Chapter Six

Emma threw off her covers but couldn't muster rising for the day.

She was never one to dawdle. Nearly every morning, Emma bolted up in bed, slipped her manicured toes into her favorite fabulous shoes, and was ready to go. She never understood how Ellie could stand to linger in bed so long. Unless Ellie was waking up to meet the surf, she could stay in bed for hours reading or chatting or counting fibers in her blanket. She could actually put her pillow over her face and fall back asleep.

Now, Emma felt exactly the same way. She wanted to bury herself beneath her blankets and sleep until she could forget how she felt—like the day was already ruined, so there was no point in facing it. But there was a small menagerie of animals depending on her, not to mention the people she'd dragged to her home to help her, people who expected her to lead.

She winced as she pushed to sitting and rubbed at her tired eyes, deliberately ignoring her mother's voice in her head that she would give herself wrinkles if she tugged at her delicate facial skin. Much like a zombie, she shuffled to her bathroom and groaned at her reflection in the mirror. Her blond curls were knotted in disarray. Her eyes, bloodshot. Her life? Worse.

Her mother didn't think she had done anything useful. She'd failed at matchmaking Anne and Josh. And Knight— She flinched at the thought of him. Knight hated her.

She had tried so hard yesterday and somehow ruined everything. How would today be any better? She imagined those furballs in their cages, eager to run around and play. Caesar with his floppy ears and alert tail. How Anne's grin had lit up the room. While Anne and Josh hadn't found love, Anne had certainly fallen in love with all the animals they'd helped.

Emma had to stop feeling sorry for herself. She pulled a brush through her hair. She dotted moisturizer on her face and swiped lip balm over her mouth. Keeping in mind that they would be outdoors, Emma limited herself to a touch of powder foundation, eyebrow pencil, and blush. Nothing too fancy. She side-braided her hair and changed into skinny jeans and a soft, heather-gray asymmetrical hooded sweatshirt. The military had their armor, and she had her fashion sense.

She couldn't sit in bed moaning all day. She had the world to change, one small event at a time.

She walked downstairs. Already she could hear rumblings in the kitchen: soft clangs and footsteps. Knight stood with the fridge door open, his back to her. He wore flannel pajama pants and nothing else. His bare back was broad and sleek. She dreaded him turning because she imagined that look of disappointment from yesterday might still be on his face, tilting his lips to a frown.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Morning. You want something from the fridge?"

She crossed the kitchen to the island and leaned over the counter, picking at her cuticles. What could she say to him to make things go back to how they used to be?

Her throat rasped as she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She cleared it with a cough. "You're up early."

"Josh and Rick are morning freaks. Josh wakes up before sunrise to run every morning, and I guess Rick is still on military-academy time so he joins in." Knight shut the fridge door, orange juice in hand, and turned. They stared at each other a moment, eyes locked over the island. "Back in a sec." He set down the carton of orange juice and shuffled off.

Emma turned a circle in the kitchen, her intention straying from the cupboards to the pantry to the fridge, all out of sorts. His words still echoed in her mind: You know what I liked most about you, Emma? Even with everything else, you weren't a mean girl. At least I didn't think so.

Had anyone else said such a thing to her, had she not just been terrible to Josh's friend, she would have defended herself. She was Emma Greene. She was practically the poster child for generosity. Now, however, she didn't know how to defend herself without feeling hollow. Didn't know how to talk to Knight the same way she always had.

Emma poured two glasses of orange juice and returned the juice box to the fridge. That, at least, was a start. When Knight returned he was wearing a sweatshirt.

"Cold," he mumbled, although Emma was certain her beach house had never seen a cold day in its life. He accepted a glass from her, and they both sipped in silence.

"So," she said.

"So." His fingers drummed the side of his juice glass.

"I hate this."

"Me, too."

"We've never fought."

"We fight all the time," he said.

"This is different."

He was silent. She ached for him to tell her nothing was different, but he didn't. Knight didn't lie to her. At least that was the same.

"You're mad at me," Emma said. "I know I deserved it, but I can't take back what I did or how I felt when I did it."

"I can't, either. I want to, Emma. I want to tell you that everything's okay and I didn't mean it. But I can't."

She winced, a pinprick in her heart. She was determined to keep things positive. Did he have to make it so hard? She gave him a bright smile. "We can let things keep being weird, or we can set it aside because we need to focus on the adoption event. Let's stick to what's important."

"This isn't important?"

