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"But it's not a big deal, right?” Hoping to get a sense of what she thinks of the situation. Although I’m kinda kicking myself for not saying: between friends.

"Nope.” She shakes her head. "Age shouldn't matter."

I produce a false smile. She’s not being fully truthful. Judgment lingers in her tone.

C’mon, Rachel. Get here.

"Have you decided what you'd like to have this evening?" the server asks, setting my drink in front of me. She waits on me first. I almost ask Emma what she’d like to order but decide I should downplay this whole scenario. It already looks like we’re on a date. All I’m trying to do is help Rachel get to know her daughter—whenever she shows up.

After the server takes our orders, I ask Emma one more time, "Are you sure you're okay?”. She keeps scanning the room like she’s worried about what everyone’s thinking. Or figuring out how to escape.

"You attract a lot of attention, huh?"

The honesty makes me sit back in my seat. I grin.

"Sorry," She cringes. "That was internal dialogue that should have stayed inside of my head."

"You're funny." I chuckle. When she lets go and says what she’s actually thinking, she’s… interesting.

"Unfortunately," she grumbles, swiping the sweat from the side of her water glass.

"They recognize me from the ads," I admit, surprising myself. Apparently, thoughtless honesty is contagious. I take a sip of the whiskey to avoid her reaction.

"Ads?"

I shrug. "I did a shoot for jeans when I was in college, to earn some money for school." It was a little more than that. But no one really cares about hearing the entire story. And the last thing I want to do is share it.

"Oh." She looks confused. That’s not the reaction I’m anticipating. "You think the reason just about every girl in this restaurant is staring at you is because they saw you in a magazine ad, like what, five or six years ago?"

Oh shit. She thinks I’m twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Whatever age Rachel assumed I was, but I never corrected. No sense correcting it now. It might actually help if she thinks I’m closer in age to Rachel. I think.

"Wow, I did it again, didn't I? I can't seem to keep from saying the most―"

"Honest," I interrupt. "You're being honest. It's pretty funny, really."

"I'm an idiot.” She sinks in her chair, like she wants it to swallow her up. “How's that for honesty?"

I laugh. She smiles shyly. I think we finally broke something. Ice. Honesty. Lies. Rules. All of the above.

"Okay," I say in a mock-serious tone. "We're supposed to be getting to know each other. Tell me something about you."

Emma’s silent. That’s not going to work. I think I’m starting to understand her.

"Okay.” Let’s try this again. "Play any sports?"

And that’s all I need to ask to get her shoulders to relax. We spend the rest of dinner talking about the sports we played… she still plays… in high school. It’s easy to talk to her after that. I even get her to laugh, which makes me feel like I won some sort of award. And her smile is exactly that.

She feels… familiar the more she opens up, which isn’t a lot. Like I understand her almost intuitively. But I can’t quite figure out why. Before I can get more out of her, Rachel arrives in a rush of apologies and excuses. She kisses me on the cheek, which shocks both me and Emma.

As soon as Rachel sits down, Emma’s back in her shell. I know it’s best not to try to engage with her again. So I let Rachel be the center of attention and make it look like I hang on her every word. While I really try to gauge Emma and what it is between these two… that’s most definitely none of my business.

As if she can’t get away fast enough, Emma makes an excuse about meeting her boyfriend and needing to leave. I pull out my card to pay for the check.

Rachel asks, “Do you want to come back to the house?”

“Uh, sure,” my mouth answers without my brain’s permission as I sign the check. Maybe because the thought of going back to the silence of my apartment feels like returning to solitary.

As promised, Emma’s boyfriend is at the house. I honestly thought she was making it up so she could leave. She doesn’t seem to be as good a liar as I am. Something I should’ve noticed when she got red every time the questions veered toward too personal. Sports are okay. Making fun of me and the glances I attract are also okay. That doesn’t bother me. Collin used to do it all the time too.