Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (67 page)

“Someone else said something similar to me recently,” she admitted.

Her mom chuckled. “Mr. Alvarez, perhaps? I imagine he had his own ulterior motives for mentioning it.”

“He probably did,” Emma agreed.

She studied her mother thoughtfully. In her late fifties, she was still a lovely woman with not a single strand of gray in her short, dark brown hair. Her porcelain skin was flawless and she had a slightly curvaceous figure despite the rigorous walks she took every evening. Men should be flocking around her. Emma wondered if they were.

“Mom, did you ever think about marrying again after Dad died? You were so young. I’m sure you had your chances.” She thought back, trying to remember if there had been any suitors. If so, her mother had been discreet about them. Emma only recalled one. “There was our old neighbor. Steve Tate thought you were something pretty special.”

“Steve Tate thought my cooking was better than his,” Jessica corrected. “I told him to hire himself a chef if a good dinner every night at six was what he was looking for.”

After a startled instant, Emma laughed. “What about after you moved here to run the library?”

“I was too busy.”

“So the advice you were just handing out to me wasn’t valid for you?”

Surprising mirth sparkled in her mother’s eyes. “A mother never likes to have her own words turned on her,” Jessica scolded.

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t true,” Emma said. “Maybe I should get the matchmakers to turn their attention to you.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jessica’s expression turned sly. “I’ll tell you what. You get married again and settle down, give me a couple of grandbabies to cuddle, and I’ll consider going on a date again.”

“You might be in a retirement home by the time that happens,” Emma cautioned.

“I’ll take my chances. If you have any real consideration for my social life, you won’t wait that long now, will you?”

Emma shook her head at the sneaky trap. “You’re hanging out too much with Nell O’Brien.”

“Can you think of a better role model? When it comes to getting things done for her family, no one in town is any better.”

Feeling closer to her mother than she had in some time, Emma impulsively asked, “Mom, would you like to go somewhere for a bite to eat?”

Her mother looked startled by the invitation. “You don’t have plans with Mr. Alvarez?”

“Don’t look so disappointed. No, I don’t have plans with Jaime, and I would enjoy spending the evening with my mother. We don’t do that nearly enough.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” her mother said decisively. “Where shall we go?”

“Brady’s is the place for special occasions,” Emma suggested.

“And this is a special occasion? I know perfectly well it’s not your birthday or mine.”

“No, but it is the day you and I officially got off to a fresh start, not as mother and daughter, but as friends.”

Surprising tears promptly filled her mother’s eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” Emma assured her. “Just don’t think that entitles you to give me unsolicited advice and paw around in my closet to borrow my clothes.”

“As your friend, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jessica promised. “But as your mom, I wouldn’t count on my not speaking my mind, if I have something to say. That will never change.”

For once, though, Emma thought she might not mind it so much. Today was turning out to be full of miracles and new beginnings. Thinking back to her exchange with Jaime earlier, the one that had left him looking as if she’d actually hurt him, made her wonder though, if there had been an ending today, too.

She pushed aside the concern and linked her arm with her mother’s. “Let’s show this town that the Hastings women are a force to be reckoned with.”

Her mom laughed. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you today, but I like it.”

“Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”

Chapter Seven

Jaime spent most of Sunday immersed in Emma’s book, pausing only long enough to fix a sandwich for lunch and another for dinner. He was totally absorbed all the way through, in part because the story was so well-written, but mostly because he could picture Emma in the heroine’s journey from psychologically abused victim to a strong independent woman.

There were sections that infuriated him as he imagined Emma living with a man like the character’s ex-husband. In some ways, though, the chapters at the end when she put her life back together bit by bit and found the love she was meant to have were worse. The heroine -- Quinn Anderson -- had completed a transition to a rich, full life that continued to elude Emma. Only the fact that he could see Emma starting to reach for such a life gave him some small measure of satisfaction and conviction that she was on her own road to recovery.

On Monday morning, he was on his porch at dawn with his mug of coffee, He’d brought out a thermal pot and extra cup as well. With any luck he was early enough to catch Emma before or after her run.

It was just past seven, when he saw her coming down the street, her skin glowing from the exercise, her hair damp from the humidity and her exertion. He thought she looked beautiful.

“Good morning,” he called out as she neared his gate.

Her step faltered as she glanced his way, her expression oddly wary. “Good morning.”

“I have coffee,” he said, then added, relieved that he’d thought of it, “Or bottled water, if you’d prefer.”

She hesitated. “I could use some water,” she admitted finally.

“Then join me.”

As she stepped onto the porch and accepted the cool bottle of water, her gaze landed everywhere but on him. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

He smiled. “It’s not even seven-thirty. You’re not due at work until at least nine.”

She frowned slightly. “You checked on my schedule?”

“Didn’t have to. You walk past here predictably at 8:45 most weekdays. You come back just after 1. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. And before you suggest that I’m stalking you, remember that I’m stuck here. Observing what goes on in the neighborhood keeps me from going stir crazy. I even know which day Mrs. Kelly goes to her art class and which day Mr. Davis cuts his grass.”

She sighed. “Sorry. I seem to be in a prickly mood.”

“Turnabout’s fair enough. You’ve seen me at my worst a time or two. Is this mood about me or has something happened?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “More than likely I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” She finished the water, then looked longingly at the thermal pot. “Any of that coffee left? That might help.”

He nodded. “That’s why I brought out an extra cup.” He poured the coffee and handed it to her. “How was your weekend?”

“Productive,” she said, sitting on the very edge of the chair beside his as if she was ready to bolt at any second. At last, though, there was a faint spark of life in her eyes.

“You’re back in your writing groove?” he asked, pleased for her. “That’s great.”

“I had dinner with my mother on Saturday, too.”

