Something to Talk About(78)
Emma had never eaten out with Jo like this without staying eagle-eyed, ready to avoid cameras or push through a crowd to get Jo back to the car. Today, she didn’t have to worry about paparazzi. No one in the restaurant glanced their way.
Instead, Emma got to focus on how delicious the spring rolls were, how absolutely wonderful the pho broth was. It was a perfect meal for a day that probably didn’t count as blustery by Calgary’s standards, but was colder than it ever got in LA. Jo added a hefty spoonful of hot oil to her pho, but Emma declined.
From the moment she’d knocked on Emma’s door, Jo had been calm and loose. It took Emma the whole day to fully let her guard down. Jo was never recognized. There were never any cameras in their faces or peeking out across the street. While they worked, Jo asked Emma questions, took her opinion into consideration at every site they visited.
It was easy, just like Emma had hoped.
They scouted out places and met people who would be involved if Calgary were chosen as the shooting location. Jo explained the production difficulties of filming in two places—on location in Calgary and in studio in LA. Emma took notes, brainstorming possible solutions to problems that had yet to arise.
* * *
—
Their flight out was scheduled for early evening on Saturday. For their last hurrah in Calgary, Jo took Emma to a late lunch at a deli. They were seated at a booth in the back corner.
“This place is supposed to have the best Montreal smoked meat,” Jo said. “It’s like Canada’s pastrami.”
Emma grinned. She hadn’t found this restaurant in her research, but—“It’s perfect.”
Jo got a Reuben. Emma couldn’t resist the latkes.
“As a kid I’d eat these until I puked,” she said, dunking a forkful into applesauce before raising it to her mouth.
“I hope you’ve outgrown that,” Jo chuckled. “My overeating food of choice as a kid was Evelyn’s mom’s bee hoon—rice noodles with veggies and chicken, shrimp, and pork.”
In the moment, Emma wasn’t jealous of Evelyn at all, just happy Jo had someone who made her smile like that.
“How long have you two been together?” Emma asked.
The smile fell off Jo’s face and she just stared at her, mouth open.
Emma backtracked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to—”
“No, Emma, no, God, it’s not—” Jo pressed her lips together like she was swallowing laughter. “Evelyn and I are not and have never been dating.”
Oh. Emma thought it before she said it aloud. “Oh.”
“Ev has been my best friend since I was a kid,” Jo said. Her cheeks were red. “She would die laughing if she knew you thought we were dating.”
“Right.”
Emma took another bite of her latke. Evelyn was Jo’s best friend. Evelyn, who stayed for a week after Jo and Emma almost kissed. Avery was Emma’s best friend, and she didn’t even know about it until this week. Did Evelyn? The idea of Jo talking about Emma seemed unrealistic.
Jo pushed her plate toward Emma, pulling her from her thoughts. Half of Jo’s sandwich was untouched.
“Try the smoked meat,” Jo said.
Emma’s stomach fluttered. She used her fork to get a piece of meat off Jo’s sandwich. It was like pastrami, but not exactly the same. It tasted good, but when she swallowed, it felt like she hadn’t chewed enough.
She smiled at Jo, her cheeks tight.
“Amazing,” she said. “But I can’t eat another bite.”
She set aside her fork. Jo picked up her own and poked at the second half of her sandwich.
“Are you excited to move to associate producer?” she asked.
Emma swallowed. “Sure.”
Jo looked up at her, eyes searching. Her face softened. “Did you pick me out a good assistant?”
“Of course, boss,” Emma said, even while she doubted herself.
Marlita was great. Qualified. Kind. Seemed hardworking. But Emma didn’t trust her to take over the job. When Jo was on deadline, would Marlita know she had to not only bring Jo lunch, but also make sure she stopped writing long enough to eat it? That after two p.m. her iced lattes needed to be decaf unless they’d be working late?
And then it clicked.
Emma suddenly understood the reason she’d been nervous about the promotion. It didn’t have anything to do with the promotion itself.
The reason was sitting across the table from her.
The reason was the way Jo was smiling at her, gentle and almost shy, like Emma was a wild animal that could spook. The reason was the way Jo worried about her, took care of her. The reason was Jo’s voice every morning, thanking Emma for her coffee. Emma always knew how the day would go, based on how Jo said thanks. She could tell when Jo hadn’t gotten enough sleep, or when she was too busy and already thinking about tasks she had to accomplish that day. Emma liked starting her day with Jo. Emma liked spending her day with Jo. The idea of moving on from that was terrifying.
The amorphous dread Emma had whenever she thought about her new job was coming into shape. It wasn’t about her job. She liked her job—loved her job, even. But associate producer would be better, in the long run, she knew that. The thought of not getting to see Jo every day, though—her stomach clenched.