Every Little Kiss (11 page)

“It’s burned,” Emma said.

“It’s excellent,” Steve interjected. “That’s an Andersen-style marshmallow right there.”

“It’s true,” Ginny said. “Gross and amazing all at the same time. Pure Andersen.”

Emma laughed. “Um.”

“It’s going to get cold. You need to eat it now, hot out of the fire. Come on. Just open your mouth. You don’t have to touch it.” When she just looked at him, he repeated, “Trust me.”

Emma rolled her shoulders, licked her lips, glanced at her laughing mother, and then opened her mouth with a look that indicated she might just hurt him. Seth popped in the charred marshmallow, feeling Emma’s lips close over the tips of his fingers before he could completely remove them. That brief feeling of suction, of her lips and tongue on his skin, made him forget to breathe as his chest tightened right along with every other part of his body. He kept his expression purposely blank, even though it was a struggle, but when Emma’s eyes locked with his, he knew she could see exactly what he was feeling.

What he didn’t expect was the flash of heat he saw, turning her eyes electric blue for a brief, heart-stopping second before she looked away to chew thoughtfully. Seth picked up one of the napkins she’d brought over to clean off his fingers, trying very hard not to imagine what it would be like to let her lick them clean. Around him, the others chattered on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his flaming marshmallow had sparked an entirely different sort of combustion.

“Well?” Jasper asked Emma. “Do you like it, or are you going to be sick?”

Emma finished chewing, blinked, her eyes wide, and then gave a soft chuckle. “It was charred and gooey and pretty destroyed, but . . . it was really kind of awesome.”

There was some amused cheering and clapping as Seth put his fists in the air. “Success!” he said.

“Hmm,” Emma said with a wry smile. She ate the rest of her original s’more, then grabbed another marshmallow to skewer. “It’s just a burned marshmallow. Don’t get too excited.”

“Hey, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. I know all kinds of cool things. You just wait and see.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I hope those cool things don’t involve fire, because a marshmallow is about as far as I’m willing to go with that.”

“You’ll just have to find out,” he told her, waggling his eyebrows. She winced.

“Well, that’s unnerving.”

“Yeah? I was going for that.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Emma replied. They looked at each other a moment, then laughed. Emma gave his knee a gentle shove with her own and shook her head. Seth grabbed another marshmallow as he let himself slide into the group’s conversation, settling into the evening with a degree of comfort he hadn’t expected, but fully welcomed.

Tonight had been full of surprises, but it was Emma who had provided the biggest one—that no matter what had brought him here, it might just turn out that in Harvest Cove, he wasn’t so alone after all.

“D
id you spike your own coffee or something this morning?”

Emma looked up from her desk to find Brynn staring in at her, then looked around. “What?”

“I heard you singing to yourself all the way at the front of the shop. I didn’t know you listened to LMFAO.” Brynn grinned, and she was instantly transformed from a classy businesswoman into some sort of piratical faerie. It was a side of her assistant that Emma was never quite sure what to do with. They were friendly, but Emma had kept firm boundaries in place. It kept things running better, she reasoned. Even if it got awfully quiet in here sometimes. Every once in a while, though, Brynn would try to jump the breach. Letting her know about the video had been one such occasion. It looked like this morning was another.

For once, Emma was in too good a mood to shrug her efforts off. Last night had been . . . good. Maybe the best night she’d known in a long time. And though she hadn’t managed to catch Seth alone again, he’d whispered in her ear as they’d all said their good-byes.

“I want to see you again. Soon.”
Whether that was a demand, a promise, or both, it had carried her into the
day with more enthusiasm than any time in recent memory. This was something new. She didn’t normally like new things, tending to view them with suspicion, but that kiss last night had been her decision. Hers. She’d always had good instincts. And though it went against everything she’d been telling herself for years, it looked as though she might need to trust her instincts here, too. So far today, that seemed to be working just fine. As her mother was always telling her, it wasn’t always a bad idea to just roll along and let it be.

Andi could never resist the opportunity to insert a Beatles reference.

“I guess it’s a ‘Sexy and I Know It’ kind of day,” Emma said, smiling.

Brynn laughed. “Those are my favorite kinds of days. You all set for the Hardings?”

“Ready as I’m going to be,” Emma replied. “I’ve got pictures, samples, prices . . . and I’m completely taking a shot in the dark, because all she gave me to work with was”—she batted her eyes dramatically and affected a higher voice—“‘I sort of thought, like, a fall thing. But it’s close to the holidays, so maybe, like, a holiday theme. Oh, but I saw this Hollywood wedding show where they made the reception look like a harem. So maybe that!’”

Brynn wrinkled her nose. “She wants belly dancers and shirtless eunuchs?”

“Wearing Santa hats, apparently,” Emma said. “And elephants frolicking with reindeer near the open bar.” They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

“Please tell me you did that. Please,” Brynn said.

