Taking a deep breath, trying not to enjoy the feeling of Tucker's strong arm enveloping me, I say, "Thank you for everything, Tucker. You really didn't have to get all those things. You could have seriously asked me to leave. I deserved it."
His head is right next to mine and his breath tickles my skin when he says, "I wanted to, Emma."
"Okay . . ."
"I do request one thing." There is determination in his voice, all joking set aside.
"What's that?"
He takes a deep breath and says, "Rule number six. Sadie and my mom are off limits when it comes to conversation topics. Okay?"
Without skipping a beat, I say, "That's fair. I'm sorry I brought Sadie up the other night, I just felt-"
"Emma." He squeezes me. "Off limits, okay? We're not talking about it."
I guess not. "Okay."
"Thank you." He pulls me in closer to his chest, his grip never loosening.
"Uh, are we spooning right now?"
"Yeah." He's so casual about it, as if all friends do this. "Got a problem with that, babe?"
"Uh, no. Just wanted to make sure you knew what was happening."
"I'm well aware. It's okay to spoon, Emma. Sometimes a human's touch is all you need to heal wounds. We opened some wounds between us this past week, and I want to heal them." He takes a second and then adds, "I don't want there to be any beef between us. I lost your friendship once already. I don't want to lose it again."
I try to turn around to face him, but he holds me in place. "Tucker, you're not going to lose my friendship, I promise." And surprisingly, I relax into his embrace.
Sometimes a human's touch is all you need to heal wounds. He's right. He's healing mine now.
He kisses the top of my head, and I feel his warmth spreading through me. "I'm holding you to that, babe." I'm holding him to that too.
Chapter Ten
TUCKER
Emma: I really don't think making pizza classifies as making dinner. We need to choose something that challenges us.
Tucker: Pizza is challenging when made drunk. Pick up lots of booze; it will be a fun game.
Emma: We are not cooking drunk, you're just asking to set your house on fire, and then where would that put us? Looking at Playboys together under a bridge while sharing a sleeping bag for shelter.
Tucker: That doesn't sound exciting to you?
Emma: Not even in the slightest.
Tucker: Fine, no pizza. How about goulash? That's simple and doesn't require having to be drunk.
Emma: Can we have garlic bread with it?
Tucker: I would be pissed if you came home without it.
Emma: Will you judge me if I eat half of the loaf?
Tucker: Will you judge me if I lick the sauce jar clean?
Emma: I think we just established a judgment-free zone. Can you attest to this?
Tucker: Attested.
Emma: Good. We shall convene at six. Bring your cooking pants.
I pocket my phone and direct my attention back at the plans in front of me. Thankfully we were able to get the basic structures of the homes we've been working on completed before the cold weather rolled in. Now into the thick of things, we're making sure plumbing and electrics are carefully installed. It's tedious work, but luckily we have a system, and once plumbing and electrics are completed, then we can start hammering away on floors, walls, moldings, and all the fun aesthetic stuff homeowners like to fawn over.
A strong arm claps me on the back and I turn to see Racer and Smalls walk up behind me. "Drywall is up on the second floor." Racer runs his hand through his hair, spiking up the mussed-up strands.
"Patched and primed?" I ask.
"Patched. Not primed yet. We ran out of primer."
"Carlos didn't order more?"
Racer shakes his head and turns to Smalls. "You don't have any extra from the Waverly house, do you?"
Smalls removes a cloth from the back of his pocket and wipes down his face. "No, we used every last drop."
Grunting to myself, I shoot a text to Carlos to get his ass on the primer. How the hell does a construction company run out of primer? I like having more responsibilities with my job and I'm not going to lie, I like the paycheck, but it does mean I have to deal with idiots, Carlos being one of them. I swear, being a manager of sorts is more handholding than anything. It's like I'm the parent of a bunch of grown-ass boys who should know how to do their jobs.
Once I finish texting Carlos, I say, "We should have some soon. We better actually, or I might have to tie Carlos up on the banister by his nuts." I toss the pencil I've been scribbling with all day on the table in front of me and stretch my neck from side to side. "How the fuck do we run out of primer?"