Page 32 of Tasting Fire
9
Back at the Murchison building,Cash walked Emmy inside and she asked, “Do you believe him?”
“A few days ago, I would’ve said yes.” He wiped a hand down his face. “Jackson is rough around the edges, but I’ve never seen him downright shitty like this.”
“I obviously bring out the best in people.”
“I’ll be keeping my eye on him.” He led Emmy toward the stairs to the second floor. “But for now, let’s get you upstairs.”
“I can get myself home from here.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, and look what happened.”
“I have to lock the front door behind you.”
“I already locked it because I’m staying.”
She glanced away and back again. “Cash, what happened earlier…”
Obviously, she didn’t know how to describe that kiss. Neither did he. Mistake? No, he couldn’t go that far.
But lips on lips didn’t have to mean a damn thing. Wouldn’t mean a damn thing.
“Let’s chalk it up to getting caught up in the past, so if you’re worried that I think I’m sleeping in your bed tonight, don’t be.” Even if his thumping heart and elevated pulse said his body would like nothing better.
“I think we both know that kiss was very much about the present.” Emmy smoothed a palm across his cheek, and he suppressed a shudder. “And although I will be fine by myself, I know how stubborn you can be. If you want to risk sleeping on that psychedelic vomit couch, who am I to argue?”
He followed her upstairs and dropped the eggplant loaf on a small section of countertop in the apartment’s efficiency kitchen. The hunk of flour, sugar, and unlikely vegetable landed with a thud.
“What is that?”
Cash whipped away the dish towel and realized his mom’s victim looked even worse than he’d imagined. She’d surrounded the bread with plastic wrap—which had probably given his dad a coronary—and it looked as if someone had wrestled a charred sow into a pair of see-through leather pants. “That is the question of the century. My mom retired recently and decided she’d take up cooking.”
Her forehead creased in a way that gave him the dangerous impulse to pick her up and hug her, keep her close and safe, Emmy contemplated the bread. “Has she considered knitting?”
Good God. That would probably be next. Then Cash and his brothers and sisters, who’d already sacrificed their stomach linings, could expect things like wearable potholders and sixty-foot-long scarves to show up on their doorsteps. “Hey,” he said, “you’re providing the bed. I figured I’d pitch in breakfast.”
“Remind me to sleep late.” She looked up, her naturally beautiful face just inches from his, and Cash was infinitely aware of the reason she’d sliced him to bits years ago. He’d not only been in love with her, but he’d liked her. She’d been the funniest, smartest, and prettiest girl he’d ever dated. She’d been his future.
Until she wasn’t.
Back up before you get burned again.
“Got an extra blanket, or do I have to sleep on that thing with no protection?” He nodded toward the couch. Grif happened to mention once that he’d found himself saddled with Hattie Martin’s retired sofa. And since the Martins were reputed to be swingers, this thing had seen some action.
Someone needed to wrap that thing in an upholstery condom.
“I’ve been afraid to sit on it,” Emmy admitted. “I’ll grab something to cover it.” She disappeared into the apartment’s bedroom and returned with an armful of sheets, blankets, and pillows.
They worked together to make up the couch. But once every corner was tucked and wrinkle was smoothed, they had nothing left to do but look at one another.
She wasn’t the same girl he’d once known, and he didn’t trust her. One kiss didn’t open the door to his heart, but for some reason, he couldn’t keep himself from winding a strand of her hair around his finger. “Get some rest. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
Bythis,Cash wasn’t sure if he meant the thrown brick or the feelings he was having a hard time beating back.
The next morning, Emmy couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened last night. Someone wasn’t too happy that she was back. The brick was evidence of that, but what the tosser couldn’t know was that it had brought out the part of Emmy that loved nothing better than to dig in her heels.
Even though she would’ve been fine alone, she appreciated Cash’s willingness to sleep on the hideous couch. She might even tell him that, but Emmy wouldn’t have admitted to a soul that she sat at the little breakfast bar in the apartment and watched Cash sleep. For a good half hour.
