Page 21 of The Matchmaker's Melody
To Gordon’s relief—or disappointment—Emma said nothing about the kiss. She seemed perfectly happy to chatter on about everything else, from Samira’s stunning mauve dress to the caterer who did the canapes, but whether she avoided the topic intentionally or because it was so inconsequential to her, she said not a word about the one thing Gordon could not get out of his mind.
Had it only been a month since the symphony gala, when the sight of her in her stunning red dress had sent his heart tumbling out of control and headlong into love? It seemed, in retrospect, that he’d loved her forever and he had only realised it at that point, but that couldn’t be. After all, he hadn’t really known her until then. Not the adult Emma, the person she had grown into. Until so recently, he had still imagined her as the child from his youth, just taller and more annoying.
At first, he thought it was just lust. He’d broken up with his last girlfriend over a year before, and, well, he was a healthy man with the accompanying impulses. And Emma was a beautiful woman. Easy. Except it wasn’t so easy. He desired her, yes, but the thought of taking her to bed and then just moving on with life seemed impossible. This was about more than satisfying his libido. He wanted the companionable cuddling over bad chick-flicks, the lazy conversations after the lights were out, the morning-after breakfasts with messy hair and misbuttoned pyjama tops and getting strawberry jam on your nose when you thought you were reaching for your coffee.
Gordon wanted the love that grows out of friendship, where passion and bad days at work are both part of a whole package.
And if he couldn’t have that, he knew he would have to be satisfied with friendship. She was young and bright, a rising star. She could have any man she chose. What he’d seen of Phil and Jean-François’ behaviour around her was proof enough. They were both handsome young men, as eager and ambitious as she was, vibrant and charismatic. Perfect matches for Emma, if she wanted them. He, on the other hand, was nearly ten years older than her, and more interested in stability than sensationalism. He had nothing to offer her, other than friendship. He didn’t expect her to feel any other way.
What, then, was that kiss about?
As he drove through the ink-black streets, back to the mid-town part of the city where they both had their homes, Emma chattered on, her cheerful words filling the air like the light glinting off sequins, bright and ephemeral. Her kiss, surely, was just the same. An artefact of the moment, the consequence of a moment’s impulse, the rush of excitement at the first moments of a new year.
Still, he would savour the memory of it like a cherished keepsake, to be guarded and hidden away, brought out only at the right time and place, to be enjoyed briefly and then packaged away once more, for fear of it becoming tarnished. His hand drifted off the steering wheel to touch his lip where Emma had kissed it, an unseen gesture in the darkness of a midnight city.
* * *
Emma woke latethe next morning, a smile on her face. It really had been lovely of Gordon to invite her, and as well as having a fabulous pile of photos for her social media pages, she had also had a good time. His friends were far more interesting than she’d expected, and she had enjoyed meeting them. The little impromptu fan club had been fun, too. Who knew she was popular with people over thirty?
Then she had danced with Gordon, and… She chuckled to herself. What had possessed her to kiss him? It had been nice, even though it was little more than a brush of mouths. His lips were softer than she’d expected, although she’d never really thought about it before.
The idea danced before her for a moment, before she laughed it away. Never. They might be friends, but she could think of a thousand reasons why they’d never be anything else. Nah, the kiss meant nothing. It was just the thing that seemed most natural at the time. They were just friends.
Still…
Before she knew what she was doing, her hand groped for her phone on her bedside table and she tapped at the screen, finally pressing the green button she’d been searching for. The morning (well, what was left of it) loomed empty before her and she knew exactly how to fill it.
“Emma?” Gordon’s voice sounded concerned, and not at all sleepy. He’d probably been up since eight. “Everything okay?”
“Mmm, yes, fine. Come over. I feel like making pancakes, and you can’t eat pancakes alone. There’s a law against it. I’ve got bananas, and I think there’s a bag of frozen blueberries somewhere that I can make into a sauce.”
She was met by silence.
“Really, I mean it. Or are you busy today? Your parents are expecting you, I guess. And you’ve probably had breakfast and… oh. I just saw the time. I bet you’ve had lunch, too. I’m sorry…”
“No, don’t be sorry.” His voice sounded over the speaker. “Pancakes are perfect any time of day. I’ve got maple syrup and some good coffee I got for Christmas. What time should I come?”
Gordon really was a sweet guy. He deserved someone as great as he was. As Emma pulled herself out of bed and shuffled to the shower, she tried once more to think of who she could set him up with. She’d promised not to interfere again—the fiasco with Phil and Halli still weighed on her mind—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t just introduce people.
Sure, she’d played with this idea before, but only with people they both knew from the choir. What about other people she knew? As she shampooed her long hair, she tried to pull up names of suitable people from high school, or from university. As she rinsed the conditioner (cool water, not too hot), she scrolled through the mental contacts list she had accumulated over the last couple of years.
And as she dried herself and pulled on some loose linen trousers and an oversized pale pink cashmere sweater, she rejected every name she could think of.
When would she ever find someone good enough for Gordon?
CHAPTER12
FRIENDSHIP
“That was an absolutely dreadful movie.”Gordon snorted his derision as the credits rolled, to be cut short by a tap of Emma’s finger. “I can’t believe I sat through that with you.”
She poked him in the ribs, an easy gesture from where she sat, just inches away, on the large sofa in his house. She liked it here. It was just big enough not to feel cramped, and it was comfortable, despite its deliberate style. Her apartment was elegant and beautiful, but more designed for looking at than for living in. Here, she could throw herself on a piece of furniture and just chill.
But there was nothing chill about Gordon’s very wrong impression of the movie. She poked him again until he glowered at her, and then broke into a beam.
“It was not dreadful. It was very sweet, and gave some real insight into the main character’s emotional life.”
“It was sappy.”
