array of office supplies and random pieces of mail.

There’s a full-body mirror standing next to her closet—which is bursting with shoes and clothes.

I can barely see inside the attached bathroom, but what I can see is makeup and skin care stuff strewn across the counter.

Is it possible for someone to be so organized in one aspect in their life, but not another?

It seems like Emma is.

Instead of it being off-putting, I find it makes me like her more. I want to know all the messy and disorganized parts of her. See what she hides beneath the mask.

For the last twenty minutes she’s been flitting between the bathroom and the bedroom, rolling clothes—I’ve counted eight outfits, not including pajamas—and gathering her toiletries.

“Do you need eight outfits for a not-even-five day trip?” I ask, watching intently as she rifles through what I assume is her underwear drawer. I want to know if she’s bringing any more of those pretty, lacy sets.

“I like to be prepared. I don’t always know if I’m going to want to wear the outfit I have planned. I know it’s silly, but I want to have options.” Her voice is quiet, and she won’t look at me as she says it. I think I’ve hurt her feelings.

“That makes sense. I usually wear the same thing every day, so I have no trouble packing. Will they all fit in your duffle, or do you need another bag?”

She finally looks at me. “Uh, they should all fit. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not making fun of me for being an over-packer.”

Something pokes at my heart. Has someone done that in the past? Have they made fun of her for wanting to be prepared? I may not understand why she does it, but I’m not going to make fun of her for it .

“You shouldn’t have to thank me for that, but you’re welcome. What else do you need to pack?”

Emma closes the drawer and drops the bundle of underwear in her bag before I can see it.

“I think just my phone charger and my Kindle.” She grabs the items and zips her bag.

Then, she grabs the pillow off of her bed and shoves it between the two smaller handles on the duffle bag before slinging it over her shoulder.

“You know hotels have pillows, right?”

“Yes. But my pillow is the perfect firmness and has already been broken in. Hotel pillows are usually too lumpy or too fluffy, and then I won’t be able to sleep.”

I guess that makes sense.

“Okay then. Last chance to grab something before we hit the road.” I glance at the time on my phone. “We should be able to make it to Vegas by eight with a few pit stops.”

Emma glances around her room again, then double checks the bathroom before she deems herself ready.

When she goes to reach for the duffle bag, I swoop in and grab it before she can.

“I can carry my own bag,” she huffs.

“I know. So can I. Let’s go, honey.”

Emma follows behind me as we walk out her front door. She locks it, then we walk to my car where I deposit the bag into the back seat, then open Emma’s door for her.

She picks up the plastic bag in her way. “What’s this?”

“Road trip snacks.” I give her shoulder a little shove to get her to sit down so I can close the door, then round the car to settle into the driver’s side.

Emma’s rifling through the bag with her brows furrowed when I close my door.

“How did you know these are my favorites?”

I shrug. “I pay attention. You and I have spent a lot of time in the car together.”

“I didn’t know you paid attention to those kinds of things.”

I start the car, then look her dead in the eye when I say, “I pay attention to everything about you, Dulzura. ”

I watch Emma’s throat work on a swallow. “Well, thank you. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

Whatever reply she had is cut off by my phone connecting to the Bluetooth, and the voices of the podcasters coming over the speakers.

When I get it turned off, Emma gives me an unamused look. “Are you seriously listening to a podcast about construction ?”

“It’s our field!”

“You’re not supposed to make it your whole life! Listen to a true crime podcast or an audiobook for crying out loud.”

“Got any recommendations?”

“Actually, yes. There’s a great new audiobook out now about a vanilla businessman who gets snowed in with two loggers who are really into primal play and—”

“ Che cazzo? What the hell kind of books do you read?”

Emma smirks. “That’s tame compared to the other one I just read about a mafia boss who breaks into this girl’s apartment and watches her sleep and then stalks her until she falls in love with him. Ooo or I could tell you about the one where her two step-brothers—”

“Nope.” I turn the construction podcast back on as I pull out onto the road. Emma shakes her head, but I see a small smile tugging at her lips.

This girl keeps managing to surprise me.