Page 36 of Kellan & Emmett
Thos five words slid under my skin, sharp and warm at once. Half his life. He’d been living true while I’d been twisting myself into knots, hiding behind a marriage that never stood a chance. Something ugly and aching coiled low in me — envy, regret, shame. And threaded through it all, something I couldn’t pretend not to recognize anymore: longing.
Emmett shifted, his arms unfolding at last. He leaned back against the wall, like the weight of what he was about to say needed bracing. “It wasn’t some grand reveal,” he said after a pause. “I kissed a guy at a party, and someone saw. By Monday, the whole dorm knew. By Wednesday, half of Gomillion probably did too.” His mouth quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “I figured if the secret was already out, why waste time pretending it wasn’t true?”
He let out a slow breath, eyes somewhere past me, like he could still see that kid in the mirror. “Some people dropped me, sure, but enough stayed. And once I stopped pretending, I realized I’d been wasting years trying to be someone I wasn’t.”
I shifted, trying for casual, but the words came out tighter than I wanted. “So… you and Leif Lawson. Is that a thing?”
His gaze snapped back to me, steady, unreadable. For a beat, all I heard was the cicadas screaming in the trees.
“If memory serves,” I added quickly, like I hadn’t just let something slip, “he was a year ahead of us. But I saw him hanging around at a couple of reunion events.”
Emmett’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not irritation either. “Leif’s just… Leif. He’s local, never really left Gomillion. Helps out when there’s something going on, like the reunion committee. You know how it is—half the town shows up whether it’s their year or not.”
I nodded, though the knot in my chest didn’t loosen. “So it wasn’t…?”
He shook his head, firm but easy. “No. Not like that. He’s a friend, nothing more.” He tilted his head, eyes flicking over me like he could see more than I wanted him to. “Why? You worried I’ve been holding a torch all these years?”
Heat crawled up the back of my neck, and I forced a scoff, brushing dirt from my palms like it mattered more than the question hanging between us. “Just making conversation.”
But even as the words left my mouth, I knew he didn’t believe me. Hell, I didn’t believe me.
Daily To-Do
Order new linens for Rooms 3 & 5
Restock coffee, sugar, and creamer before the weekend crowd
Give Kellan chores to do
Don’t fall in love with him again
Chapter 19
Emmett
The sound carried first—the drag of a brush against tile, the slosh of water in a bucket. I paused at the top of the stairs, hand on the banister, listening. Not surprising, he wasn’t griping or stalling. There was just the steady rhythm of him working.
I leaned into the rail, arms folding, unfolding again, restless. I couldn't see him from here, but I pictured it anyway—Kellan Miller on his knees with a scrub brush in hand.
My mouth wanted to curve into a smile I wasn’t about to let him see. God help me, there was something satisfying about him carrying weight here—not on a field, or for a crowd, but in this small, ordinary way.
And that was the problem. Ordinary moments had teeth. They stuck.
I gave in and headed down the hall. Found him in the guest bath, T-shirt clinging to his back, sweat darkening the cotton as he worked. His arm moved in firm arcs over the tile, the citrus bite of cleaner stinging the air. That visual had no business lighting me up the way it did.
Don’t read into it. He’s here because he needs a roof over his head, not because he wants you. Turns out, the man’s straight… or at least I think so.
I leaned a shoulder into the doorframe, arms crossed, careful not to hover but close enough to watch. “Careful with those corners,” I said, tone mild. “Guests are picky about them.”
His head tipped, damp hair brushing his temple as he shot me a look. “Next time, you can demonstrate proper technique.”
I huffed out a laugh before I could stop it, sharp enough that it startled me. He grinned, quick and crooked, and for a second it was like we were seventeen again—elbows knocking, teasing until one of us broke first.
Don’t fall for him again.
The problem was, laughter had memory. My body remembered the way it used to be—late nights, stupid jokes, the way he’d nudge me with a shoulder and I’d shove him back, both of us grinning like idiots. And now, standing there in the doorway while he scrubbed soap scum, my chest couldn’t tell the difference between then and now.
I headed for the laundry room, a cart stacked with fresh linens ready to be hauled upstairs.