“Sadly, no, because I want the job. But I thought about it,” Emma replied with a smile. Brynn only looked slightly disappointed. Emma took a sip of her cooling coffee and studied her assistant, who lingered in the
doorway. When she’d hired her three years ago, Emma’s first impression of Brynn had been that the younger woman seemed charming, if a little puppyish. It was only afterward that she’d discovered that Brynn could be as much a rottweiler as she was a golden retriever. She’d been dying for the job, a fact that Emma still puzzled over, and she worked her ass off, making herself quickly irreplaceable.

The fact remained that she didn’t know Brynn all that well. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered her, but it struck her with a surprising amount of force as she watched her assistant wait for . . . well, Emma wasn’t sure. But she was definitely waiting. And then she realized that she’d kept everything about the Harding proposal completely to herself. That was just what she did with bigger jobs, at least in the planning stages.

It hadn’t even occurred to her that another set of eyes might be useful. It was a little late for that, but it couldn’t hurt to share, she supposed.

Emma raised her brows. “Did you want to see what I’ve got? We’ve got a little time before they get here.”

Brynn bounced, as did her long red ponytail. “Yes!” she cried, then widened her eyes and looked away. “I mean, as long as you don’t mind.”

Emma smiled, surprised. “I didn’t know you were so excited about it.”

“I just know it’s a long shot, which means you’ll pull out all the stops. You always come up with a way to sweeten the pot enough that you win the clients over, and it’s always something different. I want to know what you think will hook Penny Harding. I mean, apart from gratuitous butt-kissing.”

“That’s the only thing I can’t really offer,” Emma admitted. “I want this, but I’ve got my limits.” She picked
up one of the folders stacked neatly at the corner of her desk and offered it to Brynn. “Here, have a look. Tell me what you think.”

The grin she got was worth it as Brynn all but bounded over to grab the folder. She opened it and began to skim through the proposal while Emma watched, curious. “Ooh, you’re thinking the Bellamy Farm?”

Emma nodded, folding her hands beneath her chin. “She wanted seasonal. The grounds are beautiful, the barn they’ve converted into an event area should be more than adequate, spacewise, for the numbers they gave me. And since the main house is a B and B, she and her groom can stay right there. Faith worked up a great sample menu for the catering, and I’ve got samples of Annalise’s bouquets and centerpieces with similar themes to show them.”

“It’s perfect,” Brynn said, lifting her eyes, “but . . .”

“But?” Emma frowned. Dissent wasn’t what she was expecting, but that was what she saw in Brynn’s expression. Her instincts were normally to nip such things in the bud and go on about her business, but something told her to listen this time. Her assistant looked nervous, as though she worried Emma might decide to chase her out of the office while snapping at her heels, so Emma tried to look and sound as nonthreatening as possible. She took a deep breath.

“What is it? If I’ve missed something, I need to know.”

“It’s not that you missed anything,” Brynn rushed on. “Not at all. This would be a beautiful wedding, completely perfect. I’m just . . . a little concerned about Penny’s reaction to the barn.”

“Why? It’s rustic, spacious, decorates beautifully. Not to mention it’s pure Harvest Cove. Do you remember the Nightingale wedding we did there last year? It was gorgeous!”

She heard the defensiveness in her voice and tried to tamp it down, but it was hard. She’d put a lot of thought into what might wow the Hardings, and this was it. It had to be. Penny was local. Her father had been the mayor forever. . . . Why not evoke what was beloved about their home?

Brynn shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked as though she wished she hadn’t brought it up. “You’re right. Never mind.”

“No,” Emma said firmly as Brynn started to turn. “If you know something I don’t, I’d rather know what I was walking into. What is it?”

“Penny is my cousin,” Brynn said, looking away. “I don’t know if you knew that.”

Emma sifted through her memories, vaguely recalled something about the Parkers being related to the Hardings, and knew she’d discarded it as irrelevant where Brynn was concerned. There didn’t seem to be any strong ties there. “Okay,” Emma said. “And?”

“She hates it here,” Brynn said hurriedly. “She always has. She just won’t say it in front of her parents, because they’d get upset. So while this would be a beautiful Harvest Cove wedding . . .”

“Oh God,” Emma said, picking up a proposal and staring at it. “Why didn’t I know this?”

Brynn winced sympathetically. “Because you don’t like each other. And I didn’t think to say anything. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, of course it isn’t,” Emma said, stunned that this bit of information had so thoroughly escaped her. But a sharply critical voice whispered through her mind, the voice that had pushed her to always do better, do more, focus harder.

Of course you didn’t know. You don’t really know
anyone here. You barely know yourself. And you know perfectly well who you designed this wedding for.

She felt sick. In the absence of any information about Penny beyond the obvious, she’d created the perfect Harvest Cove wedding . . . for herself. This was exactly what she would want, and since she didn’t expect to ever marry, Penny’s “give me a fall-themed wedding” request had provided a blank canvas for her own desires. It had never even occurred to her that she was putting together a display of everything Penny hated. And now it was too late to fix it.

Emma carefully placed the proposal back in the folder and closed it. “Oh God,” she said again. Her hands felt cold. When she looked up at Brynn, she was startled to see that the woman was almost in tears.