“Something you don’t do often?” he asked, hearing an odd note in her voice.

“Something I almost never do willingly. Saturday night it was my idea. We had a good time.”

She sounded surprised.

“Your mother seems like a very nice woman,” he said, treading lightly to see what she might reveal about that relationship.

“Actually she is. I don’t think I noticed that before the other night. She was always my mom, if you know what I mean. She was always picking at me to do things her way.”

“That’s what moms do,” Jaime said. “You should meet mine sometime. She can reduce me to being a twelve-year-old faster than you can say
media
noche
.”

“What does that mean?”

“A
media
noche
is one of the Cuban sandwiches that’s so popular in Miami,” he explained.

“I think I’d like to watch your mom take you down a peg or two,” she said, smiling.

“Then I’ll have to arrange it.”

She looked flustered by his promise. “So, how was your weekend? I probably should have come by to check on you.”

“Despite what I said the other day about you being my angel of mercy, you’re not my caregiver, Emma. I was fine. I was totally absorbed in a new book.”

“The Louise Penny mystery or the Earl Emerson?” she asked eagerly, sitting back at last and starting to look more at ease.

“No, this one was different. It was by a writer who was able to move me with the depth of the emotions in her story.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like your taste.”

“It’s not my usual taste, no,” he conceded. “But I have a particular fondness for this writer.”

“Anyone I might have heard of.”

He held her gaze, then lifted the book from the table beside him.

Emma stared at it in shock. “My book? You read my book? Why?”

“I thought it might be revealing. It was.”

Emma looked dismayed. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this, but it feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Jaime was totally taken aback by her reaction. “The book was a bestseller. You shared your innermost thoughts with a lot of people. Did that bother you?”

“No, but now it’s you who’s reading it. You know I was writing about my own experiences in a lot of ways, deeply personal experiences I don’t talk about. Most readers had no idea about that.” She gave him a defiant look. “Just so you know, though, I’m not that heroine. I’m nothing like Quinn Anderson.”

“I know it was fiction, Emma, but you said yourself that you’d poured a lot of your story into the book. I thought it might help me to get to know you, to figure out why you’re still keeping this barrier between us.”

“I keep a barrier between us because you’re leaving, Jaime,” she said with exaggerated patience. “I’ve told you that already. It’s one thing to be caught off-guard and get your heart broken. It’s another altogether to walk right into it with your eyes wide open.”

“Emma, I’m not going to break your heart,” he said solemnly with a level of certainty that even surprised him.

“How can you say that? I already feel more than I should. The other night when I was here…” Her voice trailed off before she finally admitted, “I felt too much, Jaime.”

“So did I,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going to run from it.”

That silenced her. He saw what might have been a tiny spark of hope in her eyes, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I mean that, Emma. I was so antsy to get back to work when we met that I would have crawled back to Seattle if I’d been able to. Now I’m already dreading the day I’ll have to leave. I’m thinking of ways to stick around. When Nell asked me to work on the fall festival, I seized that like a lifeline. She reminded me I could do my therapy here and, instead of balking at a longer stay, I’ve already asked the doctor for the names of physical therapists in the area.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I thought maybe the longer we had together, the more you might start to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

“I do,” she repeated. “As a person.”

“Ah, I see. But not necessarily as prospective significant other material?”

She sighed. “That will take time.”

“Time we might not have if I hadn’t shaken up the original plan,” he explained.

“What does Mick have to say about all this?”

“I haven’t discussed it with him. These are my decisions, Emma. Make no mistake about that. However long I stay or when I go will be up to me.” He held her gaze. “And to you.”

Her expression faltered a little at that.

“Don’t look so scared. There really is no pressure here. I’m just being clear about what I want. Now you need to figure out what you want.”

“You say that as if it’s easy.”

“It’s only difficult if you can’t hear what your heart is telling you.”

She looked momentarily startled. “That’s a line from my book.”

He grinned. “I know. It seemed to work out pretty well for your hero. I thought I’d try it. Is it working?”

She set aside her coffee, stood up and came closer. Then she leaned down and kissed him, a slow, lingering kiss that got them both all stirred up.

Then she released him and winked. “Pretty well, I’d say. How about you?”

Jaime laughed. “Not bad. I think I’ll re-read that final chapter before I see you again tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“We’re having dinner.”

“Where?”

“Right here.”

“You’re cooking? That’s too much trouble.”

“I’ll manage. See you at seven.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll be here. I’ll bring wine.”

“I’m still not drinking,” he reminded her.

“Who said it was for you?”

Jaime laughed as she trotted down the steps and headed toward home. Definitely a promising turn of events, and it wasn’t even 8 a.m.

***

Emma didn’t mention her dinner plans to anyone. In fact, she kept Jaime’s invitation to herself so she could savor it without a lot of commentary from her mother or her friends. She did take a drive the minute she left the library to shop for a new dress, something summery and feminine.

There weren’t a lot of clothes like that in her wardrobe these days. They’d been the expected attire when she’d been striving to be a suitable Southern belle. The minute she’d left Derek, she’d donated every single designer dress to a local charity. She’d hoped his snobbish friends would recognize them being worn around town by the very people they often treated with scorn.

Today, her mood extraordinarily upbeat, she wanted to wear something special to knock Jaime’s socks off. It was interesting to note, though, that he’d seemed pretty blown away this morning when she’d been wearing workout clothes that had faded over time. He didn’t strike her as the sort of man to be impressed by designer labels. That worked very much in his favor.

She even spent the afternoon primping, taking out her seldom-used curling iron and fixing her hair in a loose, casual fall of waves that were a far cry from her usual pulled back ponytail that she liked because it was easy and, maybe just a little, because Derek had hated her hair that way.