Bed of Roses (Bride Quartet #2)(75)

IN THE MORNING, SHE FIXED FRENCH TOAST, AND DID SOMETHING crispy and mildly sweet to an apple she'd cut into slices.

"This is great. Flower artist, soccer champ, kitchen wizard."

"I am many things." She sat across from him in the alcove he used for dining. She thought the space needed flowers, something bold and bright in a copper vase. "And you're now out of eggs, and very low on milk. I'm actually doing some marketing today if you want me to pick some up, or anything else."

She saw the hitch, the hesitation before he spoke.

"No, that's okay. I need to make a run later in the week. How're the quads?"

"Fine." She ordered herself not to make an issue out of his reluctance to have her pick up a damn carton of eggs for him. "I guess the bastard elliptical is doing its job. How do you keep in shape?"

"I use the gym three or four times a week, play basketball, that sort of thing."

She sent him a slitted-eye, accusatory stare. "I bet you like it. The gym."

"Yeah, I do."

"So does Parker. I think you're both sick."

"Keeping in shape is sick?"

"No, liking what goes into keeping in shape is sick. I get doing it, but it should be considered a chore, a duty, a necessary evil. Like brussels sprouts."

Amusement warmed his eyes. "Brussels sprouts are evil?"

"Of course they are. Everyone knows this, even if they won't admit it. They're little green balls of evil. Just like squats are a form of torture designed by people who don't need to do squats in the first place. Bastards."

"I find your philosophy on fitness and nutrition fascinating."

"Honesty can be fascinating." She savored the last sip of her coffee. "At least when summer hits I can use the pool. That's sensible, and it's fun. Well, I should go up and shower since I slaved away over a hot stove while you had yours. I'll make it quick so I don't hold you up." She glanced back at the clock on that hot stove. "Really quick."

"Ah . . . listen, you don't have to rush. You can just lock up the back when you leave."

Pleased, she smiled. "Then I'll have another cup of coffee first."

It allowed her to linger a little, over the coffee, then over the shower. Wrapped in a towel, she slicked cream over her skin, then opened the moisturizer for her face.



       
         
       
        

As she started on her makeup, she saw Jack step in, saw in the mirror the way his gaze skimmed over the scatter of her tubes and pots on the bathroom counter. He barely missed a beat, but there was no mistaking the unease in his eyes-and no denying the hurt in her heart.

"I gotta go." The brush of his hand down her damp hair was sweet, as was the kiss. "See you later?"

"Sure."

Alone, she finished her makeup, her hair. She dressed, and she packed.

When she was done she went back into the bathroom, viciously scrubbed the sink, the counter until she was sure she'd left no trace of her or her things in his space.

"No need to panic, Jack," she mumbled. "All clear. All yours."

On the way out, she stopped and left a note on his kitchen board.

Jack-forgot I'm booked tonight. We'll catch up later. Emma

She needed a break.

She tested the back door to make sure it locked behind her, carried her case down to her car. Once she got behind the wheel, she flipped open her phone and called Parker.

"Hey, Emma, I'm on the other line with-"

"I'll be quick. Can we have a girl night tonight?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really. I just need girl night."

"In or out?"

"In. I don't want to go out."

"I'll take care of it."

"Thanks. I'll be home in a couple of hours."

Emma closed the phone.

Friends, she thought. Girlfriends. They never let you down.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I OVERREACTED."

After a full day of work, during which she'd replayed dozens of Jack details, Emma settled down.

"We'll be the judge of that." Laurel took her place in the third-floor parlor, then bit into a slice of Mrs. Grady's exceptional homemade pizza.

"He didn't do anything wrong. He didn't even say anything wrong. I'm annoyed with myself."

"Okay, but you tend to be annoyed with yourself instead of anybody else. Even when the anybody else deserves it." Mac poured a glass of wine, offered the bottle to Laurel.

"Nope. Detoxifying massive quantities of tequila. It could take days."

"I don't do that." Emma scowled over her pizza. "That makes me sound like a weenie."