Page 27 of Free to Believe
“Jenna, they’re in my purse. Go ahead and grab them.”
Jenna roots around in a small handbag slung over her shoulder. “Got ’em. Do you want your coffee here or at your house, Em?”
“My place, please. Thanks for getting it from the scooter, sweetie,” Emily says quietly.
“Be right back.” Jenna rushes out. The front door slams behind her, sealing Emily and me in a heightened tension.
Emily goes to slide off the counter, but I cage her in before she can. “I’m serious, Emily. I want to check out that leg.” Guilt prompts me to admit, “It’s my fault you got hurt.”
“If you mean because of the bike, I’ll admit you should have warned me to not use it. However, your hospitality, or lack thereof, is certainly not a problem. Part of my borrowing the apartment wasn’t entertainment. In fact, I’d prefer to be alone.”
I frown, worried about Jenna first, last, always. “Does that include my daughter?”
Emily scowls. “Of course not. Your daughter is sweet and caring. She dropped whatever it was she was doing at work today to help me.”
I can’t help but laugh. “She’s normally like Satan’s prodigy these days,” I admit.
And suddenly it’s me who is wobbly on their feet as Emily truly smiles. The brilliance of it reminds me of how I feel when I hear an old song on the radio I haven’t heard in forever. It’s the thrill of hitting the F# above C5 on an alto sax. It’s the heat of playing in front of a live crowd.
The cadence of my heart picks up. What the hell is happening?
“How old is she, sixteen?” I nod in response, unable to respond. Emily’s smile is pure mischief. “We were a lot worse. Trust me.”
I back away and move toward the pantry closet to retrieve the first aid kit. If she keeps smiling when I’m this near her, I’m going to do something monumentally stupid.
Like kiss her.
With my back turned, I ask, “Your family?” as I slip into the large pantry. Pulling the kit from the floor, I make my way back to her.
She’s contemplative. “It’s not a hard question.”
“It is if you knew my family,” she murmurs. I pull over a chair from the dining room table before I get to work. As I unwrap the gauze from her leg, I wince as I see the bruising already starting to climb up her leg.
“Jesus, Emily, are you certain it’s not broken?”
She sets her curls dancing as she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I can walk on it. Besides, I have too much to do for it to be broken.”
“Like what? You’re supposed to be on vacation,” I challenge her.
“Not really,” she says evasively. “I’m supposed to be working on a project while I’m here. I just had too many distractions at home.”
“I hope it doesn’t require walking for the next few days. Jenna might have to be the one to walk your dog for you.” My voice is grim as I carefully remove the blood-soaked pads. The jagged cut doesn’t look exceptionally deep, but the fact it’s bleeding after more than an hour is still concerning me. “How well did you clean this out?”
She grimaces. “About as well as I could handle with the alcohol wipes from Sacred Grinds’ first aid kit.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m going to have to do a more thorough job than that.”
“Great. It’s a good thing I’m not back at home eating, then,” she says resignedly.
I tip my head to the side. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because my family is a bunch of foodies. We love to eat. Except I can’t cook worth a damn. So, if I can’t work out for the next few days…” I cut her off.
“Probably closer to a week.”
She nods. “A week, then. Then it’s best if I don’t overindulge.”
I frown. “If you’re not modeling, do you have to be so careful with your intake? Dani doesn’t worry about it.”