“I’m so sorry, Emma. I honestly didn’t realize you were heading this direction. I expected, you know, frilly and pretentious, since that’s basically what Penny is. Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe she’s changed her mind—”

“Is that why she’s getting married so fast? To get out of here?”

Brynn nodded miserably. “We don’t talk all that much, really, but that was the impression I got. She feels trapped. Greg is a way out, and he really does seem crazy about her. There’s somebody for everybody, right? He just got a really great job in Silicon Valley. It’s all she talks about when I’ve seen her lately.”

Dozens of new options presented themselves, ways to work the California theme into the wedding instead of the New England fall. Ways to
really
hook Penny. And she couldn’t use any of them, because the Hardings would be here in ten minutes. Bob and his wife would probably love what she’d done, but it was small consolation. Emma knew she’d already lost. And Penny, being Penny, would be thrilled to reject her so easily.

All because she was so determined to work alone. She knew best. Because she was so very good at making executive decisions lately.

“I should have said something.” Brynn’s voice shook.

Emma pulled herself out of her thoughts, looked up at her normally vibrant assistant, took in the abject misery, and sighed. She stood, walking over to where Brynn stood, and gave her arm a pat.

“Why would you? I didn’t ask. I never do.” She laughed hollowly. “You probably have all sorts of ideas you haven’t shared, right?”

Brynn looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Well. Sometimes. But yours are always better.”

“And I’m scary, right?” Emma offered a small, knowing smile.

“Sometimes also that,” Brynn admitted. “But you really do great work. I’m happy to play support and learn.”

“Hmm.” Emma stated to chew her lip and stopped herself. Making her lip bleed right before the Hardings showed up wasn’t going to improve the situation. They’d probably think she’d been in a bar fight or something, considering. “I think,” she said slowly, “that I’m going to have to reassess some things.”

Brynn looked stricken, and Emma immediately knew why.

“I’m not going to fire you,” she reassured her. “This isn’t your fault. This one’s on me, okay? I just mean that, going forward, some things should change. I think it’s clear I need more . . . you know . . .” How sad was it that she could barely get the word out? She knew her face was all screwed up when she finally managed it. “Help.”

“Oh,” Brynn said. She looked as though she was caught between laughing and crying. Emma grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and handed it over.
Brynn accepted it and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, then laughed softly. “Damn mascara.”

“Exactly.” Emma looked at her a moment, impeccably put-together Brynn so very close to completely losing it in her office, and wondered why she’d never noticed how much her assistant cared about her job. Maybe it was because Brynn treated it just the way she herself did.

Maybe because the two of them seemed to be more than a little alike. Brynn was just friendlier. It was a revelation Emma hadn’t expected—though it explained why she’d known Brynn was right for the job almost from the moment the woman had walked into the interview. Like called to like, she thought. Sometimes in strange ways.

“Why don’t we talk about it?” Emma suggested. “After work, if you’re not busy. We can get food and figure out how to improve things around here so we never have to repeat this impending disaster.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s—”

“We both know it is.” Emma looked wistfully at her neat little stack of folders and thought of her amazing PowerPoint presentation, which was going to go completely to waste. “We should go someplace with fried food. Lots of it. And beer.”

“You drink beer?”

Emma tipped her head down to look down her nose. “You can’t be serious.”

Brynn gave a sheepish shrug. “I mean, I heard about you wearing it. I just didn’t know you drank it. I figured you for more of a fine-wine girl.”

“Both. I’m also a snobby microbrew girl.”
She doesn’t really know you, either, Emma. Nice going.
She’s only worked here for three years.
“What do you say? Misery loves company.”

Brynn appeared to think about it, though it looked
more like she still wasn’t sure Emma was serious. Still, after a moment, Brynn nodded. “I think . . . that would be good. Beltane Blues?”

The Cove’s restaurant and blues bar was exactly what Emma had been thinking. “Perfect.” She blew out a breath. “Okay. Let me just . . . get ready to deal with this.”

Brynn’s hazel eyes were full of sympathy. “You got it. I’ll just be, you know, out there.” She started to leave, but she turned at the last second. “Don’t give up,” she added. “You never know.”

No,
Emma thought as she nodded and watched Brynn go, her stomach knotting up even as she wondered whether the day might turn out to have a tiny bit of good in it despite what was coming.
You never do.

*   *   *

It wasn’t quite as bad as she feared, but it was certainly a lot worse than she’d hoped for. Brynn had been right—the look on Penny’s face the moment the words “Bellamy Farm” were spoken told the tale.

Bob seemed to love it, and even his wife, Mary, looked excited—as close as she got to excited, at least. But Emma kept her focus on Penny, and by the end of the meeting, she knew there was no way in hell she’d won her over. And because she hated to lose, Emma spent the rest of the day working twice as hard on the events she’d already scheduled, winning over a woman who wandered in shortly before closing to ask about arranging an upscale birthday party for her husband. By a little after five, she was running on fumes and lacking the energy required to keep ducking the little black cloud following her around. She almost begged off on dinner, but it felt like letting Penny Harding win the day completely. That was a defeat she refused to concede even if she did just want to go home and curl up in a ball with her cat.