Emma slowed a few paces away from me and held the bag in front of her, both hands on the handles. It was a girlish kind of look, and it didn’t help that a little blush stained her cheeks.
“Chef?” I asked.
She looked around us before lowering her voice. “I got your note. About the car. Thank you. You really didn’t have to.”
I lifted a shoulder and looked somewhere behind her. Would people notice that we were talking extra at work? Would they notice she wasn’t biting my head off? “It was easy. You should get his oil changed, though.”
She sighed.
“Or, I can?—”
She held out her hands, the take-out bag swaying on her wrist. “No. No. You’ve done enough. And as far as the other stuff . . .”
The other stuff? Oh, like when I had her pussy all over my face, learning that she tasted like peaches and champagne? Or maybe when she showed me her mouth full of my load? Or did she mean when she cuddled up to me in her bed?
But she didn’t elaborate. And I couldn’t stand the awkwardness of it. “Yeah. No big deal.”
“I made you something. Well, you and your mom. There’s two boxes in there.”
She held out the brown paper bag, and our fingers brushed when I took it from her. I fought the urge to hook our fingers together.
What exactly had happened in that hot tub? It wasn’t like I planned to go over there and make her call me Daddy and count my piercings. I just thought I’d say hey when I dropped off her knives, and then she was in that barely-there bikini and I didn’t realize I knew exactly how she smelled until I was in her house, surrounded by her scent. Then I was basically a bloodhound, not satisfied until I had found the source of the scent and effectively rolled in it. And now I wanted to hook fingers with her, just have a little touch before I went on the road?
“Thanks. And I can’t believe you know my mom.”
Emma’s eyes widened until she shielded them against the sun. “Believe me, I’m just as shocked as you are.”
I bobbed my head and chewed on the corner of my lips. “I guess, have a good few days without me?”
She smiled and I wanted to wrap her up in my arms right then and there. To kiss her. To take her with me everywhere and have her sit in my lap. “Yeah. Have a good trip.”
I wrinkled my nose and reached up to ruffle my fingers in my hair. “It’s weird, all this being nice.”
“Fine, then,” she said. “Go fuck yourself.”
That made me smile even wider. “Alright. Go fuck yourself.” Making sure no one was behind her who could see me, I winked. She rolled her eyes, flipping her middle finger over her shoulder as she walked away.
“Bye.”
Good. Now no one could be suspicious.
I felt like I had fucking wings on my shoes getting on the plane. After getting Mom and I settled in our seats, I counted how many seconds I could wait to rip open whatever Chef had packed for me. If I was too eager, everyone would know something was up. But the bag smelled really fucking good.
“Ooh, you got something this time?” Owen asked, looking back at me from his usual seat, one aisle up on the right. “Did you do my wrap?”
“I actually don’t know. Let’s see.” I put my hands down in the bag and pulled out the first brown waxy box. My heart started thrashing against my rib cage as I saw that it had a note on top, black Sharpie on a piece of kitchen tape.
PRISON SLOP
I chuckled as I read it, fighting a bigger lovestruck giggle. And an even bigger emotion took hold when I opened the box.
A steak with perfect grill marks. Macaroni and cheese. Green beans that looked way better than what we had at Amarillo. But the real kicker was a roll and a container of handmade herbed butter.
Butter with brown flecks in it.
TWENTY
EMMA
