Page 23 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

A strangled sound escapes her lips, half-laugh, half-sob. She buries her face in her hands, muffling whatever she’s about to say.

I take a step closer, concerned. “Emma?”

She doesn't move. Hesitantly, I reach out a hand and gently remove her hand from her face. Her eyes, when they meet mine, are blazing with something far beyond annoyance. Fear? Apprehension? Whatever this is, it isn’t good.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she hisses, her voice barely a whisper.

My heart stutters in my chest, suddenly pounding against my ribs like a frantic bird. “I was…helping. Don't you get it? Those women were practically dragging you through the mud.”

She scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound. “Helping? You call that helping?”

Now I'm getting annoyed. “What else would you call it?”

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “Liam, for God's sake, you just…kissed me! In view of the whole grocery store! In front of everyone!”

The realization hits me like a physical blow. The kiss is a problem. But her reaction makes me a bit disappointed. I enjoyed the kiss, maybe a bit too much for acting, and I thought from the way she kissed me back and wrapped her hands around me she enjoyed it too.

Heat floods my cheeks. “Look, I…” I stammer, searching for the right words. “I just… Well, they were getting to you, and I?—“

“And you what?” she challenges, her voice rising a notch. “Decided to play Sir Galahad and rescue me from a pack of gossiping hens?”

I wince. Maybe “Sir Galahad” isn’t the best analogy. “Something like that,” I mumble.

“This isn't a fairytale, Liam,” she says, her voice laced with bitterness. “This isn’t New York, either. This is Harmony Creek. People here don't forget things easily, and they love to speculate.”

“So what?” I retort, a defensive edge creeping into my voice. “It was a kiss. Two adults. Big deal.”

She stares at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and something akin to pity. “You don't get it, do you?”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. “Get what? That you were about to be badmouthed by a bunch of…mean girls?”

“This isn't about mean girls, Liam,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “This is about reputations. About small-town gossip that can follow you around for years. Don't you think I know that?”

Her words hit me like a cold slap. The truth is, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I'd acted impulsively, a mix of annoyance at her tormentors and…something else. Something I hadn't quite dared to admit to myself yet.

Silence hangs heavy between us, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, I stammer out an apology. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to cause you any trouble.”

It's a lousy apology, half-hearted and laced with a defensiveness I can't quite shake. She sees right through it.

“No,” she says, her voice cold. “You didn't mean to cause trouble. You just didn't think. That's what you always do, Liam. Charge in without a plan, leaving a mess for others to clean up.”

The anger flares hot within me. “Hold on a damn minute,” I interject. “I was trying to help! And besides, it wasn't like I planned on causing a scene. Damon asked us to try to get along for the wedding, that's all.”

“Well, forget the wedding,” she snaps. “Because right now, I'm not letting you walk all over me.”

“Walk all over you?” I repeat, incredulous. “Emma, I just?—“

“You just what?” she challenges, her eyes blazing. “Made a complete fool of both of us? Thanks for that, Liam.”

Her voice drips with sarcasm, and the sting of her words hits me hard. Maybe she’s right. The anger that has been simmering starts to boil over. I open my mouth to retort, a sharp comeback ready on my tongue, but the words die in my throat. The truth is, I can't argue with her. I had acted impulsively without considering the consequences.

“Fine,” I mutter, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “We'll deal with it.”

She shakes her head, her expression a storm of emotions. “Delusional,” she mutters under her breath.

Without another word, she grabs her grocery bags, the plastic handles digging into her white knuckles. The tension in her shoulders speaks volumes.

I make a move to help her, a stupid, instinctive reaction. “Here, let me get those,” I offer, reaching out for the bags.

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