"You know what I mean." She went to the fridge and pulled out eggs and milk. "I need to make breakfast. Josh and Rick will be hungry when they get back from their run, and Anne will need to fuel for the energy she needs today."

"Emma, we can't leave it at that."

"Yes, we can." She threw another smile over her shoulder as she pulled out plates. "You're disappointed and mad. I get it. I understand." Her throat clogged so she coughed to clear it and cracked eggs into a bowl. "Do you want anything else to eat?"

He tapped the juice glass against the counter as he watched her beat the eggs with a fork. "No, thanks. Do you need any help?"

"Nope."

"So that's it."

"Yep, that's it."

She beat the eggs harder. Her neck heated. She could feel him staring at her. She could sense him struggling with what to say to her, and for some reason, that was worse than him just yelling at her, fighting with her. Being honest with her, the way they always had been.

"I'll set the table then." He moved around her to grab plates and forks. Their clinking seemed so loud and jarring.

Salty tears stung the corner of her eyes, and she beat the eggs even harder, attacking the yolks. Her shoulder stung with the jarring rotations. Her forearm ached with the force. She hadn't expected him to give in so easily. There had been a small part of her that wanted him to…to what? To forgive her instantly, she realized. To tell her there was nothing insurmountable for them. To maybe even beg her forgiveness for being cross, for not understanding that she hadn't meant to hurt that girl.

Even as Emma realized it was an impossible expectation, she still wanted it.

How had everything become so hard?

Anne's love life. Her friendship with Knight.

Emma had always assumed that love and friendship were easy.

Love was a spark. Pheromones. An all-consuming desire to be together.

Friendship was a bond. Connection. A sense of comfort and familiarity.

These were supposed to be simple things. But they weren't. Maybe they never had been.

Maybe she had been a fool.

 

* * *

 

Just as fortune usually smiled on Emma Greene, the sun shone down on the adoption event at Oceanside Park. The grassy park spanned two entire blocks just off the beach and was filled with sunbathers and picnickers, and the playground in the corner teemed with joyfully screaming children. Future adoption prospects.

Emma hefted the document boxes against her chest and pointed to the playground on the other side of park from where they were. "Let's set up there instead."

Knight, Rick, and Josh who held the canopy tent poles over their shoulders in a line came to an abrupt stop. Knight followed the direction of her finger.

"It's…far." Josh pulled his baseball cap over his sunglasses—his disguise for the day so he wouldn't be recognized. At least not until he wanted to be. Josh was nothing if not strategic about his celebrity.

"It's perfect." Without waiting for them to agree, Emma crossed the damp grass in her ankle booties. Couldn't they see the obvious potential in her idea? She felt breathless with it. They would erect the tent in the shadow of the trio of palm trees to temper the triple-digit temperatures that were forecasted for the afternoon. Any parents approaching the playground from the south or west entrances—the closest to the major highway exits and parking lots—would be forced to pass by the event. So would the joggers on their way to the Port-a-Potties lining the park's north edge.

"Seems a little crowded," Anne mumbled. She'd finally caught up to Emma with the fold-up table in hand and squealed as an errant child ran underfoot.

"Crowded? No, it's festive! Lively! Exactly what potential new dog owners want in their lives." Her eyes found Knight, who was still standing where she'd left him. She beckoned him over with her fingers but found her grin, usually so easy, took more effort.

Pretending like everything was okay was easier said than done.

Despite everything—their fight, the awkwardness and everything else—he came and brought the others with him, because he was her Knight. On the count of three, he directed Rick and Josh to lift the tent poles off their shoulders and lay them on the ground. Anne pulled out the legs for the fold-up table, and Emma set the document boxes on top.

Rick quickly took charge, directing the canopy setup as Emma and Anne pulled out the shelter's tablet and spread the adoption info sheets across the table. Anne had been right. It was cramped and crowded. Emma was going to be right, too, though. The dogs had not even arrived and a few children toddled their way over, clutching their parents' hands.

"What are you kids up to?" one of the parents asked.

"We're from the Oceanside Animal Shelter." Emma handed out brochures. "We have so many wonderful pets looking for a good home." She smiled sweetly at a young, redheaded girl with pigtails. "Do you like dogs?"

"We're not sure if she's ready," the mom answered.

Emma knelt down to the girl's level. "It's a big responsibility. But you look like a big girl. Have you ever walked a dog before?"

The girl shook her head, her blue eyes glancing up to her mom and then back to Emma.

