We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted, scrambling to opposite ends of the couch.
Caroline stands in the doorway, a plastic container in her hands, taking in the scene before her—the candles, the wineglasses on the coffee table, the romantic dinner setup still visible in the background, her son and stepson flushed and disheveled.
For one horrifying moment, I’m certain she saw us. Certain she’s going to drop the container, start screaming, call Dad, ignite a family crisis of epic proportions.
Instead, she smiles. “Oh, you’re watching a movie together! How nice.”
Emmett clears his throat, adjusting his position to hide the obvious evidence of our activities. “Yeah, uh, Lord of the Rings.”
“I can see that,” she nods toward the screen where Gandalf faces down the Balrog. “David and I are heading out tomorrow afternoon. I thought I’d bring these by now. Chicken enchiladas. They’ll keep for a few days.”
She moves to the kitchen, oblivious to the thick tension in the room. Or perhaps she’s deliberately ignoring it. It’s impossible to tell.
“This is so nice to see,” she continues, opening the refrigerator to place the container inside. “You two spending time together.”
“Just…thought we’d hang out,” I manage, my voice strained. “Change things up.”
She returns to the living room, and I might be imagining it, but I think she’s careful not to look at either of us for too long. “Well, I’ll leave you to your movie. David’s waiting in the car—we’re going to dinner with the Hendersons.”
Emmett offers a stiff smile that looks more like a grimace. “Have fun.”
“You boys have everything you need for the weekend while we’re gone?”
“We’re good,” I assure her, willing my voice to sound normal. “Don’t worry about us.”
“I never do,” she says. “Good night, then.”
The door closes after her with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the silence she leaves behind. For a long moment, neither of us moves or speaks. The movie continues playing, but the moment—the magic, the madness, whatever it was—is shattered.
Emmett stands up. “I should clean up the kitchen.”
“I’ll help,” I offer, but he shakes his head.
“No need. It’s…it’s fine.”
We stand there, unable to look at each other, the ghost of what just happened hanging heavy between us.
“Emmett, about what happened—” I start.
“It was just practice,” he cuts me off, voice flat. “For Serena.”
The words sting more than they should. “Right. Of course.”
“I’m going to… I should get some sleep.” He gestures toward his bedroom. “I’ll clean up tomorrow.”
I nod, watching as he retreats, leaving the candles burning, the movie playing, the evidence of our almost-something scattered around the room like crime scene markers.
Once he’s gone, I sink back onto the couch, running a hand over my face. I know I won’t be able to sleep any time soon, so Ipad into the kitchen and start cleaning up. It’s only fair that I do it after Emmett went all out to prepare the dinner.
I try not to make too much noise as I load up the dishwasher, clean all the surfaces, and take out the trash.
When I’m done, I drag myself to my bedroom. I sprawl across my bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling as my mind replays every moment—the softness of Emmett’s lips, the weight of his body against mine, the sounds he made when I deepened the kiss.
My fingers drift to my mouth, tracing where his lips had been. The ghost of his taste lingers—sweet, intoxicating. Wrong.
Sleep eludes me for hours. By the time exhaustion drags me under, one thought echoes in my mind with terrifying clarity: I don’t want to help Emmett seduce Serena anymore. I don’t want him to recreate this evening with her. I don’t want to share what we just had.
I want it all for myself.
