Page 131 of Never Let You Go

Let me know if you need a ride back

That seems like a legit excuse to text and ask questions. That’s three text messages in a row, though, so I put my phone away.

I have it on vibrate, but no message comes through. The thought of her out with friends is driving me crazy. Another impulse, and I send Grace a message.

Me

You girls out somewhere?

I know I have no right to ask questions or have expectations, seeing as I’m having dinner at Emma’s, and she’s putting on a show.

Even if I don’t, and if I’ve been clear with my intentions regarding Emma, there’s clear indications she’s treating this as a date.

Maybe even a pre-nup visit. Taunting me with the goods—the gorgeous house, the impeccable food, the nice hostess manners.

I didn’t think I’d ever want this, but I do.

I want this. I want this with Alexandra.

A big house full of our babies. A large backyard opening to the woods, a big tree with a swing for Skye and a hammock for Alexandra. Lots of open space. A back patio with a barbecue. A hot tub.

I would turn the upstairs of the bakery into a couple more apprentice rooms. Turn it into a school.

Or maybe Alexandra would rather stay in the village. God knows there’s enough empty rooms in the upper level of the bakery. I could easily turn them into bedrooms and playrooms. We’d watch our kids through the window as they’d walk themselves to school and skate on The Green.

I can see my life like that, clearly, and I want it to happen.

Now.

Emma sends the girls upstairs to play in Caroline’s room “while the parents clear the table and do dishes.” I’m getting more uncomfortable, especially when Emma pretends to accidentally brush her body against mine or when I hand her the dishes to load the dishwasher. There’s a domestic quality to this that suggests months or years of living together, and I feel like I’m cheating on Alexandra.

As if to confirm my suspicion, Emma says, “This was nice. I could get used to it. We should do it more often. Make it a habit.” She’s leaning against the sink suggestively, her hands clasped on the edge so that her back arches and her breasts are pushed toward me. I feel a little sorry for her.

“I wouldn’t want to get the rumor mill started,” I say. I wipe my hands on a rogue kitchen towel—I don’t want to get closer to her by reaching for the ones she neatly hangs next to the sink. I call Skye from the bottom of the stairs. Time to go.

Emma snorts. “Says the guy who has a gorgeous, single woman sleeping under his roof for months. Actually sharing his life.”

I shrug. “It’s work. I didn’t pick her. And she’s leaving soon.”

“Speaking of which,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Do you know she’s helping other businesses with their social media?”

“Yeah, she’s great at that. I have no problem with it.” Emma is seriously getting on my nerves right now. “I actually encouraged her.”

“Seriously, Chris?”

“What.”

“Aren’t you worried?” She turns her back to me while she hand-washes a pot.

“About what.”

“About her failing her apprenticeship.”

“I want what’s best for my apprentices. Always. If they find out during their stay with me that baking is not their path, that’s fine.”

“Chris,” she says, turning around, her eyes pleading. “For whatever reason, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, and—”

“Emma—”

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