Page 21 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

Her gaze bounces between me and our front lawn, her small front teeth biting into her bottom lip. I hold my breath and wait for her response, wondering if I’d gone too far with the olive branch picnic gesture.

I get my answer when she slams the door in my face.

“What?” I stumble back, getting whiplash when the door flies open again.

“Sorry!” she squeaks, her hands on her flaming cheeks. “Yes, I want to picnic with you. I just need to change first.”

She gestures to her pyjamas, her eyes sliding from mine in embarrassment. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re beautiful.” The words leave my mouth without thought and now my cheeks are flaming. But I don’t regret them. She’s more than beautiful, even if she is a bit of a mess.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” She smiles and closes the door gently this time, and I all but skip back to where a picnic rug, two camping chairs (no one over the age of eight should ever have to sit on the ground) and a cheese platter awaits us. I’d been tempted to bake more cookies for her but didn’t want to waste more time than I needed.

She can get cookies tomorrow.

“Hi again.”

I look up and my breath catches in my throat. She’s changed into a long summer dress, in vibrant shades of blue and green, which floats over her body, skimming her curves and landing mid-calf. Her hair is down and waving over her shoulders, and her eyes, without the lens of her glasses in the way, are the clearest shade of green I’ve ever seen. And she’s holding two wine glasses in her hands.

She is a vision.

“Hi,” I bark out. I clear my throat and try again. “Hi.”

Emma sits next to me, taking in the picnic set up in front of us. “You didn’t have to do this.”

I pick up the wine bottle and incline my head to the glasses she still holds. She nods, holding them up for me to fill and once we’re both poured, we relax back into the camping chairs I’d assembled for us.

“I know,” I answer her. “But it seemed like a good idea.”

“It is,” she agrees softly, her eyes darting around and then back to mine. “I love it.”

Warmth fills my belly and I take a sip of wine, letting out a small groan of approval. “You know good wine.”

She smiles. “And you bake good cookies.”

“Thank you.”

We sit in silence, sipping our wine while I wrack my brain for what to say to her. She’s so pretty, it’s making the neurons in my brain misfire. I’ve never felt this tongue-tied with a woman before in my life.

“So, you’re from London. How did you end up here? I’m used to losing friends to the UK, not gaining them.”

More warmth floods me at her implication that we may be friends. “I did the whole backpacking thing after uni. Took a gap year to figure out my life, you know? Spent some time fruit picking up in Queensland, bartending in Sydney, and then landed in Melbourne and fell in love with the place.”

She beams at me. “It is the best city in the world.”

Melbournians. They sure do love their city.

“It is,” I agree easily. “I started working in a cafe and took an interest in the backend, the kitchen, and the pastry chef there took me under his wing and the rest is history.”

“I love that story,” she sighs. “Sounds like you found your true calling. Your cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s it. She’s getting cookies every day for the rest of time.

Another silence falls over us, a more comfortable one this time, and I know I have to say it. The more I talk to her, the worse I feel about how I treated her.

“Hey, Emma?”

She looks at me and I lose my train of thought. Her eyes are so green.

---