Page 30 of Free to Believe
Dinner with Jenna once Emily left the house was cold and silent. She couldn’t believe I was so rude to not encourage her to stay, not only because she was staying on our property but because she was injured. The last words she said to me before grabbing her food and stomping off to her room cut deep. “That’s not how I was raised to treat people. By you.”
Damn, if my soon-to-be seventeen-year-old didn’t just call me out. And she was one hundred percent correct.
I go out through the kitchen onto the back deck. From where I’m standing, I can see Em sitting at the little table with a leather-bound sketchbook in hand. On the table next to her is a glass of wine. Frowning, I wonder if she should be drinking. I quickly make a call to a local doctor on the island, explaining what happened and what steps I took to treat her injury. He also makes arrangements to come out later in the week to look at her leg to check for any infection.
Feeling marginally better, I go back inside and call up to Jenna that I’ll be right back. I grit my teeth when I don’t get any response. I don’t imagine the reception is going to be much better where I’m headed either. Picking up the disposable container I filled with spaghetti and homemade meat sauce earlier, I head out through the kitchen and down the porch stairs. I cross the walkway between our decks and quickly climb the stairs.
About four steps from the top, I feel two sets of eyes watching me. One’s probably salivating from the smell, and the other’s likely out for my blood. Waving the proverbial white flag, I address them both. “I brought you some spaghetti.” It’s her dog who welcomes me with a few thumps of his tail.
Emily chortles. “Did your daughter make you?”
“No, Ms. Smart-Ass. I did this all on my own without guidance from my cousin or my daughter, thank you very much.” I hold the covered container out to her.
Emily places her sketchbook on the table, facedown. Lifting the lid, she sniffs what was supposed to be our shared meal inside. “This smells delicious. Homemade?” she asks, surprised.
“Just the sauce. It’s not that hard to do.” I reach a hand out to touch her sketchbook and am rewarded by having my hand slapped. Hard. “What the hell was that for?”
“No one looks in that sketchbook. Ever,” she says flatly.
“How do you make your designs, then, if no one can see them?” Now that I know who she is, I’m curious about the process.
“That isn’t my design sketchbook. This book has never been looked at by another human. If I thought it had without my permission, I’d burn it.” Whoa. I’m taken aback at the utter desolation on the beautiful face in front of me. But as quickly as it appears, it disappears without a trace. “If you really want to talk to me about design, there’s a black leather folder on the coffee table. Grab that and a fork and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“Using me since I’m here?”
“Whatever works.”
I nod at her almost empty glass of wine. “Need a refill?”
She shakes her head. “My brother-in-law called earlier on his break from the ER. Two glasses are my limit. But can you do one more thing?” She holds up a bag of melting ice. I wince, thinking I should offer one of our less messy ice packs. “Can you dump this for me? I’m beginning to feel like Mugsy had an accident on me.” As she shifts, her face takes on a cast of pain that doesn’t disappear. Tears start to form. I reach for her wineglass and shove it into her hand.
“Drink,” I order.
Letting out a choked laugh, she does. “Trying to get me drunk, Jacob?”
“Jake, okay? Every time you call me Jacob, I feel like I’m being schooled by my parents for something I did to Dani.”
She grins and my body reacts the same way it did in my kitchen. “Word of advice? Never tell a woman those things, Jake. It leaves her with great ammunition for later.”
Shaking my head with silent laughter, I head for the back door. “I’ll be right back, Emily.”
“Em.” I turn around.
“Excuse me?”
“The only people who called me Emily are gone from my life. Everyone else calls me Em.”
“Em,” I say softly. It suits her right now with her curls dancing in the ocean breeze.
“Jake?”
“Yes.” I’m distracted by the picture she’s making against the setting sun.
“Are you cleaning my floor since that bag of ice is leaking all over it?”
Shit. Rushing to the sink, I pretend to not hear her bark of laughter. But after how I left everything earlier, I kind of don’t mind being the reason she’s laughing right now.
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