Page 59 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Really?"
"She says you have 'good hands' and 'honest eyes,' whatever that means."
Emma snorts. "Good hands? Mom would love that. She's always going on about how you can tell everything about a person by their hands."
"Emma," Dax warns, but he's fighting a smile.
"What? I'm just reading her palm. Very scientific." Emma traces a line across my palm with her finger. "This line here says you're going to make my brother very happy for a very long time."
"Palm reading isn't scientific," I point out.
"Are you questioning my methodology, Dr. Bennett?"
The use of my title makes me stiffen slightly. I'd almost forgotten, in the warmth of family dinner and easy conversation, that there are parts of my life I can't share.
"Sorry," Emma says quickly, noticing my reaction. "I just... Dax mentioned you have a PhD. I think it's cool."
"It's fine," I say, forcing a smile. "I just don't use the title much outside of work."
"That's modest of you," Emma says, but there's something in her expression that suggests she's filing away my reaction for later consideration.
After dinner, we migrate back to the living room with the cookies Emma brought. They're incredible—soft and warm with perfectly melted chocolate chips and just a hint of sea salt that makes them addictive.
"Your mom is a goddess," I tell Emma around a bite of cookie.
"I'll pass that along. She'll be so happy to hear you liked them." Emma settles onto the couch next to me while Dax claims the armchair. "She's already planning Thanksgiving dinner, by the way."
"It's February," Dax points out.
"Mom plans everything six months in advance. You know this." Emma turns to me. "Please tell me you'll come to Thanksgiving. Mom's already setting a place for you."
"Emma—" Dax starts.
"What? It's February. That's plenty of time to plan." Emma looks between us. "Unless... oh God, are you guys not at the 'meet the whole family' stage yet? I'm sorry, I just assumed since you're clearly living in each other's pockets?—"
"We're not living in each other's pockets," I protest.
"Okay cool bro." Emma stands up, stretching. "Speaking of which, what's the sleeping situation tonight? Couch or guest room?"
"Guest room," Dax says quickly. "I cleared it out last week."
Emma raises an eyebrow. "You cleared out the guest room? The room that was full of hockey equipment and old textbooks? The room you've been using as storage for two years?"
"It needed to be cleaned anyway."
"Uh-huh. And this has nothing to do with potentially having overnight guests who aren't your messy college friends?"
The pink tinge is back around Dax's ears. "It's just good to have a proper guest room."
"Right. For guests. Like girlfriends' families who might visit." Emma's grin is positively wicked now. "Very forward-thinking of you."
"I'm going to bed," Dax announces, standing up abruptly. "You two can continue psychoanalyzing my interior decorating choices without me."
"We will," Emma calls after him cheerfully. "Sweet dreams! Don't forget to use those expensive sheets you bought!"
After Dax disappears upstairs, Emma turns to me with a more serious expression.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
