I’d love to. What time?
I’ll be home about 7:30 so any time after.
They exchanged a few more messages about logistics before Emerson got back to work.
At fifteen minutes before eight, she pulled into the parking garage and into the bay number Connor had instructed. Once parked, she grabbed her things and took the elevator to Connor’s floor. It was a short walk down the contemporary, gray-and-white hallway until she reached his door and knocked.
When he answered the door, Emerson could have sworn her breath left her body. He wore a black V-neck T-shirt that fit him to perfection, setting off the color of his eyes. His jeans hugged his hips and thighs, and he was barefoot. He ran a hand through his still-damp hair.
“Hey, come in,” he said, holding the door wide enough for her to pass through with her bags. Once she’d placed them all on the wooden bench and hung her jacket on one of the cute metal coat hooks above it, he spun her around, caught her in his arms, and kissed her. “I missed you,” he whispered.
She’d missed his arms around her, and the scent of him, and the feel of his body against hers. She’d been a jerk to have negative thoughts about him, and she needed to fix it. “I’m sorry. I took the comments you made about Dad too seriously. I know you were just asking questions. I’m sorry I was standoffish this weekend. I just needed to reconcile it.”
“I’ve been kicking myself for asking. I know if anybody asked questions like that about my dad, I’d be mad. My uncle, yeah, I’d let ’em pass…and likely even agree. Ask them about my mom, I’d knock someone’s lights out for even suggesting it.”
“So, we’re good?” Emerson asked.
“Yeah, we’re good. Let me give you a quick tour before I have to get back to the dinner. This is the living room.”
The light wood flooring carried on through the whole apartment. Straight ahead was a luxuriously plush ivory sofa. A white media unit ran along the wall and a soft rug in navy blue rug pulled the area together. It was sparser than her own home. Every piece seemed very…deliberate. Symmetrical prints in black-and-white, a solitary plant that resembled an aloe, a side table made from an inches-thick slice of a tree trunk.
To the left was the kitchen. “Wow, this is beautiful,” she said, running her hands over the contemporary square wooden table. It was tall, much taller than a normal table, and the eight chairs in crushed blue-gray fabric were part chair, part stool.
“I didn’t want a predictable table. I wanted something I could eat at, or hold a poker game around, or serve food at a get-together on. I found the stools, which were perfect, but I couldn’t find a table. I ended up having it custom made.”
“It’s stunning.” Emerson continued to look around. Not that it mattered to her, but Connor appeared to be wealthy. The apartment was likely a million-dollar property, the furnishings luxurious.
The kitchen was all white with a large, industrial double-door fridge with freezer drawers.
“These things are huge.” She opened it to find shelf after shelf of labelled containers. “I knew you meal-prepped,” she said, laughing.
Connor grinned. “I’d like to argue it’s convenience, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a healthy dose of both competitive spirit and vanity. Want to grab that bottle of San Pellegrino off the door there?” He bent to check on whatever was in the oven.
“Smells good,” she said, placing the bottle on the counter. “What are we having? Rice and three slices of sweet potato?”
“I didn’t realize you were such a comedian, Emerson. And for the record, it’s sheet pan fajitas,” he said, spooning a ripe avocado out of its shell.
“Is that even allowed on your plan?”
Connor grinned. “Yup.”
Emerson ran her hand down his bicep, which flexed as he continued with his task. “Maybe I should try your plan.”
“If that’s a genuine suggestion, I’d be happy to show you how. If it’s a less-than-subtle comment about my body, I’d be happy to show you more of that, too. But tonight, let’s eat dinner first, so I can build up my stamina.”
Connor winked at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
And the laughter help put her worries to one side, at least for a couple of hours.
“Stay the night,” Connor said as they cleared the plates from the table. They’d spent dinner talking about their work. He’d found himself telling her a little bit about his uncle and the petty outburst he’d had the other day. Connor’s father had asked him to do an organizational structure review, including of Cameron’s finance department. Cameron had been furious when Connor told him he had no intention of sharing the findings with anyone other than his father. Connor and Emerson found themselves discussing the merits of working with family members and the strain that could bring to relationships.
She’d understood and that had meant everything.
Emerson could drive home—they’d stuck with water for dinner, so it was safe—and at ten thirty it was early enough for her to go. There was no other reason for her not to drive home, apart from the fact he didn’t want her to leave.
He placed the last dish in the dishwasher, put a tab in the dispenser, and set it running.
Emerson was silent for a moment, and he could tell she was thinking over his suggestion. “I’d love to, but I don’t have any clothes for tomorrow. I’d have to leave here super early to go home to shower and change.”
Connor mentally ran through the problem. Nothing he owned would be suitable for her work, and neighboring stores were likely closed. “I have a washing machine and dryer if that helps.”
Emerson laughed. “Because nothing says I didn’t go home last night like showing up to work in the same outfit, no matter how nicely it smells of laundry detergent.”
“Fair point.” He
