Chapter 13♥Thanks for Returning the Rake
It had been a week since the party, and a week since George had talked to Emma. He wasn’t sure how it was conceivable to both miss someone and dread seeing them again, but Emma made a lot of impossible things possible. The more time that passed, the harder it was to know how to make things right. Should he wait for her to call him, or was she waiting for him to call her?
This was how most friendships died. The distance becomes awkward, so people add more distance, and more, until they never speak again.
However, he and Emma were connected by a brother and sister who would notice and question. More than that, George didn’t want to lose their friendship altogether, even if they couldn’t be anything more. It was a good thing they’d been interrupted when he’d almost kissed her. Having feelings for Emma had turned his perfectly ordered life upside down. It was time to go back to friendship, nothing more. The thought had his stomach in knots. He could do this. He had to.
Seven days was enough space, wasn’t it? It seemed like enough. He took the coward’s way forward and texted her as he was leaving work.
Hey
Just like the subject line of spam email, but everything he typed after ‘Hey’ came out wrong, and he erased it again and again. So he just sent, ‘hey.’
Hey yourself.
That was the Emma he knew. George sagged in relief.
Can I come over later?
Sure. Or you could come now.
Ok. Be there in 10.
And there it was. A new start.
He felt good about it until he pulled onto her street, and then doubt crept in. Maybe he did need more space. The truth had crept up on him in the same way his affection for Emma had. Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with her, and right now he’d give anything to fall right back out. But he had promised he’d come.
After parking out front, he knocked lightly. Emma called for him to come in, so he walked inside and sat at the dining table with her and Mr. Woodhouse where they were working on a puzzle. Well, Mr. Woodhouse was working on the puzzle. Emma was studying it with the same enjoyment level as a calculus test. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.
Her eyes came up to meet George’s, and he saw the same hesitation he felt, echoed in her expression. But there was nothing they had to say right now with Mr. Woodhouse in the room. George reached for a few puzzle pieces and examined the picture.
“How are things?” he finally asked.
“Fine. Are you hungry? I could make you something.” She smiled self-consciously. “Or you could make yourself something. That’s a safer bet.”
“The eggs were good, Emma,” Mr. Woodhouse said, patting her hand.
“I’m not hungry.” He was, but he feared Emma following him into the kitchen where they’d be alone. This was hopeless. Mr. Woodhouse’s schedule was very rigid. In twenty minutes he’d go get ready for bed and watch a little CNN. Which meant, in twenty minutes, George and Emma would be alone together regardless.
George put down the puzzle piece he’d been holding for the past two minutes, having never put any real effort into finding the place it belonged. He looked up to see Emma studying him, her perfect lips puckering slightly.
“You two are no help when it comes to this thing,” mused Mr. Woodhouse. He stole the pieces George had tried to attach and put them back in the color-coordinated piles in front of him.
“Puzzles aren’t really my thing,” Emma admitted.
“That’s something defeatists say.”
“Granddad,” Emma warned. “You’re being crotchety with me.”
“Well, I feel crotchety. How about you, George? You seem out of sorts. Any complaints to air?”
George thought quickly. “These socks are quitters. I’m throwing these out when I get home.” He pulled up his pant legs for Mr. Woodhouse to see, which led to a thorough assessment and diagnosis that indeed, the sock elastic must be bad, or possibly the material, or both.
“Anything else you two want to complain about?” Emma asked with a roll of her eyes.
“Yes,” Mr. Woodhouse demanded. “Is Elton going to return that rake? He keeps coming over and talking incessantly to Harriet, but he never brings the rake like he says he will.”
Emma’s face turned a bright red. “I’m sure he’ll bring it. Or, if it’s really bothering you, tomorrow’s Saturday, and I don’t have any appointments. I’ll go get it from him.”
