The house that seemed bound and determined to pull her under.
“Do you want me to call your brother?” Al, the kindly gray-haired bartender, asked as he placed a short glass of amber liquid in front of her.
“Good Lord, no.” The last thing Emma needed was for Ryan to come and rescue her. Again. “This is my last one for the night, and I’m walking home. It’s all good.”
“If you say so.” Al arched a bushy brow but didn’t argue, although it was clear nothing about Emma’s current situation could accurately be described as good. She was sitting in a local bar in Magnolia, North Carolina, unshowered and sticky with dried sweat caked to her skin, her entire life spectacularly wrecked by five long days of pounding thunderstorms and devastatingly high winds.
Coming to Magnolia and buying the dilapidated house once owned by famed artist Niall Reed was supposed to be the start of a new chapter. A reclaiming of her life. A fresh start. Instead, it had quickly become a mess of epic proportions.
A hundred-year storm was what the insurance adjuster called it when he came to survey the damage to her property. One that hit well before hurricane season could be expected to start.
“I told you so,” was what her mother had said when she called last week, censure and repudiation tightening her tone.
Someone climbed onto the bar stool next to her, and Emma kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to talk to anyone tonight. Or ever.
Then the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted toward her. Not a typical scent for late-night at the local pub.
She glanced over to see a woman who might be near her own age. The woman turned and offered a watery smile. “I hope you don’t mind company.”
Emma did mind, but the delicate redhead’s eyes were so miserable, puffy and bloodshot that Emma couldn’t bring herself to say so. It would have been like kicking a puppy.
She glanced down the row of nearly empty bar stools. There was one other man who had bellied up to the bar, but he sat at the far end, stroking his beard and gazing into his empty pint glass like he could will a refill to appear.
“Do you come here often?” the woman next to her asked with a sniff.
“She’s our newest regular,” Al answered, flipping a towel over his shoulder as he winked at Emma.
She wasn’t sure why the declaration comforted her. Maybe she was so desperate for a place to belong in the world that she’d grab on to any alliance to call her own.
“That’s nice.” The woman eyed Emma’s shot glass. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“One glass of liquid forget-your-troubles coming right up.” Al stepped away to pour the drink, and the woman breathed out a soft laugh.
“Does it really work like that?”
The woman sounded so hopeful Emma’s teeth clenched in response. Hope was a pain in the butt.
“You’ll forget for a bit tonight,” Emma said, “and tomorrow you can focus on the ensuing headache instead of your problems.” She glanced at the woman’s elegant hand. The fingers tapping on the bar sported a brilliant diamond ring. Blindingly large and nearly flawless. “Let me guess, fiancé trouble?”
“His family hates me,” the woman muttered, then swiped at her cheeks.
“You don’t seem like the type of person anyone could dislike. Fairy-tale princesses are universally loved.”
“I’m Holly, the opposite of a princess, which is part of the problem.” The woman held out a hand just as Al brought her shot.
“Cheers, not-a-princess Holly.” Emma lifted her glass in a toast instead of shaking. “I’m Emma.”
Holly let out a hiss and a sputtering cough after sipping the whiskey. “It burns,” she said on a gasp of air.
“That’s the point,” Emma told her, licking the last bit of moisture off her lips. “The burn means you can feel something.”
“I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“Take a breath,” Emma advised. “I’m not up for holding back a stranger’s hair over the toilet tonight.”
Holly giggled and pressed two fingers to her mouth. “I grew up in Magnolia, and I’ve never been to this bar. It always seemed so scary to me, but it’s actually quite cozy.”
Emma raised a brow as Al stepped forward with a wince. “First time this place has ever been called cozy. Another round, ladies?”
“Definitely.” Holly grinned.
“Two waters,” Emma told the bartender. She wasn’t going to be responsible for getting sweet, naive Holly drunk.
“And a glass of white burgundy,” Holly said. “Do you have Montrachet?”
Al looked toward Emma, confusion clear on his face.
“It’s white wine,” Emma translated. “But we’ll stick with water. You order like a princess,” she told Holly.
“The first time I went to a dinner with Brett, I ordered a brand that comes from a box. His mother laughed at me. I learned about wine after that.”
Emma grimaced. “This is your future mother-in-law? I hope she lives on the other side of the country.”
“She lives a couple of streets over from Brett’s house outside of Boston, although we’ll be in DC most of the time since...” Holly squeezed shut her eyes. “If he doesn’t break up with me because I’m acting so crazy. His family has been pressuring him to ditch me since we met. I’m nowhere near a princess. I’m a girl from a small town who doesn’t even have a college degree.” She shrugged. “I’m a nail technician.”
“You have nice nails,” Emma said. “I noticed right away.”
Holly laughed without humor. “Brett and I met when he came into the salon for a manicure.”
“Your husband-to-be gets manicures?”
“He had an appearance.”
“Is he an actual prince or a movie star or something?”
“Something,” Holly whispered.
Al brought their waters. “Still good?”
“Yes, thank you.” Emma gave the other woman an arch
