The next morning, Emma woke with a killer hangover.
She’d tossed and turned all night. Each time she woke, she suffered from a dry mouth, scratchy eyes, and limp muscles. Occasionally, she spent fifteen minutes or so hurling into the toilet bowl and laying on the cool ceramic tile in Nora’s bathroom. She continually crawled back into the safety of her makeshift bed and fell into slumber, postponing reality a little longer.
She’d woken more off Nora’s couch than on it. Once everyone had shaken off slumber, Nora drove them back to the bar to collect their cars. Emma had declined the invitation to join the group for breakfast. After apologizing to them for her behavior the night before, she started her truck and headed for her apartment.
Half a grapefruit, a bagel smeared with cream cheese, and an entire pot of coffee did a lot to revive her. By the time she finished breakfast, she almost felt normal again. Lately, when she woke feeling this badly, she simply began drinking all over again, but not this morning. Especially not after last night’s encounter.
Instead, after breakfast, she’d lingered in a hot shower.
Ed’s words from last night haunted her. ‘Is there even a woman under all that grime?’
She might not do the dress-up, girlie thing, but his words had seemed like a challenge—albeit kind of hurtful. In the shower, she shaved. She shampooed twice and conditioned once. After turning off the water and toweling dry, she flossed, brushed, and applied body lotion. She felt worlds better, not that she’d admit it to Uncle Cain or Ed.
* * *
Although they didn’t say so, her mother and uncle had been surprised when she’d shown up partway through the afternoon. She saw the shock in their eyes when she walked into her mother’s home.
Her uncle had lived with her mother on and off during his military career. Since retiring, he’d moved in permanently. It had been a win-win, giving him somewhere to live, and it made the mortgage payments more manageable for a single mother. The living arrangements provided Emma with a male role model and a second parental figure.
She wanted to grill her uncle about Ed, so as a pretense, she’d taken her laundry to her mother’s house. The building where she rented her tiny one-bedroom apartment had no laundry facility. Rather than use the laundromat in the center of town, Emma’s mother insisted she use her washing machine and save money. It was a good thing, too, because, without a job, Emma was burning through her savings account, and soon, she wouldn’t be able to afford rent, much less spare change for laundry.
“Have you found a job yet?” her mother asked while chopping cucumbers for a salad.
“Nope.” Perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Emma spun the lazy Susan that sat in the middle of the counter. “I haven’t really been looking.”
“No one is just going to hand you a job,” Uncle Cain said. He stood over the stove with his back to them as he browned beef for the pasta sauce. Emma always thought he looked silly wearing an apron, but he insisted on it every time he cooked. She decided she needed to purchase a more masculine one for his birthday since the ones he usually wore belonged to her mother. The one he currently wore was pink and read, Now, watch me whip. It was hard for Emma to take advice from someone whose clothing made her start singing in her head. “If you don’t go and pass out some resumes, then you won’t get a job.”
“Really?” Emma asked sarcastically. “That’s how you get a job?”
Uncle Cain turned around and shook the spatula in her direction. “Don’t be a smart-ass. And help your mother with the salad.”
Reluctantly, she left the stool and rounded the counter. Her mother had piled vegetables from the fridge onto the island. Emma pulled the salad spinner from the cupboard, grabbed the lettuce from the pile of produce, and began ripping it apart. “Actually, a lot of that is done electronically these days. Some places won’t keep your resume on file if you bring it in.”
“That’s just stupid. It shows initiative,” Uncle Cain grumbled.
“So, you have been looking. Obviously, someplace has told you that,” her mom said with a little too much enthusiasm.
“No, that’s just what Nora told me,” Emma explained. Nora worked at an employment agency, so she always gave her tips about the job market. Lately, she’d been bombarding Emma with unsolicited information. “Apparently, if they only want electronic submissions, they think by dropping your resume off in person, you can’t follow directions.”
“Well, that’s just dumb,” Uncle Cain snorted.
The silence stretched in the kitchen. The only sounds were that of food being prepared, the grease in the frying pan spurting, and the consistent rhythm of the knife on the chopping block. As the aroma of ground beef invaded the air, Emma realized how hungry she was, the final traces of her hangover becoming a memory.
“If you haven’t been out looking for a job, what have you been up to?” Her mother put a little too much effort into making her tone sound casual. Emma did her best to ignore it. She was sick of fighting with her family over what everyone called her situation. Her friends and family constantly trying to fix her problems and making suggestions was irritating. She didn’t need them to tell her that her life was complete shit, lately. She knew it better than them. They weren’t the ones living it. She was.
“I’ve been catching up with old friends. I haven’t been back for long. It’s nice to see them again.”
“That’s nice.” Her mother smiled at her. “How have they been doing?”
“Good, I think.” Emma popped a slice of cucumber into her mouth. “Nora’s pregnant.”
“Oh. She’s not married yet, is she?”
Emma laughed outright at the absurd, hypocritical nature of her mother’s question. “She doesn’t have to be married to have a baby, Mom.”
“No, but I thought she was engaged.”
