Every Little Kiss (12 page)

She and Brynn drove separately to Beltane Blues, a building with weathered siding and neon lettering just a block from the harbor. Previously a pizza joint famous for both its sauce and the rumors of roaches in the kitchen, it had been transformed into what Emma considered the Cove’s strangest business that had actually managed to succeed. It had never occurred to her—or to most locals, from what she knew—that what the Cove really needed was a blues bar.

Apparently, they’d all been wrong.

Emma parked, then headed inside, ready to dive face-first into a plate of onion rings. Brynn had already grabbed a table and was working on a steaming basket of hush puppies. A few people looked at her as her heels clicked across the gleaming wood floor, but she was too hungry to glare or say hello—and too tired to figure out which was warranted. She’d been too much of a wreck to eat lunch, and she was paying for it now.

“Hey!” Brynn said. She, at least, seemed to have recovered from their earlier disappointment. For once, Emma appreciated it. Some days needed a smile or two. This was certainly one of them.

“Hi,” Emma said, dumping her purse on the floor and sliding into a seat. “Hang on. I can’t talk until I’ve eaten a few of these.” She grabbed a hush puppy, dunked it in honey, and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. Brynn just watched incredulously.

“Somehow,” she said, “I always imagined you as one of those clean-eating types. Grilled lean meats, veggies, that sort of thing. You always eat a soup or salad for lunch.”

Emma held up a finger, finished chewing, and then said, “That’s so I can pig out at dinner.” She took a sip of the glass of water that had been waiting for her, flipped
open the menu, and looked over her options. She couldn’t quite meet Brynn’s eyes when she asked, “I know you probably think of me as an uptight, anally retentive, no-fun buzzkill, and that’s okay. But I have to ask. . . . Am I awful to work for? Be honest.”

“No!” Brynn was so vehement that Emma looked up. The younger woman repeated herself, but softened her tone. “No. You’re a great boss, Emma. A little hard to get to know, maybe, but great. None of what you just said about yourself is true. I mean, apart from being uptight, though I’d probably just call it being really put together at all times.”

Emma made a soft noise. “You mean boring. I am completely, indisputably boring.
And
uptight.”

“As opposed to what? Exciting and unstable? The world needs competence.”

That made Emma laugh, which in turn left her feeling a tiny bit better. “I want that embroidered on a sampler and hung on my wall.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I liked boring. Lately, though . . .” She stopped herself, waving her hand. “I don’t know.” This was what it came down to, she thought. Spilling her guts to her employee at a blues bar. This was her life. The music coming through the speakers, a gravelly voiced singer lamenting something or other while his guitar wailed plaintively, matched her mood completely.

“What is it?” Brynn was watching her from across the table, head cocked, eyes shrewd. Another reminder that as sunny as she was, her assistant was no ball of fluff. Emma fiddled with the frayed corner of her menu and looked around at the dark wood and leopard print that dominated the interior of the place.
Boundaries,
she reminded herself. But tonight, she was sorely tired of bumping up against them. The waitress made a quick
stop to take their drink orders, and Emma chose a strawberry beer from England that was not only yummy, but came in a rather large bottle.

“You really want to hear this?” Emma asked when they were alone again. “My problems are as dull as the rest of me.”

Brynn surprised her by rolling her eyes. “Emma. We’ve worked together for three years. And all that time, I’ve been waiting for you to decide that maybe, possibly it would also be okay for us to be friends. I mean, I see you almost every day, we both love the business, and I’m under the impression that your accessory fetish rivals my own. We’ve finally made it as far as dinner, so . . . lay it on me. I’m happy to listen.”

It wasn’t remotely what she’d expected to hear. She also saw no evidence in Brynn’s expression that she was just sucking up. “Wait. I thought we were friends. I mean, sort of,” Emma said.

Brynn shook her head. “We’re friendly. Not friends. It’s different.”

She was struck with a pang of guilt, though she couldn’t completely sort out why. She’d always treated Brynn well—but she’d also mentally filed her under “employee” and acted accordingly. It had seemed like the best option. But Emma had to admit, if only to herself, that it had also been the easiest option. No muss, no fuss, no extra issues to deal with. Just like everything else in her life.

