“He likes you,” he said, as if the entire thing hadn’t happened.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it matters.”
“I’m with Simon,” Emmy reminded him.
“Ah yes, the intrepid reporter. Well, here’s what I see, kiddo. Simon lives in Chicago, and he’s nowhere to be found. Tucker Lloyd lives in San Francisco and is supposed to be attending a baseball game tonight. Which one of them is here with you?”
He didn’t need her to answer. Her father, as usual, was a keen master at calling the plays the way he saw them.
Chapter Twenty
Simon Howell lived in a fancy, too-expensive-for-its-own-good apartment about five minutes from Lincoln Park. He loved to tell people about the building’s proximity to the park and the beach as if he were pointing out the winning features on a purebred dog. It drove Emmy nuts at parties when he would talk about the ease with which he could walk to the Magnificent Mile.
All she was thinking about in the cab ride from the hotel to his apartment was how lucky she was he didn’t live in the suburbs.
She’d split the cab with Tucker to his hotel and left him on the steps while she continued her trek to her boyfriend’s apartment.
Take tonight, see what there is. Don’t make rash decisions.
Right, because Emmy was one to make rash decisions so often.
The cab stopped in front of Simon’s building, and Emmy slipped the driver a handful of bills before getting out. The air was warm, making her skin tingle in the early evening. Between the two flights, her hours at the hospital and the stress of the day, Emmy was exhausted. She wanted a bubble bath, a full bottle of wine and a long sleep.
Maybe days of sleep.
The doorman let her in, and once in the elevator she pressed her head against the cold, shiny gold wall. She took several deep breaths, letting her exhalations leave fog on the metal.
Sleep. Wine. Bath.
No, that wouldn’t work. Bath. Wine. Sleep.
The elevator doors slid open, and she dragged her feet down to Simon’s apartment and knocked. It was still suppertime, and she worried he might have made plans. She hadn’t called him, giving herself every excuse not to. The plane didn’t allow phones. The hospital didn’t allow phones in the recovery area.
The reality of it was she didn’t want his participation in the events of the day. Simon was a fixer. He needed to make everything work, and when it didn’t, he tended to sulk. The last thing she’d wanted was sulky Simon at the hospital making her even more miserable. It might not have been fair, but it was honest. Now she was assured everything with her father was okay, and she was ready to let her boyfriend in to the events of the day.
Footsteps approached from behind the door, and she was relieved to know he was home. Simon opened the door, still wearing his dress shirt from the office and a pair of gray slacks.
“Em?”
“Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” He looked her up and down and then into the hall behind her. “Did you bring anything?”
“No.”
“There’s not a game.”
“Not in this city, no.”
“Are you okay?”
“Can you invite me in?” They were still standing in the door, her out in the hallway with nothing but her sweater and her purse.
Simon, realizing his mistake, stepped out of the doorway so she could pass. “Sorry. But what’s up?” Then, catching himself, he added, “I’m happy you’re here. This is a nice surprise.” He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for a tight, warm hug.
“Dad had a heart attack.”
His hug slackened, and he held her back far enough he could look at her face. “Vin? Vin’s indestructible.”
“His heart disagreed.”
“Is he…?”
“He’ll be fine. Tough old man. Doctor said he’d be back in the booth in no time.”
“At least Cubs fans can look forward to one good thing this season.” Simon kissed her forehead.
Over the smell of his too-spicy cologne Emmy picked up the scent of garlic and bread. Her stomach rumbled but felt queasy at the same time. “You’re cooking?”
Simon didn’t cook.
He looked back towards the kitchen like he wasn’t sure of the answer. “Yes,” he said uncertainly.
“For yourself?”
Simon released her from the hug and stepped back. “For you, too, now. You’re staying?”
“I thought so.” She moved past him and into the kitchen. A bottle of wine sat on the counter, and water boiled on the stove with a plastic container of fresh pasta next to it. Another container of pesto was open, and the oven light showed a loaf of garlic bread broiling.