Emma’s expression flickers. A tiny shift, like she’s weighing me up. Something in her face softens, just a fraction.
“You’re Estelle’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” I say gently. “My gran knows her. They used to trade Victoria sponge and complain about parking on market days.”
Emma’s eyes lift to mine in surprise. “Oh. Yes. That sounds like Nana.”
The tension in her shoulders loosens a little. Not much, but enough that something warm nudges my chest. Absolutely great timing, given I'm trying to look competent and not like a man who imprints on strangers.
Christina, leans on the counter. “So, Alex… where do the local men hide? Purely for scientific research.”
Emma emits a strangled little noise.
I pretend not to notice. Not because I think it will help, but because the idea of her looking for other men sends an entirely unreasonable spark of jealousy through me. Ridiculous. I’ve known her for ten seconds and yet here I am, ready to tell her that most guys in the village are knobheads. It’s her shyness, her gentleness that’s thrown me off balance more than anything.
“The Unicorn,” I suggest. “Behind the square. Locals, pints, gossip, rugby.”
Christina brightens. “Rugby, you say? Will your shy friend here be there too?”
She directs an openly appreciative look at Phil.
Phil turns scarlet. “Um… maybe.”
I nearly laugh. “We’re heading there this afternoon to watch the match.”
Christina claps her hands. “Perfect. We’ll come after we close the shop.”
Emma looks horrified. “Christina!”
“What?” Christina says innocently. “We don’t want the village thinking we’re some great mystery or a pair of hermits.”
Emma goes pink. I look away before my staring becomes obvious.
I’m about to reassure her she doesn’t have to come if she'd rather avoid social torture—
Both my phone and Phil’s buzz at the same time.
We pull them out. One glance is enough.
“Callout,” Phil says.
“Rescue mission,” I clarify.
Christina straightens. Emma’s eyes widen, something that looks like worry flickering across her face.
I shove my phone back in my pocket. “We might not make it to the Unicorn later. Depends how long this takes.”
“Oh,” Christina says softly.
“But we’ll be there tomorrow,” I add. “Match on again. Same place, same time.”
I’m technically speaking to Christina, but the words are aimed squarely at Emma.
I turn to her properly. She’s gripping the counter, cheeks flushed, eyes uncertain but open in a way that makes me want to do something to reassure her. And for one absurd second, right in the middle of an emergency, I want to reach across and steady her hand.
Instead, I offer a small smile. “I hope I’ll see you there, Emma.”
Her breath catches. “Right. Yes. Maybe.”
“Maybe’s good,” I say.
