He hummed as if that were an answer. His eyes drifted down her body before he took another sip of his wine and met her gaze again. “Don’t you look nice for a Sunday dinner.”
Emma glanced down. She had gone through a few options before selecting a thin, white cowl-neck cashmere sweater and ashort skirt that matched her black knee-high boots. She knew it was a little fancy, but not over the top for the holidays. She hadn’t even put on much jewelry, just simple black pearl earrings, and let her dark brown hair down so it hung wavy over her shoulders.
“Oh, thanks.” She hesitated. Was she trying too hard, she wondered? Knightley rarely complimented her on her appearance. “You look…”
He watched her search for the right word, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself now.”
“Sorry, you just… you look like you always look, Knightley.”
“And how’s that?”
An eyebrow rose up his forehead as the question hung between them.
“You look… good. I mean, come on, Knightley, you always look good.” She laughed and jokingly pushed at his chest. He did look handsome tonight, in his crisp white shirt and tailored pants.
His expression remained serious as her laughter subsided. She waited for one of his familiar witty replies, offhanded comments, or even a criticism, but instead he just stared down at her, and she swore his gaze shifted briefly to her mouth, then back up to her eyes again. Then he looked away and ran his hand through his hair to the back of his neck.
“Emma…” Knightley started in a low, raspy voice. She found herself inhaling sharply at the way her name sounded coming from his lips. It was different. Softer, like they were sharing a secret. “I—”
He was cut off by a loud knock on the front door.
“Hello! Anyone home?” A deep voice called out from behind it.
Emma turned just as Ben lumbered up the steps from the kitchen. “Coming!”
“He actually showed up this time,” Emma said with a smile asshe turned back to Knightley. But there wasn’t any amusement on his face as his golden-brown eyes flickered from the door back to her. She couldn’t decipher how he was feeling; that had never happened before.
Then the door swung open and Montgomery Knox appeared. He was wearing a faded leather jacket over a green sweater and dark-wash jeans, a bottle of wine in each hand, and a charming smile on his face.
“You made it!” Ben exclaimed, giving his friend a hug as Margo came up the stairs to greet him, kissing both his cheeks.
Knightley watched the three of them trade pleasantries. His lips became a hard line across his face.
“It’s Montgomery Knox,” Emma answered his unvoiced question. “We invited him.”
“So he exists,” Knightley murmured.
Emma was about to tell him to be nice, or at least try to be, but before she could say anything, Montgomery was walking to her, his smile so bright and gorgeous that the words dissolved on her tongue.
“There she is,” he said, his voice like a purr. “Good to see you again, Emma Woodhouse.”
She smiled back. “Good to see you too.”
Knightley downed the rest of his wine and retreated back to the bar cart.
If Montgomery was offended, he didn’t let on as Margo introduced him to her father and Mrs. Pawloski, who had emerged from the dining room. He didn’t bat an eye at the moth holes along the sleeves of Mrs. Pawloski’s sweater, only smiled as she lamented about how much they missed him at the wedding. And as he shook her father’s hand, his smile widening, he complimented their home, particularly the Christmas decorations.
Of course, it was exactly the right thing to say. Emma spent hours every year choosing how to decorate the house for the holidays, and this year she had gone the traditional route. Thick crimson ribbons wrapped around garlands that lined the banisters. They matched the deep red bows on the Christmas tree, which towered over the piano in the living room. The fireplace still had the same hand-knit stockings hanging from the mantel that had been there every Christmas since Emma was little. Their green felt had faded a bit, but it only added to their charm.
Margo collapsed into the oversized couch in the center of the room next to Mrs. Pawloski while Montgomery took an armchair near the crackling fire. Mr. Woodhouse sat beside him and was explaining how he got special wood delivered from an organic farm upstate, when Knightley returned, his wine refilled.
“Ah, Ben’s brother. Nice to finally meet you.” Montgomery stood, walking forward and extending a hand.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Knightley replied, offering a tight smile and a single, firm handshake.
“Ben tells me you’re always out in LA. I thought we’d never meet.”
Knightley’s expression flattened. “Likewise.”
