“You, of all people, ought to know you could never stop Janey from doing what she wanted.” Dillon’s voice rumbled through his chest, his calm tone contradicting the fierce pounding of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
Looking at him, the acknowledgment flitted through his eyes, subdued, but there all the same. Dillon remembered that day.
“I’m sorry, Em.” He stared so deep into her eyes she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his.
Her heart pounded in response to the memories, to the man. It hammered out the longing to press against him again, to return the comfort he offered, but she couldn’t.
“I’m sorry too.” She braced her hands against his chest and shoved away from him, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t come here for this.”
“It’s okay.”
“I came here to tell you.” She squared her shoulders, drew what was left of her strength around her and held tight to it. “And to ask if you ever get any time off from this place.”
A sick sensation twisted through her stomach. She didn’t want to ask the question she knew she had to. She didn’t want to hear his answer, to have all those images taunt her mind.
He went silent, but his penetrating eyes bored through her.
“Yeah.” Confusion laced his voice. “We’re closed on Sundays. It’s a slow night and it keeps the churchgoers happy.”
“I was thinking maybe we could have dinner.” Emma clasped her hands together to still their sudden quaking.
His brows drew together, and he cocked his head to the side. “Dinner?”
She nodded. “So we can talk. I figured we could do it over dinner. We both have to eat, right?”
His eyes narrowed. “You have more to tell me.”
She took a deep breath and nodded, forcing herself to hold his gaze Emma reached into the right pocket of her jacket. She fingered the folded piece of paper, soft and worn from numerous readings, before pulling it out. It was now or never.
“I found this when I went through her things.” The paper trembled in her fingers. “Frankly, we need to talk about what’s in this, and I don’t want to do it here.”
Curiosity lit his eyes. Dillon took the letter. Her heartbeat tripled when he glanced at it. He ran the pad of his thumb over the soft, worn paper, but instead of opening and reading it, he pocketed it and looked at her again. “All right. Sunday night then. Seven o’clock, my place. I’ll cook.”
Sunday night, Emma sat in the car in the driveway of the bed and breakfast, staring in the rearview mirror. Her bundled passenger squirmed, turning her head from side to side and kicking at the blanket that covered her legs. The stillness of the vehicle and sudden chill in the air woke Annie from a peaceful slumber. The baby’s fussing seemed to echo the nervous knot in Emma’s stomach.
She twisted in her seat to readjust the blanket and smiled at the chubby little face. “You ready for this, sweet girl?”
Slate blue eyes blinked at her and began to fill with tears. A fat bottom lip popped out. The baby let out a long, tired whimper.
Emma sighed. “Yeah, me neither.”
She turned back around and stared at the wooden light pole in front of her. She was going to have to be in his house, surrounded by his things, immersed in his scent—a fact that made her stomach somersault to think about. She hadn’t anticipated remembering that night. The way it changed her view of him. How was it she’d known him for most of her life and never discovered Dillon James had a heart? Why had it changed her view of him entirely?
She always attributed the stress of the funeral to the new buds of emotions that sprouted around her memories of him, but he’d done it again. He comforted her in a weak moment, and she found his arms a disturbingly safe place to be.
Now, the thought of being alone with him, having to discuss intimate topics with him, all of which revolved around his relationship with Janey, made her tremble with a bad case of nerves. Dillon would have to tell her things she didn’t want to know.
On top of it, somehow in the middle of all that, she had to convince him to not take Annie away from her.
Emma let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. God give me strength.
“Come on, sweetie.” Mind set, Emma opened her eyes and smiled in the rearview mirror before shifting the car into gear. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
Bent over the open oven, Dillon jerked his head up at the knock on the front door. Emma. He shoved the rack back inside and closed the oven door before glancing at the microwave clock. Damn. The woman couldn’t be five minutes late?
“Coming,” he bellowed in the general direction of the front door then stepped to his right. He scooped up the place settings he’d gotten out and deposited them on the dining room table on his way through.