“I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper, her voice muffled.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He gently rubbed her back, his heart aching for this woman he would do anything for.
She leaned back with a dry laugh. “I made a mess out of your handkerchief.”
He chuckled. “Keep it. I’ve got a bunch more.”
“Ugh, I’m a mess.”
He took in her red nose, watery eyes, and tear-stained cheeks. “A beautiful mess.”
Emma shook her head. “I should go. I need to go.”
Marty got it and couldn’t blame her. “Will you text me when you get home so I know you got there okay?”
“Yeah.” She sniffed and looked at him. “Thank you.”
He wasn’t sure what exactly she was referring to. “You had no idea one of my super powers was making women cry.” He gave her a wink.
Thankfully, she laughed at that, and the mood in the room lightened noticeably. “I’ll have to remember that. Seriously, though.”
“Friends are always there for each other. After all, you spent most of the day painting my kitchen. Thankyou.” She moved away, and he bent to retrieve his crutch. “Come on, let me walk you to the door.”
In the living room, Emma made sure she had everything then turned to face him in the open doorway. “I’ll text when I get home.”
Marty leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Emma.”
“Good night.”
He pushed the button to open the gate for her and watched as her car disappeared from view. Only then did he allow himself to lean against the wall with a heavy sigh.
It seemed like days since this morning when he’d first welcomed Caleb and Emma into the house. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally.
Marty changed into more comfortable clothes, waited for Emma’s short text letting him know she’d gotten home okay, and then he collapsed onto his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
16
Sunday morning brought with it cloudy skies and rain with a promise of severe thunderstorms later in the day. The weather reflected Emma’s mood as she stretched sore muscles and got out of bed. Every memory from the day before came flooding back with the soreness. Painting the kitchen, those amazing kisses with Marty, his leg, and then their conversation at the end of the evening.
She’d held it together enough to get home again, texted Marty, and then cried more that night than she had in a long time. Emma couldn’t even remember when she’d changed into her pajamas, but she must have.
Since Mom and Dale were still gone when she got back, Emma left a note in the kitchen so she didn’t have to face Mom while she was an emotional mess. Now she could hear Mom working in the kitchen. Probably putting a small breakfast together before she left for church.
A pang of guilt stabbed Emma.
No, she couldn’t go to church today. She still wasn’t sure she could ever go back. But even if she did, her emotions were too raw. She’d end up bawling. Making a fool of herself. Bringing too many questions from her family.
She wasn’t ready for any of that.
She’d take a shower, get herself together, and try to act normal. Even if what she really wanted to do was hide in her room.
Twenty minutes later, the scent of bacon welcomed her into the kitchen.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mom greeted with a smile. “You want one egg or two?”
“One, please. Thanks. And good morning.” Emma stifled a yawn as she retrieved two glasses and poured them both some orange juice. “How was your date?”
“It was wonderful.” Mom looked blissful as she cracked eggs and added them to a skillet. “We went for dinner at that new Italian place, took a walk by the creek, and talked forever. Mostly.” Her cheeks turned pink.
