Page 99 of Things I Overshared

I blink a few times, trying to clarify what I’ve just heard via my eyeballs, I guess.

“You don’t want me to talk to you for the whole two hours.”

“Well . . .” He ponders. “At one point, I may have to use the loo.”

After a second, I register the joke he’s just made and burst out laughing. My full, obnoxious, way-too-loud laugh. And to my surprise and delight, Emerson laughs too. A real laugh, full and hearty and without reservation. It is my new favorite sound.

When we can breathe again, I ask him about his past trips to Paris, which leads to talk of his unbearably awkward tween and teen years. I share my own horror stories about middle school and high school. I vividly recall the day I stood up for a nerd who’d let one slip in class by turning to the hot, popular bully and proclaiming, “Everybody farts, Alex.” It was not the victorious savior moment I’d hoped for.

We laugh again and again as we share about our siblings and parents. It’s crazy how much we have in common with the whole family empire thing, an umbrella that covers over every area of our lives, whether we want it to or not. We also have plenty of Canton inside jokes and OU memories to swap. For four years, I knew Emerson was there, but I never saw him, the yin to my yang, the calm to my SamStorm. Just two doors down, hidden behind his fogged glass door, armored up in his magnificent three-piece suit. There, all that time.

We don’t really talk about anything important, but at the same time, it’s all important. His answers and stories—said in about one-fourth of the number of words I use—give me tiny glimpses into his past, into him. While we talk, he holds my hand, grabs my thigh, holds my cheek, and steals kisses whenever he wants. Often in the middle of my sentences, which to be fair, do tend to ramble.

I get up to go to thelooat one point, and when I come back, Emerson grabs me and pulls me into his lap before I reach my seat. His hand slides up my inner thigh and stops. Then he squeezes and puts his mouth to my ear. “Should’ve worn a dress, Angel.”

He puts me back in my seat, and good thing, because I can no longer move my legs.

_________

“Le Meurice, please, Jean,” I say as we climb into our new hired car. Jean doesn’t smile or nod, barely acknowledging us.

“Actually, the Four Seasons,” Emerson corrects casually.

“What?” I gape at him. He gives me a smug grin and looks out the window. “You changed our reservation?”

“I did.”

“Emerson,” I start through gritted teeth. “I looked forever for that suite for us. It wasn’tthatexpensive.”

He turns back to me, unruffled. “We don’t need a two-room suite anymore.” My mouth flops open and then snaps shut. I purse my lips together to keep a smile from breaking out. I take a few deep breaths to absorb what has just happened.

He took it upon himself to make calls and change our reservations. This is a bit annoying, because I already made our plan. But the reason, the confidence with which he said it,we don’t need two rooms anymore.That proclamation wipes out all my other thoughts. I hold in a squeal for a good ten minutes.

Jean says nothing, no comments about the city, no questions about our visit. I lean over to Emerson.

“Do you think Charlie is missing us as much as we’re missing him right now?” I whisper.

“I am sure he misses you,” he whispers back.

I shove him. “You don’t have to just agree with me. I’m sure Charlie is living his best life without our awkward tension in his car every single day.” Emerson laughs at that, then leans in with a squeeze of my hand.

“I don’tjustsayanything, Samantha. Anyone who’s met you would miss you.”

My cheeks flush, probably scratched by the wings of all the butterflies that just erupted inside me. I stare at the man. Who is this guy?

“Oh yeah? What about you, back when you couldn’t even stand to have me in your office?”

He rolls his eyes. “Even then.” He kisses the side of my head.

Mayday! Mayday! I am falling hard here!

He said it first, but I’m surehewill be the death ofme.

Chapter 31

“Oh, Em. This is too much,” I whisper when he opens the door to our private balcony off the penthouse suite. Just beyond the wrought iron rail is a breathtaking view of the city, including the Eiffel Tower, as if on display just for us.

“Less than the gargantuan flat you booked, actually.”