Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(18)
“Apples,” Harper said in her singsong voice, shooting Emerson a look. She stood at the head of the room in a sweet-potato-colored dress, green tights, Mary Janes, and an apron that read FLOWER POWER. Both teacher and apron were covered with a light smattering of what Emerson assumed was dirty paint water some kid had flicked at her. She looked like Rainbow Brite with a boob job. “What Emerson was trying to say was ‘apples,’ which is what we are painting. Can we say it together?”
“Apples!”
Harper clasped her hands in the universal sign of Teacher Approved. “Great, now let’s get creative.”
Seventeen hands shot up simultaneously. Harper pointed to a little girl in the front who was wearing paint-stained overalls. “But you said we was painting pumpkins for fall.”
Smile never faltering, Harper said, “You’re right. I did. And now you have the choice to paint a pumpkin or an apple.”
Seventeen hands shot up again. Harper pointed to a bean of a kid with buckteeth and a ball cap. “Can I paint a pumpkin with an apple on it?”
“Sure,” Harper said and there went the hands again. “Pumpkin or apple, those are your two choices.”
Several sighs and a loud raspberry sound later, the hands dropped and paintbrushes were moving across the paper.
Emerson felt a tug on her arm and looked down to find a little blonde looking up at her. Goldilocks ringlets piled on her head, she had a pert nose, the perfect amount of freckles, and a familiar know-it-all expression.
Brooklyn Miner was the spitting image of her mother, Liza. And look at that, not a single indication of glitter-induced irritation in those wide eyes.
“My sister can’t talk either so my mom says if she opens her mouth like this”—Brooklyn made a big O with her lips—“then she can say it right. Apple. See, perfect. You should go home and practice.”
“Really?” Emerson said, leaning down and lowering her voice. “Because my mom said if you open your mouth really wide, then—”
“Okay,” Harper interrupted, grabbing Emerson by the arm and dragging her away. “Brooklyn, it is paint time, not talk time.” They didn’t speak again until Harper pulled her to a quiet corner, insulated between the fleece Woombie swaddles and a display of Molar Munchers with bling.
“How did it go?” Harper asked in her inside voice.
“It didn’t!” Emerson hissed. “There is no way I’d take on a client who I’ve had sex with. You know that.”
Emerson must have used her outside voice, because Harper’s eyes darted around, then she pulled her farther back behind the plushy dolls. “Which is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t go for it with him, and Em, you so need to go for it. Have you seen that body?” Harper laughed. “Of course you have.”
“Killer abs aren’t a qualification for taking a job.”
“Doesn’t hurt, though.” Harper lowered her voice further. “Did you know he was in some kind of explosion or attack and his family begged him to come home until he was healed?”
Based on the scar, Emerson figured it would have had to be pretty bad to take a guy like Dax out of commission. Then there was his shell-shocked look, which Emerson knew all too well, the one that signaled a deep pain that had never really healed because there were no visible scars.
That reached out to her on an elemental level.
“Did you know he was looking for a personal assistant?”
Harper knew everything Emerson had been through the past few years, which was why she was so upset. She was the one person who made life easier, who understood just how many different ways Emerson was being pulled, and just how complicated her life had become. Harper would never do anything to make Emerson’s world harder, yet today she had. And Emerson wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Harper rested a hand on Emerson’s shoulder. “This will be different than it was with Liam.”
“Yeah, because I’m not doing it,” Emerson clarified. “And what happened to never speaking his name in my presence?”
Liam was a celebrity chef in San Francisco who Emerson had met shortly after coming home from Paris. He was also her biggest regret.
Sensing that her daughter needed a break from the stress at home, her mom had signed Emerson up for a week-long seminar with the world-renowned restaurateur. Liam had taken immediate interest in Emerson’s drive and talent, even convinced her to come on as his personal assistant while he opened his new eatery in Napa. One too many late nights in the kitchen led to blueberry crepes in bed, and before Emerson knew what had happened she and Liam were making plans for forever.
Then her mom passed and her father’s world fell apart, and Emerson knew that her family needed her at home. Too bad Liam’s idea of forever didn’t extend to her loved ones. He took one look at what forever with Emerson would include and offered it, and her job, to a fancy-and-free twenty-two-year-old pastry chef named Lena.
Emerson had learned the hard way that love didn’t always conquer all, and that she would never again work for someone she was personally invested in. She also learned she was too talented to be picking up dry cleaning.
“Wow.” Harper let loose a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day where the girl who beat down Jimmy Wagner with a water wiennie for pulling her pigtail would let some guy walk all over her dreams.”