Page 35 of The Emma Special

Her arms were still crossed, but a smile lifted her pink cheeks. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“You bet I am. You think we could find your old diary?” He stepped to the left, then the right, and she followed each movement.

Good grief, she had a secret diary. How was he supposed to think about anything else now? “Any chance you’d let me read it? Just the parts about your secret crushes and dreams of growing up to be a woodland pixie?”

“James.”

Her eyes were still glowing, and he couldn’t back down now. There was too much fun to be had teasing her. He put his hands on her arms, gently pushing her out of the way. “Come on. Just a peek.”

“James! They’re not on this shelf anyway.”

“Oho! So I shall look elsewhere.”

Then he felt it. A wet warmth seeped through his sock, down his ankle, and into his shoe.

Daisy had calmed down enough to relieve herself. She squatted beside him without a care in the world then trotted away.

James couldn’t move. The mahogany Oxfords weren’t his favorite, but he’d liked them enough before Daisy filled them with urine.

What a way to end the night. Or, worse yet, start the day. It was half past midnight. Was there a chance this was all a bizarre dream?

Emma bent and reached out her hands. “Come here, Daisy.”

The blind terrier ran toward her, following the sound of her crooning.

Emma lifted the dog, snuggling her close. “That was very rude, Miss Daisy. Jamesy Boy is a friend.” Emma turned her shoulder toward James and added in a stage whisper. “We don’t pee on our friends.”

Biting back a grin, Emma assessed him. Her gaze traveled slowly from James’s forehead to his shoes before a full smile escaped. “I think we’re finished here.”

“You think?” Sarcasm was his only defense at the moment. The damage had been done—to his shoe and his pride.

Emma headed toward the hallway, whispering to Daisy as she went.

James flexed his toes against his squishy sock. He’d never get the smell out of the shoes.

He took a few wet steps back to the photos of Emma and picked up one with a group of teenage girls huddled together on an old brown couch. Emma was a vision of happiness right in the middle.

Her voice drifted from down the hallway. “Now, let’s try this again in the morning. If you can do your tee teeing outside, I’ll give you an extra treat. Good night.”

When she returned to the living room, James picked up another framed photo—one of a little Emma, no more than four, kissing a frog smack on the lips.

“What is this? You swapped spit with a frog?”

Emma marched straight to his side and snatched the frame from his hands. “I’m sure I wasn’t the first little girl to kiss a frog.”

“How’d that work out for you?” James poked her in the cheek and she swatted his hand.

“Lovely. I’m single and working late on a Friday. Call me Cinderella because I’ll be spending my Saturday cleaning this place up.”

“You don’t live here,” James reminded her.

“Yeah, but if I don’t, who will? I can’t stand messes.” She lifted her arms, gesturing to the house. “Because this is what I grew up in.”

A giant crater formed in his chest. James preferred neat organization too but for entirely different reasons.

Not wanting to dwell on the struggles of Emma’s childhood, he snatched another photo. “I think this is my favorite. Why are you standing next to a pot-belly pig with a blue ribbon?”

She took the second photo from him and put it back on the shelf. “First place. Look at that honker. She was beautiful.”