Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s nothing! I got him beat up by my brother, and then I went on what I thought was one date that turned into us working together. Shouldn’t you just be grateful I got this gig in the first place?”
Vaughn scoffed. “Mm-hmm, honey, those things are not mutually exclusive. We can be grateful and traumatized by your dirty secrets.” He swiveled the light on top of the tripod while Lindsey fiddled with her camera settings.
Emma apologized at least three more times that afternoon and gave them as many details as she could without making it sound like she cared about the way Tyler looked when he picked her up for the game or how he stood on his porch in bare feet when she returned his truck.
After that day, she responded with one-or-two-word answers when they asked about Tyler, and pretty soon, they stopped asking altogether. For the following two weeks, Emma threw herself into work, determined to avoid Tyler as much as possible to avoid any more interrogation.
But mostly to avoid the soup of emotions that bubbled to the surface every time he was close. That kiss. It had opened a floodgate she didn’t know she’d built.Grateful and traumatized. She desperately wanted more of his lips on hers, but feeling him that close—experiencing what that broke open in her—sent fear and self-doubt tumbling through her.
This wasn’t real,and for all the work she thought she’d done since Alex, she was still a delicate wine glass teetering on the edge of a table, just waiting to be shattered again. She couldn’t let herself get invested, and certainly not with someone who she knew wouldn’t treat her heart carefully.
So she laboured over every detail in their menu shoots, transforming ordinary dishes into tantalizing works of art. At home, she spent hours researching businesses in the area beyond their normal network and sent countless emails to potential clients, hoping to secure new projects for when their current gig ended.
She updated her website, and when that was finished, Emma turned to deep cleaning her apartment. The sound of the vacuum and sight of bags full of donation items drowned out any thoughts of Tyler.
At the property, she found reasons to disappear over lunch, to leave the room when she saw his silhouette moving through the stained glass, and she left with her phone against her ear a few minutes before or after he started packing up for the day. She fake talked with so many people, she lost track.
Emma went to two more playoff games, but never went to the pub after. Sean and her parents didn’t question it since she’d made a big deal about her stressful work schedule, and nobody else on the team missed her.
Because she knew how much Sunday Supper meant, to her mom especially, she stopped in but arrived early and left before most of the team even showed up. One time, Tyler walked in as she was putting on her boots. That had been a close call, but she’d successfully rushed past him, telling him an alarm was going off at her apartment building.
It was Friday again, and Emma found herself back in the now fully functional kitchen styling salads for the menu. The lettuce looked crisp, the tomatoes glossy, but as she studied Lindsey’s display, something wasn’t sitting right.
“It’s the background,” she murmured. “I need more texture.”
"Ooh, Troy told me there were some antiques in the storage room downstairs," Lindsey suggested, switching out her lens.
"Excellent.” Emma made her way toward the staircase. The refinished wood floors creaked beneath her feet as she descended. She took her time, absorbing this new part of the house. The stairs were narrow, and the wallpaper, faded with age, displayed a pattern of delicate flowers that stretched along the hallway. Wallpaper was making a comeback now, and she’d seen a similar pattern advertised in a Restoration Hardware shoot. This would show well on the website.
As she entered the storage room, Emma felt as though she'd walked into another era. Antique furniture lined the walls, mixed in with construction equipment and storage supplies. First-aid and cleaning supplies, old vases. Her fingers traced the edge of an ornate mirror in a tarnished frame as she breathed in the smell of dust and aged wood.
Her eyes landed on the woven baskets stacked on the top shelf. Perfect. She turned and shuffled to the back of the cramped room, then stretched her hands up. There was no way she was going to be able to reach them, even on her tiptoes.
She pulled out her phone and sent Lindsey a quick text.
Can you ask Vaughn to bring down the step stool? Too short
Emma waited, feeling a bit uneasy staring at the dangling bare light bulb. She fiddled with a strand of hair as she tried not to bump into the shelves and get dust on her pants, then breathed a sigh of relief when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Emma watched the door, waiting for Vaughn to appear.
Her breath caught when instead, Tyler ducked in, his muscular frame filling the Hobbit doorway. Warning sirens blared in her head as her anatomy reacted instantly to his proximity. Heat flushed her cheeks, and it felt like tiny fireworks were bursting beneath her skin.
"Tyler.”
He exhaled. “Well that’s a relief. I wondered if you still remembered my name.”
Emma scoffed, looking anywhere but directly at him. The sound of his deep voice contained in such a small space sent shivers down her spine. His polo shirt hugged his chest and his mussed, dark hair curled over his ears.
Emma had to try twice to plant her hand on her hip. “Did you come down for a vase?” She pointed at the shelf. “I can see how that would be helpful for internet . . . searching. Or whatever it is you’re doing today.”
“Internet searching. Tons of it.” Tyler stepped around a box that looked like it held a light fixture. He had searched her on the internet once. Her heart rate clicked up a notch. "Lindsey told me you needed help reaching something."
Lindsey, the traitor. She knew how hard Emma was trying to avoid being in the same room with Tyler. This was worse than when Faith teamed up with the Mayor on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Lindsey was dead to her.
“I texted to have Vaughn bring down the step stool.” Emma’s voice wobbled, and she coughed so he could believe it was the dust in her lungs.
“I’m better than a step stool.”
“Cockier too?”
