Page 55 of Engulfing Emma

Still, I feel bad about how I pushed him out. I hop out of bed, bypassing the window altogether because it’s too dark outside to see anything anyway. Besides, he’s at work. I go downstairs and page through my recipes until I find the perfect one.

Two hours later, I take my peace offering to the firehouse.

“Yes!” someone shouts when I’m seen with my bounty. “We weren’t sure you were coming back.”

I have an urge to turn around and run away. Did Brett tell them what happened between us?

Brett steps forward, sensing my unease. “He means since you went back into the school.” He looks at me guiltily. “I hope you don’t mind that I told them about our going there. They saw you sitting on the bench.”

“Great job, Emma,” one of the guys says, offering me a fist bump. “Way to kick fear’s ass.”

I try to gauge the sincerity on his face, and I could be wrong, but I really do think that he’s just talking about the school. I bump my fist to his. “Thanks, uh …”

“Denver,” he says. “Denver Andrews. I know a little something about conquering fears, so I understand it’s not an easy feat. We’re all happy for you.”

“Thanks, Denver.”

Brett watches as some of the guys congratulate me. I wonder what he thinks about my showing up here today. I need to make sure he understands it’s an apology, not an invitation.

“Wait here,” Brett says when his shift comes to an end. “You can come to the hardware store with me to pick up the supplies to fix your door.”

“I’m buying,” I say.

He gives me a scolding look. “It was my fault, Emma. I’m paying for the repairs.”

“You were saving me, Brett.”

“It’s not up for negotiation.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Okay then. I’ll meet you out front.”

“I know where to find you,” he says with a wink.

I walk to our bench, thinking he shouldn’t be winking at me. And further, I shouldn’t be getting that feeling in the pit of my stomach when he does. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. I should stay far away from Brett Cash and his winking, and his inviting green eyes, and his heroic tendencies.

“Ready?” he asks, walking up with a duffle bag over his shoulder.

I stand. “Before we go, there’s something I want to tell you. I, uh, wanted to say I was sorry about how we left things on Friday. I … I hope we can still be friends.”

“Friends?” he says with a raised brow. “Haven’t we crossed that threshold, Emma?”

I flush, recalling just how far across that threshold we went. “About that. I really think it’s best we just be friends.”

He studies me for a second. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. “AndIthink it’s best we get your door fixed. Let’s go.”

And just like that, it’s as if Friday never happened. I’m glad he’s not going to harp on it and think that because we had sex once, it makes me his girlfriend.

My breath hitches.Girlfriend. It’s not a title I’ve possessed in over twelve years. It’s not one I’ve wanted. So why, when I think of the word, do I have flashbacks of him on top of me?

An hour later, I’m making a pot of coffee as Brett hammers away at my front door. I try to keep myself busy so I don’t notice the way his arm muscles bulge as he works. Or the way the back of his shirt is damp with sweat. When did sweat become so sexy?

He puts the last coat of paint on the door jam and sits on the bottom step. “This will need a few hours to dry. Don’t close the door fully, or it’ll get stuck and you’ll rip the paint off.”

“Got it.”

“I could stay if you want, since you can’t close and lock it.”

“I’m a big girl, Brett. I think I’ll be okay.”

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