Page 82 of The Emma Special

“No, thank you, Jamesy Boy. I think I’ll keep my dignity until at least noon. Now, if these pain killers kick in before we finish ‘the talk,’ you might have to throw me over your shoulder like a sack of taters. Just make sure I’m out for the count first.”

“The talk?” he asked. She’d paused her walk to put finger quotes around the words, which made it seem like he was about to get in trouble.

“This is a life-planning meeting. The girls helped make a list, so hopefully we’ll be able to stay on track and get all the kinks ironed out before you run to the office.”

James jerked to a halt. “Wait, are you accepting my proposal?”

She hobbled toward the three steps leading onto the front porch. “If we can come to an agreement on all of the items on the list, then yes.”

He pushed a hand through his hair and blew out a shaky breath. This was happening. He was getting engaged. Emma Glass was going to marry him.

His stomach rolled. It was a very inopportune time to have a nervous stomach. Most couples had a photographer capturing the woman’s excited acceptance of a proposal. The least James could offer Emma today was a puke-free life-planning session. Daniel’s unhelpful voice chimed in his head, “Don’t be a sissy.”

“Did you eat breakfast yet?” Emma asked as she maneuvered up the steps.

He reached a hand to help, but she’d grown surprisingly skilled with the devices in a short time. “Breakfast? No. I wasn’t planning to eat much today.”

Emma’s face fell. “Oh, I brought you something.”

“To eat?”

“Sort of. It feels dumb now. Maybe I shouldn’t.” She paused on the threshold and gestured to the backpack slung over his shoulder. “I thought it would be nice, but maybe it’s weird. I wanted to cook while we talked. Is that okay? I should have called first. Maybe you don’t want me using your kitchen? I don’t want to intrude on your space. Yeah, you’re right. It was silly⁠—”

“I’m starving.”

“Are you fasting or something?” A laugh brightened her face. “You’re not making sense. Why weren’t you going to eat if you’re starving?”

Dust on the white porch railing stole his attention as he avoided Emma’s prying gaze. He’d rather not confess that he had an annoying habit of losing his meals when he was overly stressed. “Come on inside out of the heat.”

She nodded her thanks as he held the door. “It feels awkward now. Being in your house.”

“You know, I like that about you. You’re brave enough to say what you’re feeling.” He looked around his space trying to see what she saw. It was pretty empty. No pictures on the white walls. A living room with matching leather furniture that still smelled new because not enough people sat on it. The edge of the table he hardly used poked around the corner to the kitchen, and the two bedrooms and bathroom down the small hallway completed his home.

Was she regretting her decision already? The space suddenly felt too small. He hitched her backpack on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be awkward though. We’re still friends, remember? My mind is swirling like the prosecution surprised us with new evidence, and I have nothing in my notes to counter. Except it’s all good news.” He waited behind her until she turned and offered him a small smile. “I don’t want it to be awkward.”

“It might help if you hugged me.”

James blinked. That swirling in his mind and stomach escalated.

“Unless that doesn’t appeal to you,” she added.

“Hugs are good.”

She rested her crutches against the wall and raised her arms to him.

Dropping her bag on the floor, he stepped into her space. Her arms slid over his shoulders and around his neck. He wrapped her close, one hand crossing her back and splaying against ribs, another pressing her shoulder blade.

The awkwardness shot up fifty degrees.

He patted her back. He felt her stiff muscles against his equally tense posture. He didn’t know where to turn his face. This hug was two branches tangled in a tree.

Then she drew in a breath and released it with a slow audible sigh. With the exhale she sank against him. “Breathe, James,” she whispered against his neck. “You have to keep breathing.”

She shuffled her feet closer until her body was ensconced within his.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Then another. She smelled of sugar and spice and everything nice. He closed his eyes, dipping his face to rest his cheek against her hair.

Her warmth crept into him and every second they stood together felt more right than the last. She was soft and small-boned. She wasn’t fragile though—her embrace was solid. He adjusted his hold, breathing deeply again.