It took exactly five hours for word of my lunch date to travel through Honey Grove. What can I say? I’m practically a celebrity in this town. That and everyone else’s lives are so dull they’ll cling to whatever scraps of gossip they can get. Say what you want about me, but I keep this town fed.
“Pajarito, stop harassing the poor man,” Henry says, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. My chest twists, but I tamp the feeling down.
“Emma,” I say with a sigh, attempting to lay it on thick. “It was one lunch. It’s very new and I’d appreciate some privacy.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Oh, please. Your ‘dates’never happen during the day and—wait a second—have you actually ever been on a date?”
I playfully roll my eyes and grab the beer Henry set on the counter for me. “Jesus Christ. I’ve been on dates before. I’m not that much of a?—”
“Man whore,” she blurts out, cutting me off.
“Why does everyone keep using that term? It’s not very nice,” I complain, taking a sip of the ice-cold bottle. Henry doesn’t drink beer much, but he always has a few bottles waiting for me when I visit, which is most nights lately. Henry is a damn good cook, and ever since I moved out of my parents’ place, I found excuses to “stop by” right around dinner time. It is easy since we’re neighbors.
“What I think she means to say,” Henry says, whipping out his Emma translator, “is we haven’t seen you date anyone in a while and it’s a big deal that you took this one to your favorite diner and didn’t take her home afterward.”
Damn. Even my own brother doesn’t expect much from me. But I guess it’s my own fault. I’m not exactly well-versed in the love department, and every woman who’s gotten close has been chased off with my inability to take anything seriously.
“Well, maybe I’ve changed,” I respond, puffing my chest out.
Emma scoffs, but Henry pinches her side, causing a yelp to slip from her lips. She doesn’t say anything else, but she does turn to my brother for one of their telepathic conversations. My guess is he won because he’s the next one to talk.
“That’s great, Knox,” he says, stepping away from Emma and patting me on the shoulder. “If you need any advice, just let me know.”
I want to laugh, but I bite my lip instead. I’m not sure how my brother would react if I told him about my fake relationship. He’d either laugh so hard he’d choke on his expensive glass of wine, or he’d give me the disappointed older brotherlook. That was one thing he inherited from Dad, but somehow his cut deeper.
So, I keep my mouth shut and sip my beer like a guy who has everything under control.
Emma doesn’t buy it. She sees right through me with her mommy x-ray vision. Poor Milo has his work cut out for him if he ever wants to slip anything past this woman. It’s a good thing he has a cool uncle to help him out.
“Tell us about her,” she says, covering up her excitement by busying her hands with gathering the plates and silverware to set the table. Henry goes to work on whatever is boiling on the stove, so I stand planted next to the refrigerator.
“Her grandma is the one who owned the antique shop on Main Street. You know, the woman who just passed away not too long ago.”
Henry stops stirring and turns toward me. “Is this the girl you were in love with when you were sixteen?”
My face heats up, and I’m fully prepared to blame it on the beer. “I never said I was in love with her,” I defend, crossing my arms.
“No, I remember,” he says, pointing a ladle at me. “It was one of the first summers I came back to visit after patching things up with Dad. You were in such a good mood all summer, and then two weeks before I left, you were moping around all sad and depressed. I thought someone ran over your dog.”
Okay, he is being dramatic. I don’t remember it like that at all. Plus, I’m the one that fucked up, so I had no right to be upset…right?
I shake my head. “Whatever. That was a long time ago, but now she’s back in town and we’ve rekindled things.”
My brother tilts his head to the side and gives me a once-over before clicking his tongue and turning back to the meal.
“Oh, wait! Is this Emerson?” Emma asks, buzzing with all the excited energy of a child.
“It’s Emery,” I mumble, beginning to feel irritated.
“That’s such a pretty name.” She smiles. “That’s the girl who called you during my graduation party last summer.”
“You remember that?” I ask. Shortly after an obvious drunk dial from a girl I hadn’t spoken to in years, Emma started taking shots, and let’s just say she doesn’t do hard liquor. That was the first night that Milo and I bonded because I was stuck taking care of the little dude while my brother held back his girlfriend’s hair. It wasawesome.
Emma rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I hope this new girl has your wonderful sense of humor,” she chides sarcastically.
I let out a light chuckle. Emery used to laugh at a majority of my dumb comments, but that was before she learned what a total ass I can be. There is a small part of me that wants to earn back that side of her. Even if it is just as friends.
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can reply, I hear small footsteps pattering against the hardwood floors. Excitement and relief warm my heart when Milo runs full speed toward me with his bright blond hair sticking up in every direction.
