“What?” I snap. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” She grabs a mug and pours me a cup of coffee without asking. “Clearly something has you on edge.”
“I’m fine, but I just don’t like the jokes about Christian and me.”
“All right, I’m sorry.”
I feel bad and wish I hadn’t reacted so swiftly. “Since when do you bake?” I ask, shifting the attention away from my behavior.
“There are a lot of things I started doing since we moved down here,” Emmie says. “I know you’re all Manhattan girl, but I think this town will really start growing on you.”
“I think it already has,” I say, remembering the recent inspiration in my designs.
“What? My ears must be deceiving me.”
“You’re not the only one who has changed,” I say with a smile, scooping the sugar into my black coffee.
“Oh, do tell.” Emmie plops a muffin on the table in front of me, no concern for a plate or napkin underneath it. I smile, thinking of Henry’s pet peeve. Pulling up a chair, she sits down, bouncing Olivia on her knee.
“Tell what?”
“All these things that have changed about you. I feel like we never get to talk these days, and when we find time to Skype, it’s always baby stuff.”
“Seriously?” I gasp. “You can’t just put me on the spot like that. It’s not like I can just list things off.”
“Today is Colin’s morning for the gallery, so please, let’s talk about something,” Emmie pleads, grabbing my arm. “What about last night?”
“What about it?” I reply quickly.
“You went out with Christian, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, tell me, how did it go?” she pushes.
“You do realize I’m engaged to be married,” I remind her.
She glares at me. “Um, I know. I’m not accusing you of—” She pauses to place her hands over Olivia’s ears before whispering, “screwing him.”
I laugh. Screwing has somehow become a curse word since Emmie became a mother. It is actually quite endearing, and I want to squeeze my friend to pieces.
“He took me to dinner, then we came home, and I went to bed,” I say at last.
“Oh no, that won’t do at all,” Emmie protests. “Where did you go to dinner?”
Picking up the muffin, I take a sniff, trying to identify what is inside. There is a hint of banana and cinnamon. “You made these?” I ask nervously.
“Yes, and they’re good.”
“Do you have the number for poison control handy?”
“Shut up! They’re good.” Emmie slaps my arm playfully. “Quit changing the subject and tell me about last night.”
Lifting the delicious-smelling muffin up to my lips, I take a huge bite, allowing the moist mixture to dissolve in my mouth.
With a swallow, I take a sip of the coffee in front of me, then moan in delight. “Oh my God, that is crazy good!”
“Told you.”
“I’m going to get so fat by my wedding.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Now spill it. Where did you go to dinner last night?”
“Why do you want to know so bad?” I ask, delighting in her torture at this point.
“I don’t have a ton of girlfriends I get to dish with down here. Can’t you throw me a bone or something? I mean Jesus, it’s spit up and dirty diapers all day long. I could—” She’s getting heated.
“All right, all right, I’m just messing with you. Careful before you start lactating. He took me to Roadhouse.”
“Mmm …” Emmie moans. “I love their portabella burger.”
“That’s what I got! And dear God, those sweet potato fries? That place just isn’t right,” I say. “And I go back to my original statement that I am going to be so fucking fat by the wedding.”
I see Emmie flinch, and then realize my use of curse words in front of Olivia. “Sorry.”
“Was it weird?” Emmie continues, ignoring my apology.
I think about her question for a minute. “Honestly, no. It was like old times—well, not exactly like old times.”
“So you only went to dinner?”
“Yeah, we ended up staying until they closed. He was really curious about Henry, and when I talked about him he didn’t get weird at all. I would have never thought we could be friends again, but apparently it’s possible.”
“Did he talk about you guys at all?”
“Not really. It was more catching up on what’s happened over the past four years. I was glad to hear he seems to have conquered the drinking again.” Then, before I thought about it I ask, “Why wouldn’t you have told me?”