“I don’t see how it’s that different,” she said, but it was a lie, and it sounded like one. Brynn didn’t let it slide.

“Emma, have you ever seen me outside of work? And working off-site is still working.”

She didn’t have to think very long about it to realize Brynn was right. It was strange, realizing how few people
she
did
interact with outside of work-related issues. Sam had brought her new friends into the mix, and for that she was grateful, but still . . . piggybacking off her sister’s social life wasn’t really something to point to as a badge of honor. It wasn’t as though she was so socially inept, she couldn’t make friends, too. She hoped.

“You already have friends, though,” Emma said. Didn’t people run in packs? Like hyenas?

Brynn simply sighed. “Emma, your rigid definitions of things need some bend in them. Are you going to tell me what’s eating at you? You’ve been off since Sam’s party.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks, and Emma was glad for the momentary distraction. She placed her order, which included a burger covered in an unsettlingly large pile of fried jalapeños, and handed off the empty hush puppy basket with a request for more.

“Okay,” Emma said.
What the hell.
“It has occurred to me lately that it may not be that I love being boring so much as that I’m terrified of being anything else. Does that make any sense?”

She poured her beer into a glass, took a sip, and sighed at the perfect blend of strawberry and hops. Brynn watched her with what looked like amusement. She nodded.

“Yes. Especially because you’re one of the most type A people I’ve ever met. Which is completely fine,” she added hurriedly. “I’m type A, too. I make stacks of my stacks of things, and asymmetry is my mortal enemy. But you
really
like order and control. Works great for some things, probably not so much for others. Like, um . . .” She was searching for an example, but Emma already had one.

“Like having a life. Yeah.”

Brynn thought that over, then grinned. It was only a little apologetic. “Maybe. But if nothing else, your
YouTube moment proves that you’re capable of making questionable decisions just like the rest of us. And it was definitely
not
boring.”

Emma thought about it. “No,” she said, lifting the glass back to her lips. “It wasn’t.”

“And you survived in one piece,” Brynn pointed out. “So you don’t really have anything to be afraid of.”

“The gossip isn’t fatal, no,” Emma admitted. “I don’t like it, but it isn’t fatal. I honestly thought people would stop coming into the shop. Just . . . stop, you know? That doesn’t seem to have happened yet, even if my sources tell me the rumor about Big Al and me streaking refuses to die. And even if I just heard a new variation where the house party was so wild that Aaron got arrested and I slept with Seth to avoid the same thing. Because I’m diabolical, apparently.”

“I like that one,” Brynn said. “It shows grit.”

“Aaron likes it, too. He’s the one who called and told me.”

“From what I’ve seen of him, that doesn’t really surprise me.”

Emma sighed. “I just wish it would run its course already. I’m still getting texts from a couple of guys.
Still!
Is it that hard to take a hint? I work weekends. I don’t go out. That night was like unicorn-sighting levels of unusual.”

Their food arrived then, and Emma had to force herself not to just start shoveling the food in her mouth. She was irritated, unhappy, and starving. At least the company she’d chosen had turned out to be something of a comfort. That was a surprise, but a nice one, for once.

“You’re discounting the thrill of the chase,” Brynn said, wagging a French fry at her. “Some guys like that.”

“And some guys are intolerable douchebags.”

Brynn blinked, then burst out laughing. Emma
realized how odd that had to sound to someone who only ever saw her “proper and buttoned-up” work persona. She tried to picture herself the way her sister teased her about being—like Mary Poppins without the sense of humor—and joined in the laughter when she imagined Mary herself calling random people douchebags.

“Well,” she finally said, “it’s true.”

“No argument there. Though I’ve seen firsthand that you don’t have a problem with
every
guy around here.”

She felt her cheeks flushing. Why could she not maintain a normal face temperature whenever Seth came up? She could battle everyone from restaurant owners to the most wretched mother of the bride without even a twinge. But if Officer Sexy was mentioned? Flames.

Emma realized she’d just mentally called Seth “Officer Sexy,” which didn’t improve the situation.

“Why are you turning purple?” Brynn asked.

“I’m not,” Emma replied, fanning herself with a napkin. “So, what are you referring to here? You mean that cupcake thing?”

