Page 90 of Single All the Way

Emerson’s smile disappeared as she hurried toward us. “Skyler?” She craned her neck as she realized where Sky was. “Whatare you doing?”

“Eating cookies with Esmerelda,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world and she hadn’t been scared of the llama just a few weeks ago.

Emerson met my gaze with a questioning one.

“We couldn’t find her for a few minutes. Luckily I looked here first. Everybody’s fine.” I hoisted Skyler and her elephant out of the feed bin and over the wall to our side, hugging her close. “We’ll have a discussion about safety and rules later.”

When I held Sky toward her mom, Emerson surprised me by putting her arms around both of us for a hug. Before now, she’d barely looked me in the eye since leaving last week.

I bit down on the questions that set off in my mind and soaked in the moment of being close to these two people I loved with all my heart.

Emerson, Xavier, and Skyler joined the four of us for our Christmas Eve dinner tradition of spaghetti and meatballs. We cleaned the kitchen as a group so we could take our annual drive around town to look at Christmas lights, with Berty claiming she needed to get home and to bed so she could join us early on Christmas morning. I’d suggested she stay at our place and sleep on the sofa, but she refused, saying her bones were too old for sofas. When Emerson had volunteered to give up her bed, Berty held to her determination to get to her own home.

During our holiday light tour, the snow had started falling in large, peaceful flakes that didn’t stick to the pavement but quickly covered the grass and other surfaces in a white blanket.

Once we returned home, the kids raced out of the truck toward the house. Emerson and I walked more slowly from the garage to the door. She squeezed my forearm, smiled up at me, and said, “That was magical. Thank you.”

I peered down at her, confused as hell. She’d been warmer toward me all evening. It made me wonder if she’d either decided to buy the house she’d toured or decided she needed to stay with us longer—or both. I knew she hadn’t told the kids she was looking at a place, so I had to wait to ask her the status.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about her staying longer just to leave in a few weeks as originally planned. Everything had changed. It was murkier now. I loved having her kids here, and I’d grown attached to her dog. But the tension between us, at least before today, made everything trickier. It made it hard to relax in my own home.

“What’s going on?” I asked her quietly, so the kids wouldn’t hear.

Her smile faded. “We need to talk.” She glanced at the gang of kids clamoring at the door to the house. “Later.”

Her expression seemed meaningful, but I couldn’t figure out what the meaning might be. I was thankful for the warmth, whatever the cause. It was much better than the awkward politeness of the past few days. I couldn’t help but wonder what had changed.

Finally, by nine o’clock, we had the kids in bed, convinced Santa might skip over our house if they weren’t sound asleep.

Emerson was upstairs tucking in Skyler after readingThe Night Before Christmasto all four of them, all ofus—three times.

I’d come down after turning out the lights in Ruby’s room, where she and Xavier were tucked into their beds after dismantling the giant fort. We’d helped them see reason by pointing out they wouldn’t be able to play with anything new they might get for Christmas if they couldn’t walk through their room.

I was antsy, curious, wondering what Emerson was going to say. I paced the living room, then stopped and tried to get out of my head and appreciate the moment, the quiet. The twinkling lights on the tree soothed me, and I looked at each ornament, some the kids had made, some we’d picked out together, all with memories and meanings.

Emerson came up to my side and aimed her attention at the tree as well.

“Everybody good up there?” I asked.

“They seem to be. The Santa threat works like a charm, doesn’t it?”

“Every year. One of these years, Evelyn will be onto me if she’s not already.”

I wished I had a drink, something to hold on to. I considered offering her some wine or cocoa, but without knowing what she wanted to talk about or how it would go, a beverage seemed like a stall and a distraction.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, impatient.

She inhaled audibly, and I saw her chest rise with it out of the corner of my eye. I forced my focus back on the tree lights.

Emerson turned to face me, so I followed suit, feigning nonchalance while my pulse sped.

For a second, our gazes met, and I tried to read hers. She averted her eyes too quickly, seeming nervous. That did nothing to help my optimism.

She gripped her own arm at the elbow, which seemed only slightly less closed-off than if she’d crossed her arms over her chest. Or maybe that too was nerves. What the hell was she nervous about?

“I found the perfect house,” she said, peering up at me again and holding eye contact.

Everything in me sank in disappointment, but at the same time, there was a little voice that reminded me I should be happy for her. This was what she’d wanted all along, what she thought would make her happy. I wanted Emerson to be happy.

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