Page 21 of Valentine's Day Daddy

“I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’m not looking for a relationship—”

“Neither was I when Sean and I met. Sometimes, it’s when you’re not actively looking, the best relationships find you,” she says.

“That’s cute. Did you read that on a greeting card?”

"Fortune cookie, actually. But that doesn't make it any less true. And I'm not going to let you use that excuse to weasel out of something that could be good for you," she states. "This past week, since you've been spending time with Ezra, you've been happier than I've ever seen you, Ash. I didn't realize you even knew how to smile until this past week."

I laugh. “Shut up.”

“It’s true. You’ve just been a lot freer and lighter since you’ve been spending time with Ezra. And I’m not going to let you tank that just because you’re afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of opening yourself up to love.”

“I am not—”

“Yes. You are. As your best friend, I would be remiss if I didn’t give you some truth and tough love,” she says.

A hard knock at the door makes us both jump. Emma turns to me.

“Are you expecting somebody?”

I shake my head. “Not me.”

Emma jumps up and crosses to the front door. She peeks through the peephole and then turns to me with a wicked little smile on her face.

“What?” I ask.

Instead of answering me, she unlocks and opens the door and I draw in a sharp breath when I see Ezra’s large frame filling the doorway. He gives Emma a nod.

“You must be the roommate and best friend,” he says in that familiar deep timbre that makes me shudder.

“Most people call me Emma. It’s nice to officially meet you, Mr. Mullen,” she replies.

“Ezra, please,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Ezra,” she says. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” he says as he steps in.

There’s an awkward moment of silence as he looks around our condo. Our place is relatively nice but neither Emma nor I came from tremendous wealth and aren’t super rich, so it’s not the sort of palatial estate he’s used to. The art on the walls are prints, the rugs on the floor aren’t authentic Persians, and our furniture isn't designer, custom-built jobs. It's all basically one step up from IKEA furniture.

"Well," Emma says. "Ezra, it was nice to meet you, but I’m running late and need to get over to my boyfriend’s place.”

"It was nice to meet you as well," he says.

As Emma gathers up her things and then heads for the door, she turns back to me and gives me a suggestive wink.

“You kids have fun tonight,” she says.

A smirk crosses Ezra’s face and my cheeks explode with heat. Emma slips out, locks the door behind her, and is gone. Still sitting on my end of the sofa, I clutch the pillow to my chest a little tighter as Ezra stands in front of the window, his hands behind his back, gazing out at the view of the city we have. The air in the room seems to grow warmer but goosebumps march across my skin. My pulse races and my stomach churns and when Ezra finally turns back to me, I jump a little. Licking my dry lips, I try to summon some of that strength I know is inside of me. Strength that seems to ebb when I’m in Ezra’s presence.

“Wh—what are you doing here?” I ask.

“I was hoping we could talk. I didn’t like the way we left things.”

I cock my head as a thought occurs to me. “How do you know where I live? I’ve never given you my address.”

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