“That,” Brynn said, looking smug as she swirled another fry in ketchup, “and the very public display of ‘I want to rip your clothes off’ in the parking lot last week.”

Emma had a sudden urge to crawl under the table and hide.
That’s what happens when you make out in public, you idiot. Don’t you remember the people who used to gross you out in high school? Honestly.
“Oh. You saw that?”

“I stayed late at work because of the rain. Don’t worry—I ran back around the corner when I saw you. And waited. And
waited
.” Brynn looked awfully entertained as she took a sip of her margarita. “Well done, by the way. He’s hot.”

“Um. Thanks.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it,” Brynn said. “So we don’t have to. Sorry,” she said, looking anything but. “Just . . . it’s nice to see you getting out a little.” She laughed. “Maybe it’ll rub off. The last couple of guys I went out with have been fails of epic proportions. One guy spent most of the evening explaining how his life plan involved living with his parents for at least another five years. I’m twenty-six. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Seconded. It’s worse at thirty.” Emma raised her glass, and Brynn clinked it against her own.

“To not wasting our time,” Brynn said. “Carpe diem, carpe noctem, and basically carpe whatever we want.”

“No prisoners,” Emma agreed, then drank deeply. When she lowered her glass, she regarded her assistant with fresh interest. “Tell me something. When I interviewed you for the job, you wanted it more than anyone else by a mile. Why? I’m a small-town event planner. We’re growing, but we’ll never be huge. What was the appeal? You gave me some canned answer at the time. I’ve always wondered what the answer really was. Especially because, despite your talent, you stayed.”

Brynn appeared to think that over, tapping a fingernail against her glass. Finally, her big hazel eyes returned to Emma. “The reason I gave you was half of the truth. I love it here. It’s home. The opportunity to stay and do what I love meant a lot.”

“Okay. And the other half?”

“Honestly? I’ve been admiring your fashion sense for years. Anyone who can be as intimidating as you are while wearing both polka dots and a matching teal belt and shoes is a born leader. If I was going to learn, I wanted to learn from the best. And maybe pick up a few shopping tips.”

“So, as long as my shoes stay fabulous, you’ll follow me anywhere?”

“You got it.”

Emma laughed softly. She knew it was a joke—sort of. But she also knew that Brynn wouldn’t still be here if she didn’t value the experience. Not only was that flattering to see so clearly; it was also a signal that if she wanted to keep her, she was going to have to stretch a little outside her comfort zone.

It was slightly less terrifying than usual. Probably because she seemed to be doing a lot of stretching lately.

Emma took a big bite of her giant burger, savoring the stinging heat on her tongue. Once she was finished chewing, she looked across the table with the most serious expression she could muster. It was enough, since Brynn paled. It made her wonder just how intimidating she usually came off, even when it was just the two of them. Then she thought she might not want to know. Emma forced herself to soften the expression.

“Two things,” she said. “One, I think it’s time to start letting you take the lead on some things. Not
everything
,” she added hurriedly, “but I take on a lot of the workload when I don’t have to. And I don’t share well. I know this.” She folded her hands, unfolded them, and then started playing with one of the fresh hush puppies.

Brynn, on the other hand, looked thrilled. “That would be amazing! I mean, if you’re comfortable with it. Because I understand about the sharing thing. And if we’re just doing the friend thing tonight, I can absolutely agree with you. No, you are not good at sharing.”

Emma gave a snort of laughter. “Fair enough. I’m not comfortable with anything, really. Not at first,” she admitted. “But this is something that needs to happen. So we’ll work on it.”

Brynn’s red ponytail bobbed with her vigorous nodding. Her assistant’s excitement would help her let go of the control a little, Emma told herself. At least, it had better, or this would be an ugly exercise in futility. “Second,” Emma said, holding up a finger, “how do you feel about shopping?”

“Shopping? Like, clothes shopping?”

“Yes. If it involved someone who was maybe a little controlling but incredibly classy. And has good taste. And wants to go buy some summer dresses in the near future.”

Brynn stuck her hand out across the table. Emma looked at it for a second, puzzled, until the other woman waved it up and down. “Are we going to shake on this or what? It’s a deal.”