CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, Emma grabbed her toothbrush. With it, and the rest of her clothing zipped up in her luggage, she greeted Nick by the door. He tousled a hand through his hair and met her gaze. In that moment, Emma didn’t know what she’d do if he asked her to stay. As his eyes slipped down, his body froze. A single soft, “Oh,” fell from his lips. He jerked straight up, all emotion stripped from his face. He could be a stone soldier guarding a cemetery for all Emma could glean from him.
A thousand excuses flooded her mind.
I’ll be leaving soon. You don’t owe me anything. I can make my own way. Forget it even happened.
“Okay,” Nick said. He fished out his keys, the wad of them clanking together as he reached down to pick up her bag. “Skylar!”
“I can still work for the day. I just don’t want to get in your way, your life.” Emma had to talk through the pounding silence. The only sound was Nick stifling a groan as he hefted her bag off the floor.
“Okay,” he repeated, the emotion gone. “Sky—!”
“Yes, I’m here. Just had to…” The girl stampeded down the stairs and stared at the bag on Nick’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Get in the truck. We’re late.” Nick looked back to the girl, hiding his face from Emma. To her surprise, Skylar didn’t complain. She tugged her book bag closer and nodded. It didn’t take them long to get outside, though the air stung of frozen ice pelting against her cheeks.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” Skylar shouted, dashing headlong for the truck. She yanked open the doors and leaped inside. Emma watched Nick carefully undo the tailgate even as his skin was blasted by sleet.
“You should get inside before you freeze,” he said, cranking the strap tighter so her luggage wouldn’t fly out. No discussion, no questions. He stood against the bitter cold to lock down her things so she’d leave his life.
She needed to say something, to cut through the tension and convince everyone it was for the best. But there was no opening. Nick closed his tailgate, and they slipped into the truck. Skylar kept talking, complaining about how freezing her toes were, how she dreaded her finals. Emma tried to reply, but each word felt pointless. As for Nick, he silently drove, his eyes never leaving the road.
HE WASN’T SURPRISED. If anything, he was surprised she’d stuck around for as long as she did. Three days was a damn near tour in the Iverson home. Nick made certain to put her things in the office. The weather was being its usual December blend of everything awful about winter. Not to mention there could be some sticky fingers wandering around in parking lots. He wouldn’t put it past a family of raccoons to make off with her clothing.
It didn’t hurt if he didn’t think about it. Why should it hurt? He’d known her since Tuesday. That’s a general acquaintance, not a person to get bent out of shape over. He finished putting down the chairs and unlocked the front door. Not even the mistletoe latte horde would stand outside in this weather. They’d been calm at least thanks to her coaxing them into trying anything else.
Funny how much brighter everything was. The cafe always felt like a lighthouse beaming against the darkness of five a.m. But the light felt warmer, like a fireplace flickering in a hearth instead of the dentist’s office about to rip out a tooth. Yellow and orange stars made of tinsel hung off the pipes, turning the inhospitable light friendly. The menu that used to be white jagged lines on the blackboard now boasted pastel pink and purple text. Instead of his chicken scratch, the letters looped like they were done properly, along with drawings of donuts, coffee, and Christmas trees.
Nick breathed in, expecting to smell the familiar mix of grinding coffee beans, scalding milk, and floor cleaner. But the scent of pine struck him and tears beaded in his eyes. He forgot about the tree. It’d only cause a bigger mess in the already messy cafe. Nick flicked the closet branch, watching the homemade yarn ornament dance.
The employee door opened and the air changed to an intoxicating aroma of crisp dough and tart jams. Nick closed his eyes to breathe it in when a soft chirp broke him. She blushed bright pink and almost dropped the tray of donuts and pastries to the counter.
“Here’s the first round. I hope they’re okay.”
Before he could answer, she dashed back to the kitchen. She’d changed that too, rearranging the storage boxes to form a makeshift counter to make it easier. It could all be returned to what it once was. Put the boxes back, shove the shelves against the wall, erase the drawings on the chalkboard, take down the decorations. It’d be like she’d never been here.
The bell jangled for their first customer. A familiar truck driver whose name he never got stomped his feet on the floor. “It’s cold out there. Do you have donuts?”
Nick snickered at the childish joy in the fifty-something man’s face at the prospect of sprinkles and fried dough. He slipped behind the counter, falling back into the pattern of the jaded man who owned a coffee shop. But before he went, he plugged in the Christmas tree’s lights.
EMMA’S PHONE BEEPED. She reached for the towel on the counter to wipe off her hands, except it sent it tumbling to the ground. Her phone beeped again, sounding annoyed. A thick paste of flour, egg, and water had built up on her palms. If she touched anything it’d be ready for the deep fry.
Dropping carefully to her knees, she reached for the towel. That part was easy. It was the standing up that caused her to smack her head on the counter. “Damn it,” she cursed about to rub the spot when she remembered the flour.
“A damn from you…”
Her heart plummeted and she spun on the floor. Nick finished placing a box on the shelves. He cast his blue gaze to her struggling to stand without touching anything. “It must be serious.”
“I dropped the towel, and my hands are covered.” Emma held them up as if that would explain the bump on her head. Her phone once again beeped at her. “And this thing. Would you mind?” She turned her back to him and raised her back pocket while scraping the flour off her fingers.
“Uh…” It wasn’t until Nick stood directly behind her, the heat of his body radiating from how close his hand swept above her back, that she realized her mistake. There were a lot, but pushing her butt at a man was the new one.
She felt the phone slip free. He didn’t round his palm over the pocket where it’d been. Nor did he run his hand over her hip or slide his chest against her back to show her the phone. Like a gentleman, he held it out for her and waited. Emma tried to peel away the mess when the phone buzzed and the screen revealed a notification.
“Is it my sister?” she asked.
“Says…” He sounded near a laugh at her fumbling when his voice deadened. “RentaRoom.”
