“Of course.”
Luca paused at the sink, eyes roving over the counter. He’d brought over his favorite mug, when he’d moved in last week. He’d rinsed it and left it in the drying rack each day, but now that he thought about it, in his rush to get to his cabin to clean yesterday morning, maybe he’d left it dirty in the sink. So?—
A throat clear behind him.
“Your mug’s in the dishwasher. Hope that’s all right.”
Luca registered it then, the comforting whirr of the machine just to his left.
“Of course. Thank you.”
“Mugs are in that cabinet right there, to the left of the window. If you want to borrow one. Like you can use anything in this kitchen.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Luca scanned the selection, chose the biggest one he could find, advertising Shelly’s Café. He smiled as he lifted it out of the cabinet. He loved that place, even if he hadn’t been in a long time. He kept his back to Emerson as he filled his cup, mixed in the milk and sugar, brought it to his lips for the first sip. It probably shouldn’t feel illicit, drinking from another man’s cup. Like wearing another man’s shirt. But from the moment he’d opened that cabinet, Luca had known that it would.
By the time he turned, Emerson was focused on his laptop again, a deep line set between his eyebrows in concentration.
“Whatcha working on?” Luca brought the illicit mug to his mouth again. Emerson glanced at him, that line in his forehead smoothing the tiniest bit.
“Spreadsheets,” he said with a sigh, eyes flicking back to his screen. “I have two I update every Sunday. One’s for the farm itself, tracking the crops and the eggs, the land, water levels of the pond. Weather updates, how the livestock’s doing, you know. All the important stuff.”
A pause. Two of Emerson’s fingers drummed against the counter, a small smile playing at his lips. After last night, Luca was relieved to see it.
“Updating this spreadsheet might be my favorite part of the week.”
“Must be satisfying,” Luca said. “Tracking the data of all you’re doing out there.”
“Yeah,” Emerson agreed. “I mean, that probably wasn’t accurate, what I just said. My favorite part is actually being out there. Hands in the dirt. But it feels…tidier, having it all in neat boxes on the spreadsheet, you know. Less overwhelming. Like I actually know what the hell I’m doing.”
A barely-there laugh. Luca’s own mouth curved against the rim of Emerson’s mug.
“Pretty sure you do know what you’re doing.”
“As I said.” Emerson’s fingers stopped drumming. He waved them toward Luca instead. “You’ve spent the whole week with Jansel. You have a skewed perspective. Jansel knows what he’s doing.”
“And you hired him, right? Ergo.” Luca’s grin grew.
Emerson glanced at him, another huff of an almost-laugh escaping his lips.
“Ergo,” he repeated under his breath, voice soft, almost wondering.
Luca felt inordinately pleased with himself.
“What’s the other spreadsheet for?” Emerson had said there were two he updated every Sunday.
All the light that had crept onto Emerson’s face disappeared.
He shifted on his stool. Moved his fingertips back to the mousepad.
“The other one’s for tracking money.”
“Ah.” Of course. Luca stared into his mug.
And then, before he could stop himself, the urge to comfort Emerson once again preceding rational thought?—
“I have spreadsheets, too.” He lifted his chin toward his own laptop, still resting on the far edge of the island. “It’s what I came up to work on.” He’d contemplated lying in bed, doing his dreaded email check while his cheek was still smashed against Emerson’s pillow.
