Page 25 of Summertime Friends

Emerson cuts me off, surprising me with what she says, “Sounds fun. Let’s go.”

She stands up, leaving her drink on the table. Without asking, she takes my hand, pulling me to my feet and behind her as we make our way to Callum and George.

I interlock my fingers with hers, curious to see if they’d fit. Like a key in its lock, they do.

We’re almost at the center of the dance floor when she stops. I bump into her. She turns to face me, placing her other hand on my chest.

“Warning. I am not a good dancer.” She hesitantly chuckles.

Emerson meant it. She is quite terrible—no coordination, no control. But she left out that she doesn’t care that she is bad.

From beside the guys, I watch her spin in a circle, tossing her hair over one shoulder, when her eyes lock with mine.

I don’t know if the alcohol provides liquid courage or if this is always her, but the way she moves is even more magnetic, pulling me to her. I join her, mimicking her ridiculous dance moves.

George and Callum flash us caviling glances, but I don’t care. Judgment is the last thing on my mind right now, from them or anyone in the place.

At this moment, nothing else matters but her. All I see is her. All I feel is her. All I want is her.

At this moment, there isn’t anyone else here but us. All I see is us. All I feel is us. All I want is us.

I don’t think I ever want this to end. And I don’t know if my mind means tonight or whatever this bond I feel with her is.

I pull Emerson to me. Up against my body and wrap my arms around her. I rest my chin on top of her head. Pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, the smell of coconut and macadamianut fills my nose. It’s warm and savory. Which I imagine she is. Emerson isn’t a sweet girl, not someone I want to indulge in but savor forever. Leaning down so that my head is level with her ear. “Do you want to get out of here?” I ask her. Quiet enough that only she can hear me, but loud enough that my question doesn’t get lost in the music.

“Liam—”

My stomach drops at how she says my name for the first time.

“You’d be much happier leaving with any other girl here,” she says frankly. An invisible barrier rises between us. “I’m not that type of—”

“We don’t need to sleep together,” I blurt out.

“It’s not that,” she says.

“Then what is it?” I find her eyes and search them.

“It’s that. . . the way you just looked at me.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you want to fall in love with me,” Emerson says.

13

EMERSON

Now

“Can you tell me again about this new client?” I ask Blake. “No, never mind, just the project. I know Margot said it was a hotel brand.”

Blake runs through the inquiry Margot briefly discussed with us this morning as we walk to lunch at The Cleopatra. The restaurant opened in February on the first floor of a boutique-style hotel opening in early fall.

The meeting was supposed to include an onboarding manager for new clients, but she was already booked for this afternoon. Margot asked if I could attend the initial meeting since I will manage the entire marketing plan and account.

Chicago is warm with blue skies. I didn’t mind the excuse to get out of the office for a little or have lunch at The Cleopatra, a restaurant named after my favorite historical figure. I’ve been dying to try it since its grand opening, but reservations are hard to come by, and the wait is consistently two hours or more.

The restaurant features an extensive wine list and shareable plates. The tapas are from various cuisines, including two Egyptian foods, even though everyone forgets that Cleopatra wasn’t Egyptian. Natalie went in March and said it was the best tapas she’d ever had.

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