"Would you like to try?" Emma asked. She turned the girl toward the other side of the park where Knight, Josh, and Rick were now walking the first set of rambunctious puppies out of the van toward them. The young girl squealed, and it wasn't long before Emma had her mother signing adoption papers.

When the dogs arrived, Anne came alive. It wasn't long before her crisp white shirt was littered with muddy paw prints. Her cheeks had been stubbornly slobbered on so many times, but Emma resisted the urge to spritz her with antibacterial spray.

Emma spent most of the afternoon behind the registration desk, explaining the ins and outs of adoption and processing the paperwork. Anne helped ease cautious children toward the dogs, showing them the right way to approach them. Knight and Rick stacked the cat cages nearby and took charge of bringing them in and out for prospective parents. Josh had long since ditched his sunglasses and hat and posed for pictures with each and every person who adopted a new pet. Emma had to admit it was genius of him.

Still, even the allure of a photo and chat time with Josh Wickham wasn't enough to convince everyone to adopt. Which is why Emma got the divine idea to allow people to name the expectant litters—for a small donation, of course. Emma had just finished handing over a donation receipt when Knight settled into the canvas fold-out chair next to her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder as she filed the donation forms back into the document box. "Done for the day?"

He gestured to the cat cages behind her, which were completely empty.

"Oh, wow!" Emma cupped her cheeks. "This is so amazing. We only have a few dogs left, too." Rick had joined Anne on taking the dogs for a quick lap around the park to drum up interest from some of the picnickers who had been watching their event but hadn't wandered over yet. The Great Dane mutt and Labrador mixes dove headfirst into the grass and rubbed their cheeks against the ground before flipping over onto their backs, paws up. That ought to do the trick, Emma thought.

She flopped down in a canvas chair next to Knight. They hadn't spoken except for her barking orders at him all day, and now he eyed her warily, as if waiting for her cue on how to proceed.

Her legs ached from standing all day in heels, and her cheeks stung from the sun. It was a good, bone-deep tired that camouflaged the ache beneath her breastbone. Now that it was just her and Knight, it resurfaced. She had to figure this out. She and Knight couldn't tiptoe around each other for the rest of the year.

They were friends. They had plans. Their weekly movie night and study sessions. Knight was graduating this year, too, and she'd promised to show his parents around town. That was the other thing—Knight was leaving her. They didn't have much time left together. Did she really want to spend it drifting apart?

No. She wanted Knight in her life. Which meant she had to take the first step.

"Thanks for your help this weekend, Knight. I know you think I'm an awful person and I had you down here for awful reasons, but this—" She surveyed the park. "This was always part of the plan."

"I don't think you're awful," he said quietly. "I think you… What you did here, Emma? This was amazing. All those animals have homes now. You even raised money with your naming idea."

"Oh, it's nothing." Emma was certain it was less than a trifle of her parents' success.

"Not to the shelter."

She shrugged. "There are better ways to raise money."

"Who are you?"

Emma frowned as she turned her face to him. "What do you mean?"

Knight raised an eyebrow. He reached out his hand and laid it on her cheek. "You aren't the girl that turns down compliments. You're the girl who tells me why my compliment is just scratching the surface."

Emma blushed, recognizing herself easily in what he said. She turned her face so his hand fell away. "If you'd like to compliment my perfect hair, or this bracelet, or my shoes—"

"Emma." He palmed her cheek again and forced her to look at him. In that moment, Knight became more than Knight by being very Knight. By being warm, brown eyes and dark, tousled hair. "Emma, you are more than hair and wardrobe. You're all heart." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Although he'd only touched her in the smallest of places, she felt his touch everywhere.

He dropped his hands and stood up. They studied each other in silence then Knight cupped the back of his neck and walked to the other end of the park where Josh and Anne were playing with a giant mastiff.

Emma swore she was a miracle of science, because watching his retreat made her feel warm and cold, anxious and certain.

She didn't just want Knight. She saw that now.

She needed Knight. She needed him to be the first person she saw at breakfast so she could get excited for her day. She needed him to tease her so she laughed at herself. She needed him to turn a critical eye to what she was doing so she tried harder. She needed his praise. She needed the way he always seemed to be there. She needed him.

All of him.

His flirty smiles. His intense stares. His laughing fits.

His hands. The stubble on his cheeks. His mouth.

Him.

Knight!

Today, without their usual banter, their usual style, their usual arm-in-arm closeness had made her realize.

She needed Knight. She needed it all.

Emma Greene was in love, and she hated it.

 

* * *

 

Knight. Knight!

Emma paced her room, wringing her hands.

