“Why aren’t you sending Khloe or Marco?”
“Because both Khloe and Marco are willing to scoop poop.” Emma looked at Alison’s expensive suit. “Somehow I think you’d rather make the Costco run.”
Alison grabbed her purse. “What do we need?”
“More cookies.”
“We have a bazillion varieties of dog cookies. And cat cookies. And bird cookies—”
“But we don’t have any human cookies. If you hurry, the Girl Scouts will still be selling right out in front of the store. I need a minimum of five boxes.”
Alison stared at her, then laughed. “I’m not your errand girl. And jeez, you’re awfully grumpy today. Let me guess, you still haven’t talked to Simon? Maybe you should make your own master plan.”
“I think we’re now officially in the avoiding-each-other phase, which actually takes talent considering we live in the same building.”
“Huh,” Alison said.
“Huh? That’s all you’ve got?”
“What were you hoping for?”
“Advice?”
Alison laughed. “You already know I’m even worse with men and relationships than I am with checking out customers.”
Again the bell above the front door jingled.
Killer began barking at decibels capable of piercing eardrums, sounding the alarm.
Alison and Emma moved back to the front. Alison drew a deep breath and channeled her inner Emma. “Killer, stop. Stop and sit.”
Killer did not stop and sit.
Emma looked at the little heathen. “Killer, stop and sit.”
Killer stopped. And sat.
“Ingrate,” Alison uttered as she and Emma both looked toward the door to check out their next customer.
It was Simon. He looked at Emma, who was suddenly doing a great imitation of a frozen Popsicle.
Alison grinned. Who said work was no fun? “Yeah, so . . . I’m going to go to Costco now. Bye.”
Emma defrosted enough to glance over at her. “No. Don’t you dare—”
Alison swept up Killer and left, chortling to herself the whole way.
Chapter 19
Step 19: Ask questions.
When her traitorous partner shut the back door behind her, Emma gritted her teeth, then forced a smile because she had nothing to feel bad about. Then the smile became real when Dale came into the shop behind Simon, waving a cast on his arm, but otherwise looking good.
Relieved to see him, she waved back, pretending not to see Simon—though how could she not; he looked tall, leanly muscled, and like everything she’d ever wanted in jeans and dark sunglasses, and he had an easy confidence that was hard to resist.
Mrs. McCreary, still waiting for Marco to bring out Kevin, smiled at Simon and Dale. “Hello.” She let her gaze linger on Dale. “While I’m waiting for Kevin, I’m just going to go browse through the dog training books on that shelf over there. I don’t suppose you know anything about training dogs?”
Dale smiled. “I know everything about training dogs.”
“Then maybe I’ll see you over there.” She walked toward the shelves.
Simon looked at his dad.
Dale shrugged. “Still got it. I can’t help that.”
“Dad, you have to stop lying.”
“That wasn’t lying. It was flirting.” Dale winked, though because of the strokes, it looked more like he was having a seizure, and then followed after Mrs. McCreary.
Leaving Emma alone with Simon. They stared at each other for a long beat. She wanted to play it cool and mysterious, like she had her shit together, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not with the man she was falling for in spite of herself leaning against the counter.
Then Simon pulled off his sunglasses and gave her a small smile. Suddenly she could see past the mouthwatering exterior. The weary—and wary—gaze. The set of his broad shoulders. His hair was standing up from running his fingers through it. It all added up to unhappiness. If she wasn’t so mad at him, her heart would ache. Okay, fine, her heart did ache. “Hey,” she said quietly. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“You mean when you said things couldn’t keep happening between us unless my life was back on track because I wasn’t ready?”
His gaze was steady. “Yes.”
“Then I’m confused. Because my life is on track. I’ve got a business partner. A job. A place to live. That September 5K. So there’s a pretty big hole in your rationale for why we’re not having mutually satisfying orgasms as the opportunities arise.”
His eyes heated at the orgasm comment, but he didn’t say anything. Yep, she was definitely missing a piece of the Simon Armstrong puzzle, but she thought maybe she was getting closer to locating it. “You didn’t bail because of me not being ready,” she said. “You bailed because you’re not ready.”
He wasn’t exactly an open book, but she saw something flicker in Simon’s eyes—regret?—before he turned his head and took in the organized chaos going on around them.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she asked.
His gaze came back to hers. More longing. More regret. “My life doesn’t lend itself to relationships.”
She didn’t know which was worse, the frustration or the anger that he wasn’t willing to even try. No, neither of those things. The worst part was the way her heart ached for what would never be just because he was stubborn. “Who said anything about a relationship?”
“You deserve one, Emma. You deserve everything.”
“I told you from the very beginning that I wasn’t looking for a relationship.”
He looked at her, into her, it seemed, and she let him because she’d spoken the truth.
“What do you want?” he finally asked.
Emma spread her hands. “Look at me. I’m living day to day. Hell, sometimes moment to moment. That’s where I live now, in the moment.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
“Yes.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
She shrugged. “I’m focusing on healing—physically and emotionally,” she said, letting Simon know she’d heard what he’d said on the roof, because he’d been right about that. “I don’t think I can open up to another person while I’m doing that. It wouldn’t be fair to them, plus why would anyone want to sign up for that kind of baggage?”
“You don’t think that person can decide for themselves?”
“I think feelings cloud things,” she said, letting the steel of her resolve come out clear in her voice.
“You deserve more, Emma. A lot more.”
She leaned in close, like she was telling him a secret, when really she just wanted to feel him against her. “You know, for someone whose life doesn’t lend itself to relationships, you sure talk about them a lot.”
Simon leaned in too, until they were practically chest to chest, thigh to thigh. “I meant what I said, Emma. You deserve a real relationship, a good one. But—”
“I swear, if you say ‘my life doesn’t lend itself to relationships’ one more time . . .”