Page 8 of Marrying Emma

Now it was Tuesday morning again, and Emma dragged herself out of bed with a wide yawn. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her job at the gym, it was just that she didn’t love it. Truthfully, most days she was downright bored. But it helped pay the bills, and Caleb was great to work for. When she’d originally taken it, she’d been thankful she wouldn’t have to do anything too physical while she was there, because she was still recovering from her heart transplant.

Marty’s voice encouraging her to start exercising came to mind. Thanks to him, she was going to feel like a lazy oaf if she sat there at the counter all day. She rolled her eyes at herself.

Instead of the usual denim jeans she wore, Emma chose a pair of shorts. If she did decide to cave to peer pressure and go out on the gym floor to stretch again, it’d be easier in these.

Unfortunately, the only shirt that matched the dark green material was a tan blouse with green flowers peppered across the fabric. The problem? It wasn’t a t-shirt, and that meant the neckline didn’t go as high as she preferred.

She stood in front of the mirror and adjusted it several times. Just standing there, her scar wasn’t visible. But if she leaned forward, the top of it peeked out. There was no cleavage, but still. Emma frowned.

So did she go in jeans or shorts? And why was this decision so hard?

She placed the blame entirely on Marty’s shoulders. She hadn’t second-guessed her decision to not exercise at work, or her choice in shirts, until last week. She shouldn’t let some guy she worked with—one who was way too outspoken—bother her so much.

But he did.

Emma had gotten used to thinking of him as a stuck-up jock who made it his life’s mission to flirt with any and every woman that passed his way. And now, after talking to him on Friday, it was harder to shove him into that single box and call it a day.

He was complicated. A mystery in a lot of ways. And while he’d been rude and forward in the past, he’d also been kind.

What was Emma supposed to do with that?

A glance at her watch revealed how close she was to running late. Well, there was no time to change clothes again. She’d have to go with this and make the decision about exercising later. Just because she chose to wear a pair of shorts didn’t mean she was locked into it anyway.

She came out of the bathroom and nearly ran into her mom.

“I was starting to wonder if you’d fallen in or something,” Mom joked, but there was no humor in her eyes.

“Sorry. I was having a fashion crisis.” Emma glanced at her watch again. “I figured you’d have left for work already.” Mom worked at Clearwater Bank and was usually out the door at least thirty minutes before Emma.

“I tried. My car won’t start.”

Emma groaned. Neither of them had the extra money for a costly car repair. “Oh, no. Any signs of life?”

“Not a one.” She sighed. “Can I catch a ride with you?”

“Of course.” Emma worked later in the day than Mom, though. It made more sense to leave the car with her, otherwise Mom would be sitting around the bank later than necessary. She told her as much while she grabbed her backpack.

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks, sweetie. Payday is Friday. I’ll see about getting it to the mechanic then.”

Emma nodded. Unfortunately, as great as Wyatt was about helping to fix things around their house, he knew nothing about cars. They would be at the mercy of one of the mechanics in town.

Fifteen minutes later, Emma got out of her car and waved as Mom did a U-turn in the parking lot and got back onto the road as quickly as possible. Being late at the bank wasn’t a great way to start the new week.

Emma turned toward the gym and remembered she had left her lunch in the fridge at home. Her shoulders dropped. There was only one place to buy lunch within walking distance, and it was the gas station. The food was cheap there—in more ways than one.

A low rumble drew her attention to the black Harley Davidson as it cruised into the parking lot and stopped on the far side. Emma had seen Marty ride it many times, but only now did she truly second-guess his choice of transportation.

He’d nearly died in a motorcycle accident. Why on earth was he riding one now? If that’d been her, she wouldn’t have gotten within ten feet of another bike.

She watched as he lifted the helmet and tucked it under one arm. He shook his head, his unruly hair somehow magically falling into place. How did that work, anyway? If she wore a helmet, she’d have helmet hair for days.

A grin teased at Marty’s lips as he approached, but Emma couldn’t quite keep the frown from hers. One of the curls by his left ear blew out of place in the breeze. She had the sudden need to reach out and tuck it back into place. Where did that come from? She shoved her hands into her pockets.

Marty’s eyebrows rose. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” She turned to walk the rest of the way to the front door with him. Except he didn’t keep walking, and she turned to face him

“Well, you’re looking at me like I kicked your dog. Or peed in your Cheerios.”

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