Damn.
I shift in my seat, thinking about anything but her mouth. Like trash collection. Dog shit. Stinky hockey gear. Anything to kill the image of her licking that foam from her lip.
Ishouldbe angry.
I’ve told myself that a hundred times.
She walked away without a word, left me in the dark, no clue what I’d done wrong.
But I’m not mad. Not even close. I’m just so fucking happy to see her sitting across from me right now.
When she opens her eyes, she catches me staring. A blush creeps up her neck, and she tries to hide a smile.
“Sorry,” she says, glancing at her cup. “Guilty pleasure. They put European Nutella in this, and it’s sooo good.”
“What the hell is that?” I blurt.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding, right? You’veneverheard of Nutella? It’s like peanut butter, but with chocolate and hazelnut mixed in.”
I lift a shoulder. “Still no.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Well, it’s huge in Europe. I mean, I’ve never been overseas, but a German patient told me about it once, so I hunted it down at the store, and honestly, it changed my life.”
She’s babbling now, bright and animated, and I could listen to it forever.
She talks about how she makes crepes with it, adds bananas and strawberries, and sometimes just eats it straight from the jar with a spoon.
2Her hands move as she talks, and that spark in her eyes—it kills me.
I can’t hide my amusement.
She catches it. “What?”
I chuckle, leaning back. “You’re like the Bubba Gump of… Nuthole or whatever.”
She bursts out laughing. “Nutella, you idiot.Nutella.” She’s still giggling as she shakes her head. “Nuthole. Jesus, Liam.”
My grin widens. I used to live for making her laugh like that when we were together.
“Also, Bubba’s last name wasn’t Gump, dude. Bubba Gump was the shrimp company they started together. You know I take my movie trivia seriously.”
“Ah, yes. I forgot,” I say. “Movies and food are serious business in Emma-land.”
I didn’t forget. I haven’t forgotten a single thing about the person she was six years ago. What I don’t quite know is who she is today. What is her life like now?
“I’m still a bit of a foodie,” she admits. “I don’t get out much to try new places, but I’ve gotten pretty good at cooking.”
“Your job keeps you busy?” I ask. “In the ER?”
“It does,” she says. “I have a decent schedule, though. I usually work three, twelve-hour shifts each week.”
“Oof,” I cringe. “That’s a long shift.”
“Oh, longer, usually. I rarely actually leave when my shift is over.”
“Why?”
“Oh, lots of reasons. A trauma comes in just as the shift is ending. You can’t just walk away when someone is bleeding out, right? Or your replacement gets stuck in traffic, so you have to stay until they arrive. Stuff like that. It happens eight days out of ten. That’s just the nature of the work.”
