The After of Us (Judge Me Not #4)(25)

And, suddenly, I have an idea.

Turning to Emma with Lily in my arms, I contain the smile that’s fighting to break free, and say, “Hey, I was just thinking. Maybe I can come in and touch up the mural.”

“That sounds great!” Emma proclaims.

And then she’s smiling, and I’m smiling, and everything’s great.

“Good,” I say. “It’s a plan, then. Let’s see… I have this whole week off before I head up to New York, so—”

“Wait.” Emma looks confused. “I thought you were staying in Harmony Creek?”

Aw, crap, another miscommunication. Will we ever be on the same page?

“Not permanently, Emma. The position in New York is still a go. I was able to delay my start date for one week, so I can spend more time with Lily, but I still have to leave.”

Emma’s face falls, her disappointment palpable. “Oh, I just thought…something different.”

“Anyway,” I say, veering back to the subject of the mural. “Maybe I can come in this week and touch up some of the faded parts.”

“I help color, too?” Lily wants to know.

“Sure,” I say. I suppose I could let her paint something.

Emma huffs. She seems upset with me, but why? Why does she care so much that I’m leaving?

“You’ll have to do it during an evening,” she snaps coolly. “You can’t be here disrupting the kids.”

“What’s dis-rup-ing?” Lily asks.

Setting my daughter down, I say, “I’ll tell you later, Lil.”

I turn and face Emma. “Evenings are fine,” I say tightly.

I want to ask what her deal is. Why is she so damn hot and cold with me? I sense she’s attracted to me, as I am with her, so what’s the problem? Sure, I’m leaving, but it’s not like I’ll never see her again. Hell, we almost kissed the other day, and she sure wasn’t pushing me away then.

Women, I swear.

I search for answers in Emma’s blues, but find nothing.

“Will,” she says on a sigh. “Maybe we should sit down and talk things through sometime.”

“I’d like that,” I say. “Since, frankly, I think I’m as confused as you seem to be.”

“It’s just…” she trails off, begins again, “It’s complicated, is all.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Emma.”

I’m ready to sort this thing through right the f*ck now, but Emma gestures to outside the doors, where other parents are beginning to show up with their kids. “You better go, Will. Now’s not the time to get into a big discussion.”

With the new arrivals delayed with lowering their umbrellas outside the doors, I say in a rush, “What about tonight? You have plans?”

She looks surprised. “Um, yeah,” she says. “I’m busy.”

“What about tomorrow, then? We could go out to dinner. That would give us a chance to talk.”

And maybe you can finally enlighten me as to what the hell is bothering you, I think, but don’t add.

“I’m working,” Emma replies.

I sigh. “I meant at night.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Will.”

“Emma.”

“Okay, but it’s not a date.”

“Fine, it’s not a date.”

Ten minutes later, after saying good-bye to go-with-the-flow-I’ll-be-fine-Daddy Lily, I’m walking out of the school, thinking the whole time that Emma Metzger may not see our upcoming dinner as a date, but I sure as hell do.





Emma



“What the hell did I agree to?” I ask Missy as I hop around my small but very messy apartment.

I’m trying to find the matching black pump to the one on my left foot, and I’ve just about torn up the place in my quest. While I hobble around, tossing around clothes and such, Missy contents herself with lounging around on the sofa.

Admiring her freshly painted nails, she says, “You agreed to go out with the unbelievably hot Will Gartner.” And then, with a wistful sigh, she adds, “That kid sure has grown into one fine man.”

“You’re not helping,” I say dryly as I drop to the floor to continue my search on my knees. “I am so doomed.”

“Oh, Emma, it’s no big deal,” I hear Missy murmuring as I peer under an easy chair in the corner of the room.

I stop what I’m doing and glare up at Missy like she’s lost her mind. “Ah, I beg to differ, cousin-dear. This is a big deal…to me. I mean, why go out with Will when he’s leaving in less than a week? I am so stupid.” I resume my search for the lost shoe, muttering, “I never should have agreed.”

Thirty seconds later, Missy is tapping me on the shoulder. “Here.” She hands me the rogue pump. “I found your missing shoe.”

“Huh.” I stand up and slip it on my stockinged foot. “Where’d you find it?”

Missy points to the sofa to where she was just sitting. “It was in that mess you created,” she says, gesturing to a crumpled throw and a pile of clothes.

“Wow, I really have made a mess of things,” I mutter.