When had it happened? What had changed? His kiss on her forehead?

No, it couldn't be so simple. Besides, she had kissed Knight's cheek on two prior occasions.

One: at the beginning of the year she had lost her phone, and he had found it. Or actually his roommate, Tran, had found it by using some locater program, but Knight had been the one to wake Tran up at what he'd felt was the godawful hour of 2:00 PM on a Sunday to make him do it. She'd actually planted wet ones on both of them.

Two: last month, she had really, really wanted a donut. He had brought her a donut. She'd kissed him on the cheek.

Neither kiss had yielded such turmoil within her. Or any turmoil. Maybe a flutter of something but that was to be expected. Knight was tall, warm, and he smelled nice. She'd be dead not to feel a delicious flutter of awareness at kissing him.

But this? What she was feeling now?

This was no mere flutter of awareness. This was the rapidly beating wings of Hitchcock's birds.

What could she do? What should she do?

How did Knight feel about her?

Friendly, of course. They were good friends. Despite his ire, his disappointment, he was always there for her when she asked. And she'd asked a lot. Far more than reasonable, now that she considered it.

Was it possible that Knight liked her, too?

No, if he had, why hadn't he done anything about it? Knight wasn't the type to sit idly by if he wanted something. He had the roommate he wanted, the class schedule he wanted, the friends he wanted. He didn't have a girlfriend, though. Hadn't expressed interest in anyone. That was something at least. Maybe he didn't want her, but he didn't want anyone else, either.

Well, suppose he didn't like her…yet.

She could fix that, couldn't she?

She was Emma freaking Greene. Of course she could.

She had the hair, the body, the smile.

And that wasn't all. What had he said?

She was all heart.

More importantly, she felt all heart when it came to Knight. And all thumbs and odd toes and garbled tongue.

She shook herself.

Think, Emma.

What if she were just another person, a friend? What advice would she give herself to snag a boyfriend?

Dress it. Flirt it. Flaunt it. Wait for it.

What dumb advice. She couldn't possibly have thought that would work. No, not with Knight. She needed the big guns.

 

* * *

 

Emma flattened the scarlet-red wrap dress against her frame, twirled once in the mirror, and threw it, hanger and all, onto the waist-high heap of clothes next to her. While it was a curve-hugging dynamo, she remembered Knight had seen her in the dress when she had worn it bowling. He had seen her in all these outfits! The flowing Pucci prints and form-fitting Roland Mourets. From sleek sophistication to edgy rocker.

Sometimes Knight would whistle low when he saw her outfits. Sometimes he would make a snarky comment. But he'd seen them all, and none of them had solicited even close to a knock-him-off-his-feet moment.

She needed to make Knight see her, see her in a way he hadn't before. She needed to make Knight reconsider everything about Emma Greene.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. The perfectly red pout. The shimmering trio of eye shadows. Her finger drew along the blush/bronzer line at her cheekbones.

Maybe she was going about this completely the wrong way. She didn't need a makeover to make Knight see her. Knight already knew perfectly prepped Emma. She wanted him to see the real her.

She jumped in her shower and turned the water piping hot so steam rose as thick as a sauna. With a cloth, she scrubbed down every inch of her skin in small circles. Freshly clean, she stepped out into the cold tile of her bathroom. She wiped her hand against the mirror with a squeak to see her face. A swipe of toner to clean off the last of her makeup. She didn't blow-dry her hair; she let it hang.

Emma had to dig deep into the bowels of her drawers to find a soft, comfy pair of jeans. They had a mid-waist fit—not entirely flattering—and they were frayed at the ankles and knees. A little tight since she hadn't worn them in years. Next, she found her mother's Brown University alumni sweatshirt. She pulled it over her head, reveling in the softness of the sleeves.

She looked down at her feet—bare. After a few minutes she'd wiped off every trace of that perfect pedicure.

Emma took a deep breath and went back to the full-length mirror to look at her reflection. She flinched at what she saw. She could too easily hear what her mother would say.

Emma, make an effort. It's the least you could do.

Presentation, Emma!

If you look competent then people will trust you.

Her hair had just begun to dry as it hung in blond strips over her shoulders. The sweatshirt failed to show off her neck or waist. It hung there, keeping her warm. Her eyes, usually so vibrant and eager, seemed foreign to her. They were still a startling shade of green, but she could see the fear and uncertainty.

She was afraid.

Not just of losing Knight or him leaving or not wanting to be her friend.

She was afraid of him rejecting her.