Barbie picked up the pan and held it out to her. “Take. The man. The pan.”
“And no more talk about sleeping with him?” Em confirmed.
“I didn’t say anything about sleeping. But I’ll table the other suggestion. For now,” Barbie assured.
Ugh, okay, Em would take the pan. He could drop it back on her porch. Or Annie could bring it the next time she visited Fiona.
Easy and logical.
Worst case, she wouldn’t get it back. Of all the things she’d lost recently, the glass Pyrex didn’t even make a slight dent.
Em nodded. “Fine.”
She said that just like Fiona did when she couldn’t get her way.
Dessert in hand, Emmaline held her head high and marched down the sidewalk to Ethan’s house. Make the drop. Get the kid. No small talk. This was easy.
She paused because a sedan in the drive started to back out. A sedan with the principal of the girls’ school in the driver’s seat looking both ways as she backed onto the road.
That was weird. Did the woman make house calls often?
Em frowned, then moved the pan under her arm like a badass multitasker. She pressed his video doorbell.
Then she waited.
And waited.
Shifted on her feet.
Should she ring again? She’d just moved to press the button when the door cracked, then opened, and Ethan stood in his everyday sweatpants and muscle tee with a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder.
Yum-my.
She did her best not to stare at the tattoo sleeve along his right arm—swaths of black ink with swirls of blues and red. Slightly abstract at first glance, but all brought together in a tapestry of waves and clouds.
“Hi.” She gripped the pan tighter, so she didn’t accidentally drop it because she got distracted by the green flecks in his blue eyes or anything.
“Hey.” He glanced at the pan in her grip, then back up to meet her gaze, his reflecting lots of questions. All the questions.
“I brought you treats,” she announced.
He said nothing right away, and Em didn’t like the way the silence itched. So, then, because she was oh-so-very slick, she added, “And I saw Annie’s post. How’s the wife hunt coming along? That is quite the little girl you have, huh?”
And with that, his face fell like she was a most unwelcome inconvenience.
She gulped, swallowed the dry feeling in her throat. “Uh…these are for you. As promised and delivered.”
He stared at the tray entirely longer than necessary.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, glancing to the tray.
He shook his head. “No. ’Course not. Thank you.”
He reached for the treats, but it seemed to be more of a task than it should’ve been, so she gripped the tray harder, not giving it up.
“You don’t want my treats?” she asked, since it was clear he wasn’t excited about the marshmallow goodness. And if that was the case, then she should take them back home and enjoy them with Barbie instead.
“You’re very kind,” he said. “Thank you.”
