“I think it’s in this bag,” I say, shuffling them around in my hands. She insisted on getting a small doggy pillow as well as a tiny blanket. I thought it was ridiculous, but I let her get whatever she wanted.
I place the rest of the things on the floor by her feet. “I’m going to go back down to the car and get the groceries.” Since Duke isn’t well, we decided to have lunch here instead of going out.
“Do you need my help?”
“No,” I say, grinning as she sits cross-legged on the tiles and starts rifling through the bags. “Just get Duke comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”
When I step out of the elevator, I find her standing at the sink rinsing out the dog bowl and filling it with water. My eyes dart to Duke. He’s now lying on his side fast asleep. His head is on the pillow with the blanket covering his small body. I shake my head in amusement. She’s going to spoil this dog rotten.
“Ashton, this kitchen…” She lets out a breathy sigh as she sets the dog bowl on the granite countertop and leans over wrapping her arms along the cupboards below, giving it a makeshift hug. “It’s like a dream, I’m so envious.”
I chuckle at her dramatics. “It’s yours to use whenever you please. Actually, in a few minutes, you’ll be cooking me up a storm, woman. I’m starved.”
And not just for food.
“Is that so?”
“You better believe it. And don’t forget my pie.” We bought the ingredients for that too.
“I won’t forget your pie,” she says, smiling.
My chin is resting on my hand as I sit on one of the stools and watch her move effortlessly around my kitchen. Emma’s making grilled chicken with baby roasted carrots, fennel, and blood-orange salad for lunch. She boiled a small piece of chicken with rice for the dog, which is cooling on a plate.
“How did you learn to cook so well?” I ask her. She said she didn’t learn from her mother, so I’m curious.
“Culinary school. I attended night classes.”
“How old were you?”
“Senior high. I continued until I went off to college.” She fascinates me. “My dad was an awful cook,” she says with a small laugh. “We lived on a lot of takeout when I was growing up, hence, my chubbiness.”
“You’re far from chubby,” I tell her.
“I know, but when I was growing up…” She pauses briefly before her eyes meet mine. “When the bullying started in junior high, I developed an eating disorder. I was eventually diagnosed with a form of Bulimia. I didn’t binge eat like some do, but I purged everything that went into my mouth.” She gives a slight shrug. “I knew what I was doing was wrong, even back then, but I thought if I lost the extra pounds, they’d stop giving me such a hard time. I was desperate.”
“Did it… stop, I mean?”
“No.” She diverts her gaze away from me as sadness washes over her. I hate what she endured.
“Is that why you work with children with eating disorders?”
“Yes. I was young, and I didn’t know any better, but I know it’s not the answer… it never will be the answer. That’s why I do what I do. After what I went through, I wanted to help other kids going through the same thing as my therapist helped me.”
“The same therapist who encouraged you to do Sinful-Saturdays?”
“The very one,” she replies with humor in her voice.
“That’s very noble of you.”
“Not really, but I’m a true believer that things happen for a reason, and if you can learn from it, even the bad stuff, it can only make you stronger.” Her words swim around in my head.
I know for a fact that what I went through with Anastasia didn’t make me stronger. It changed me, but not for the better. Did I learn from it? Most definitely. I learned not to trust people.
“When I first started on my career path,” she continues, “I knew if I could help others in similar situations, even just one child, it would make everything I went through worth it.”
I stand and round the kitchen island. She’s doesn’t resist when I pull her into my arms. My chin rests on top of her head as I hold her tight. “You’re inspirational, Em.”
“Hardly,” she scoffs.
She is. Strong, thoughtful. She’s a true survivor. I’m proud of her. Although guarded at times, she wears her heart on her sleeve, and I like that about her. It’s commendable. “You are. You turned the negative times into a positive by using your experiences to help others.”
I could learn a thing or two from her.
My hands travel up her arms, moving across her shoulders before coming to rest on either side of her slim neck. The pads of my thumbs gently skim her jawline as I lean in and place my lips on hers.
When I draw back, I can see the desire and want in her eyes. I know with all certainty that look is mirrored in my own.
So many emotions run through me as I scan over her face. The words are out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying. “Je pourrais si facilement tomber amoureux de toi, Emma Phoenix.” I could so easily fall in love with you, Emma Phoenix.
To say I’m shocked by those words would be an understatement. Thank Christ she’s doesn’t understand French.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t let that happen.
No good can come from it. Only heartache, and I think we’ve both had our fair share of that already.
Releasing her, I begrudgingly retake my seat. What I really want to do is kiss her until she’s breathless and withering underneath me while losing ourselves in each other. But, first and foremost, she’s my friend, and I want her to feel safe here.
I don’t want to take advantage of her.
And, I sure as hell don’t want to fall in love with her either.
Chapter Twenty
EMMA
We’re lounging on sun chairs on his back deck. After lunch, Ashton brought me out here. We’re still in our clothes from earlier, but he pulled the chairs out of the hot sun into the shaded area. Duke is out here with us. We placed his bed near the glass sliding doors, so he’s close by.
I feel completely relaxed and a little posh sitting by his pool and sipping wine.
“I’ve never done this before,” Ashton says, glancing over at me.
“Is this your first time sitting out here?”
“No, I sit out here all the time. You could say it’s my happy place. I mean I’ve never hung out with a woman… like this.”
“I can see why it’s your happy place. And for the record, I’ve never hung out with a guy like this either. It’s kind of nice.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “I’m great company and extremely likable. You like me, don’t you?”
“You’re growing on me, Barclay… like fungus.”
He places his hand on his chest, mocking fake hurt. “You wound me, Em,” he says, and we both laugh. The truth is I’ve loved being here with him today. The more I get to know him, the more I like him and like being around him.
“So, the other women you bring here, don’t get to experience this kind of thing with you?”