Luca quickly swallowed a bite.
“Good. Really good.”
And then he rambled about the farm, about the daily work he did with Jansel, the livestock, what they had just pulled off with the wedding, for so long that Emerson’s face heated. He got the sense, from the half-startled, half-amused looks on his parents’ faces, that Luca didn’t often talk this much at family dinners.
If Emerson hadn’t already believed Luca cared about the farm, from him stomping around the greenhouses to him declaring his intention to take on all the initiatives Emerson didn’t have time for—well, he would have really believed it now.
And while part of his brain told him this was good, that it waswonderful—something in his stomach dropped. For the first time in many hours, he felt the magic bubble around this day start to thin, threatening to pop. He and Luca were dating. Luca wanted to help out more around the farm. This was all great, more than Emerson had ever dared to actually imagine for himself.
But if Luca had truly invested his whole heart in Short King Farms?—
Emerson had tried to tell him, so many times. He supposed Luca would maybe finally, truly see it whenever Emerson shared his spreadsheets with him. Short King Farms wasn’t solvent. Maybe some of the things Luca had suggested—setting up online ordering, holding more events—would help for a while, but?—
Would Luca still want him, if he didn’t have the farm anymore?
“And,” Emerson inserted once Luca finally took a breath, needing to get Luca off this topic, needing to stop thinking about this topic at all—“A new agent asked for his book.”
Now everyone at the table paused their forks.
“You write books, Luca?” Bailey asked with a smile. “What kind?”
Emerson hazarded a glance at Luca. He couldn’t quite regret inserting this news into family dinner, but he still hoped he hadn’t fucked up too badly.
Luca was staring at his plate, face unreadable. Emerson itched to reply to Bailey for him as the silence stretched, but he fought through the discomfort. Luca needed to answer this question himself.
“Um.” Luca looked across the table at Bailey. “I write dystopian-ish fantasy, inspired by the Oregon Coast.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Would it be appropriate for my students, do you think?”
“Bailey teaches high school English,” Jacob supplied for Emerson’s sake, wrapping a proud arm around the back of Bailey’s chair.
“Um,” Luca said again. “It’s for adults, but possibly. But—I haven’t heard back from that agent yet, and even if I do—” He shook his head, eyes returning to his plate. “Actually getting published is a long shot.”
“Still,” Bailey said, pushing forward like this was a normal conversation, even as Emerson sensed that the rest of the family was holding their breath. “A lot of people say they want to write a book one day, but a much smaller proportion of people actually accomplish it. Would you be willing to speak to my students sometime about your writing process and what it’s like looking for an agent?”
Luca laughed a little now, obviously flustered, but Emerson still took the laugh as a good sign.
“I don’t know,” he said. Emerson squeezed his thigh under the table again. “Maybe.”
“Well,” Adrian said, a smile growing on his face so deep and so true that Emerson hoped Luca was looking at him. Hoped Luca was really seeing it. “You’ll have to keep us updated.”
Luca nodded, stabbing another bite of chicken with his fork. “I will.”
Conversation moved on swiftly enough after that. Soon they were clearing plates. Leah rested a hand on Emerson’s arm.
“Mr. King,” she said. “Would you do me the honor of looking at my garden? It’s no farm, but?—”
“Of course,” Emerson replied. “Every garden is important.”
She smiled, and he helped her to her feet.
The sky was still bright, but the sun was starting to get lower in the sky—each day, a little bit sooner—as he strolled around the Yaegers’ backyard. It was a small yard, but Leah clearly treated every inch of it with care. She held onto his elbow as they walked and talked, which made Emerson feel like a classy British gentleman, escorting a beautiful lady around a park. He tried to hold onto the feeling. It was his first day officially dating Luca Yaeger. Even if everything imploded, eventually—he could hold onto the bubble a little longer.
Luca leaned against the railing of the back deck, watching them. Emerson was facing away from the house for the majority of the tour, but he felt the heat of Luca’s eyes on his neck the whole time.
“Hey,” Luca said when Emerson and Leah made their way up to the deck after their ramble was done. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”
“Dessert will be ready in thirty,” Leah called as they all walked inside, Emerson and Luca heading down the hall while she split toward the kitchen. Emerson followed Luca up the stairs and down another hall until they turned into a room on the right, what Emerson could only assume, with a single glance at the Captain America poster on the wall, was Luca’s childhood bedroom.
