In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(44)

“You said you were just friends,” Mrs. Neal said. “I try so hard to establish an intimate mother-daughter bond with you, Emmaline, but you’ve kept this entire relationship from me.”

“I suspected,” her father said, nodding. “I picked up on something in her tone the last time we talked.”

“No, you didn’t!” her mother spat. “You thought she was g*y, too.”

Jack’s new fiancée looked pained. She started to answer, stopped, then said, “I have to make a phone call. I just remembered.”

“Coward,” he whispered as she bolted past, closing the door to his room. Then she came back immediately, grabbed her phone and went back, slamming the door.

“This must’ve happened fast,” Em’s mother said. “Why the rush?”

“Well, we didn’t want to waste time,” Jack said. “You know.”

There was a collective gasp.

Oops.

“Is Emmaline pregnant?” Angela whispered.

Jack grimaced. “I’ll, uh, let her answer that.”

“Emmaline!” her mother shouted. “Are you pregnant?”

She burst back into the room. “No! What did you tell them? I’m not pregnant!”

“I misspoke,” Jack said. “She’s not pregnant. Definitely not.”

“You are! Aren’t you?” Angela crowed. “Oh, hooray! I’m going to be an auntie!”

* * *

AN EON OF MUTTERED lying later, the Neals left, firmly convinced that Em had a bun in the oven.

“How could you do that?” Emmaline wailed. “Honestly, Jack! I’m gonna have to pee on a stick before they’ll believe I’m not preggers, and my mother will want to be right there when I do, so thank you for that.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s all a little blurry, seeing that I only learned we were engaged thirty seconds before.”

“Exactly! I’d think it’d take a little longer to conceive.”

“Then let’s get right on that.”

“In your dreams, Jack. And knock it off, by the way.”

“Don’t we have somewhere to be right now?” he asked.

She flung herself into the chair. “Yes. Couples volleyball starts in ten minutes.”

“I can’t wait,” he said.

She got up and started yanking drawers open. “And to top it all off, I have to wear a bathing suit. God hates me today.”

With that, she went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Which was too bad. Now that they were engaged, Jack felt he at least deserved to see her naked.

It wasn’t couples volleyball, Jack soon learned as they walked to the pool. It was couples chicken. Well, it was called something else, something crunchy and fake sounding, like Partnership Water Celebration, but it was chicken. The pool was a vast, turquoise thing shaped like a shamrock, waterfall on one side, an organic kale smoothie bar on the other. Several very fit couples were shrieking and laughing and flexing, looking like a commercial.

Beside him, Emmaline groaned. She was wearing what looked to be a white parachute. He’d seen burkas that revealed more skin.

It was a shame they weren’t going to swim in the ocean. Apparently, the ocean was too cold without a wet suit (Californians had clearly never swum in Keuka in May, the way Jack did every year).

At the memory of cold lake water, his heart began to thud. He stopped abruptly, and Emmaline, walking beside him, stopped, too. “Jack? You okay?”

Now his breathing was funny, shaking in and out of his chest. His heart felt the size of a cantaloupe. Something was wrong; he might be having a heart attack—

Then Em was towing him to a lounge chair and pushing him in it. He grabbed her wrist. “Nice and easy,” she said, sitting so they were face-to-face. “Slow down your breathing, big guy.” She reached out with her free hand and pushed some hair off his forehead. “Nice and slow.”

He was supposed to be looking after her this weekend. Not the other way around.

“The weather’s amazing today, isn’t it?” she said. “Say what you will about Southern California, we have great weather.”

She smelled like sunscreen. Also, she had freckles. He’d never noticed that before.

“I thought we could take a drive later on. It would be good to get away from here for a little while. Not that I’m having a terrible time or anything.” She smiled a little. Twisted her hand so he wasn’t gripping her wrist anymore, but left her hand in his. “There’s a great donut place not far from here. Well, there was. I hope it’s still in business. I’ll buy you a sugar—”

He leaned forward and kissed her, and her mouth opened in surprise. Her lips were soft, and that was enough. That was all he needed. Her soft, pretty mouth, and her hair, hot from the sunshine, under his hand as he cupped the back of her head.

The panic attack drifted to the back of his brain. The breeze fluttered her hair against his face, and he smoothed it away, still kissing her, which he should probably stop. And he would. Eventually.

She did it for him. Pulled back a few inches and didn’t look at him. Pressed her lips together.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“No. That’s... It’s fine.”