Lauren bumped Emmaline with her hip. “She didn’t sayyougot lucky. She saidsomebodyhas that lucky glow.”
Cress dumped the concentrated orange juice into the pitcher, where it slid with a slushythunk.
“Well, I’m not talking about it.” Em lifted a shoulder and handed over a wooden spoon so Cress could stir away at her concoction.
Barbie continued humming Cress’s little ditty. “I wish I had stuck around to see what time you got in becausesomebodyhas a special cookie-crunch glow.”
“Fine,” Emmaline said, quietly and only for her friends’ ears. “I didn’tnotget some.” She raised her eyebrows to punctuate her point.
Barbie let out a screech that probably made the puppy pee himself and find more laundry to munch.
Not subtle at all.
“Everything okay?” Ethan asked from across the kitchen.
“Fine. Totally fine,” Em assured, lancing Barbie with her gaze.
Lauren and Cress found this hysterical and had no issue at all cracking up.
Ethan was in his zone in her kitchen, which added to her happy bubble. He had on jeans, sneakers, and a black T-shirt with a beer logo on the front.
This wasn’t his kitchen, but he seemed completely at home. Heck, her appliances may not have been as top of the line as his, but they did the trick.
The best part? As he moved behind her to grab a kitchen towel, he touched her waist. Not where anyone could see or notice, just so she knew he was there, and he wanted that. Wanted that with her. Specifically, to touch her.
Her cheeks were probably red as all hell because she was so smitten with the guy.
The way he brushed against the edge of her hip had her mind turning with some truly naughty things that involved him, lifesavers, her mouth, and alone time.
Somewhere, deep down inside, she understood this whole get-lucky-with-Ethan thing was a bad idea.
But bad ideas were still ideas, and sometimes they got to come out and play, too. Besides, the space between a bad idea and a good idea was nothing more than perception.
Speaking of…inspiration struck, and Emmaline grabbed a Sharpie.
“How about this?” She sketched out another kitten on one of the disposable napkins she’d put out for the shebang.
Along with the champagne, Barbie had arrived that morning with loads of ideas for her logo. Unfortunately, now that she understood Emmaline’s skill set, she had no qualms about manipulating it and squeezing it for all it was worth.
Emmaline didn’t mind. Stretching her creative brain turned out to be pretty fantastic, too.
“Mmm.” Barbie pulled a face and said nothing else. She didn’t have to because her face said it all.
The drawing was good!Emmaline had finally figured out how to make the cat on the far right not look so lopsided.
She turned the napkin toward her, frowned, and sketched out another option at the corner.
A flit of a memory from her previous life tickled her brain. Not one of the icky memories, like she’d become used to. This one was the time she’d chatted with Dr. Paul at one of Tony’s holiday party things. Dr. Paul was a celebrity but, she realized, he was more like Ethan—a reality show celebrity who wasn’t high on himself and was actually a super nice guy.
He and Emmaline had sketched out an entire napkin-filled story about his son and Hanukkah.
It had not impressed Tony.
At all.
Emmaline was not there to doodle. She was there to hold his cocktail while he schmoozed.
She shook off the memory because that was then. Today was today.
