Emma continued. “Anyway, you’re fine with inviting him, right?”
“Sure,” he said without looking up.
“He’s probably too busy to come anyway.”
Mr. Woodhouse didn’t reply.
“But we don’t have to invite him.”
Silence.
“Okay, I’m going over to invite him.”
“Have fun,” her father replied absently.
She nodded, cementing her resolve. Then she finished her coffee and started upstairs to the foyer to grab her black peacoat and her old Pajar après ski boots.
The bright morning sun had melted an almost circuitous path in the snow along the sidewalk and she took her time navigating it, trying to remember the last time she had been inside Mr. and Mrs. Crawford’s brownstone. God, it had been years, back when Mr. Crawford was still running a rare book shop on Lexington. He and his wife Veronica had retired to West Palm Beach, but they had kept the house and rented it out occasionally in case someday, maybe, they wanted to move back.
Emma crossed the street, skirting around the conspicuous motorcycle chained up in front of the Crawfords’ old home—seriously, who was going to steal that thing?—and walked up the steps to the looming front door.
There was a gold-plated lion-head knocker at its center, but Emma ignored it and instead pressed the doorbell. The chimes echoed in the house. Once they faded, there was no other sound at all.
She tried again. Still nothing.
“Quelle surprise,” she huffed, and had turned around to leave just as the door opened. She spun back and stilled at the familiar face staring back at her.
“Well, hi,” he said, his tone suggesting that he recognized Emma, too.
“Oh, it’s you,” Emma replied dumbly.
“And it’s you.” His blue eyes twinkled at her, and he leaned in before he continued. “Do you need me to get you another cab?”
They stared at each other for a moment before Emma remembered it was her turn to speak. “Oh, no. Not today.”
“So… I’m not one to complain about a beautiful woman knocking on my door so early, but who are you?” he purred, bracing his hand on the doorframe.
“Oh, right.” She blinked herself out of his breathtaking gaze. “I’m Emma Woodhouse. Your neighbor and—”
“No way.” He laughed, flashing his bright smile. “I’ve heard so much about you from Ben.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you from Margo. And here you are, Montgomery Knox… finally.” She gestured at him.
“You know,” he said, tilting his head to the side, his light eyes narrowing playfully, “I think your sister and Ben want us to get together.”
Emma laughed and tucked a few fallen locks of her dark hair behind her ear. She wasn’t expecting him to say what had been implied every time his name came up.Oh, Emma, Montgomery is single. Montgomery collects art! Montgomery isn’t too much older than you! Oh, Emma, Montgomery and you share a love of…But at no point had it been mentioned that Montgomery was extremely, ridiculously hot.
“Do they?” Emma replied, feigning innocence.
His long, wavy blond hair fell to one side of his face, highlighting his blue eyes. Slight stubble framed his jawline as his smile broadened like he saw right through her lie. “Hmmm. Well, they couldn’t stop singing your praises.”
She could feel the trail of his eyes down her body. Emma offered him the same knowing smile when his gaze found hers again. He wasn’t embarrassed, though: he seemed pleased that she was aware of his slow survey. She wondered how many girls fell for this, even as she suddenly found herself forgiving him for flaking on her sister’s wedding, making them wait months to meet him, and apparently owning a motorcycle in the city.
“I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly laughing. “It’s fucking freezing out. Come in, let me take your coat. Excuse all the boxes.”
He moved closer to her and gently took her hand, coaxing her inside. His skin was soft and warm and he smelled good, like leather and citrus… but then she remembered what she had thrown on before coming over. Her sweater was stretched out in all the wrong places and her hair was a mess on top of her head. She was lucky her black leggings could pass for actual pants. She was only supposed to be here to invite him to the Christmas party and run back home. This wasnothow she thought this would go.
“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” she said, slowly withdrawing her handfrom his and taking another step back. “I just wanted to introduce myself and invite you to our Christmas party on Friday. It’s an annual thing; everyone on the block shows up.”