Emma shrugged. “She was, but he needed to find himself, or some shit, and postponed the wedding. The way Nora sees it, it’s now or never, so she called the whole thing off. I don’t blame her.” From the basement, Emma heard the buzzer for the dryer go off. “About a week later, she found out she was pregnant. As far as I know, she hasn’t told the guy yet.”
“What’s she going to do?” Uncle Cain said while pouring pasta sauce in with the ground beef.
“She’s still figuring that out. It’s only been a few weeks. She’s still getting used to the idea that she’s pregnant. I’m going to switch out my clothes. Be right back.” She’d already done two loads but still had to toss her darks into the washer. Her laundry basket had been overflowing, and that was before she’d picked up the garments scattered throughout her apartment. It had been weeks since she’d done any laundry, but by dinner, she’d have everything clean and folded, ready to go home.
When she returned from changing over her clothing, she answered similar questions about Liam and Sarah. How were they doing? Where were they working? Were they seeing anyone new? She was happy to be talking about something other than her lack of employment, but they hadn’t given her an opportunity to ask about Ed.
It wasn’t until partway through dinner that Uncle Cain brought him up. “So, has Ed called you yet?”
Casually, Emma wound a big helping of spaghetti on her fork and shoved it into her mouth. Her throat was raw from vomiting earlier that morning, but putting something nutritious into her system felt good.
After swallowing the mouthful, she replied, “No, he hasn’t called.” It wasn’t a lie. She took out her phone and looked through the activity log. “Nope.”
“You watch out for his call. I think it’d be an excellent thing for you to have coffee with him. You might learn something important.”
Emma struggled not to roll her eyes. Yet another tune she’d heard one too many times. “What exactly is so great about him, anyway?”
Uncle Cain frowned, a sure sign another lecture was headed her way, but he surprised her by simply proclaiming, “I guess you’ll find out once you meet him.”
She had met him. It hadn’t been long enough to get a read on his character. Although, she had to admit, in the brief time she’d spent with him last night, he’d seemingly been looking out for her best interests, and he hadn’t wimped out and tattled on her.
Uncle Cain had talked about Ed in passing before. He did that often with his underlings, particularly the ones that stood out. But, over the last few months, it had been all about the wonderful Ed—no one else. She’d resented him before she’d even met him.
She hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar.
She certainly hadn’t expected him to look so fucking delicious, either.
Upon that first glimpse, she hadn’t known it was him. His stare had been intense, unwavering. His aura was commanding and calm. He’d distracted her, making her miss her shot at the pool table.
In jeans and a blue T-shirt, he’d leaned against the wall. A thick gold watch encircled his dark wrist, his head was shaved, and his face sported the faintest hint of a beard, well-trimmed, outlining big, beautiful lips. Lips she wanted to trace with her finger or her tongue.
When he’d plucked her off the side of her truck, she’d felt the hard body that was neatly tucked away beneath his clothing. He was firm in all the right places. The second he’d touched her, her pulse had kicked up.
Her stomach had felt weird. She figured it was the alcohol at the time, but when she thought of him this morning, her tummy had given her that same bizarre sensation. She’d assumed it was the hangover at that point. As the day wore on, her belly fluttered each time she thought of him. When Uncle Cain mentioned his name, her body tingled all over.
Butterflies. She had fuckin’ butterflies.
She could barely believe it. She thought it was something romance novelists made up and high school girls lied about. But no, she couldn’t deny it. She was giddy over the idea of seeing him again.
Why does it have to be Mr. Perfect?
Uncle Cain had brought him up. Now was her chance to get the information she needed.
“Where did you say he works? What is it he does that makes him so damn special?” Emma injected the right amount of annoyance into her voice. “What makes you think he’ll even make time for me?”
“He’ll do it as a favor to me. He already said he would.” Uncle Cain sipped his water before pointing his fork at her. “You watch for his call.”
“Whatever.” She leaned her elbows on the table. Her mother swatted at her with a napkin, forcing her to sit properly. “Where’s he work?”
“A company called, Fuller Homes and Construction. They build houses.”
Fuller Homes and Construction. She committed the name to memory. “So, he builds houses?”
“Yes. He’s apprenticed and certified in multiple trades. He can build a house from start to finish.”
Emma twirled her fork in the pasta. “Like what?”
“Commercial painting, drywall, plumbing. Currently, he’s working on his electrician’s certification. He does framing for the company. He’s been talking about bricklaying lately, but it’ll take him a little while before he gets his electrician’s license.”
Emma gulped. When did the man sleep? It was no wonder Uncle Cain idolized him.
“He’s a hard worker, Emma. You could learn something from him.” Uncle Cain stood up to clean the dishes from the table. “Why don’t you help your mom get dessert out, and I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher.”
Together, the three of them worked to clear the table and set out dessert, but Emma knew she was simply going through the motions. She wanted to go home and plan for tomorrow when the work week would start.
Feeling very small and more lost than usual, Emma tried to put aside the fact that Ed was skilled and hot and gave her stupid stomach butterflies. Instead, she focused on remembering Fuller Homes and Construction, repeating the name over and over in her head.
* * *
That night, after dessert, Emma had collected her clothing and returned to her empty apartment. She was still feeling a little wiped from the previous night. Hopefully, that would mean she’d fall asleep tonight without any problems. She prayed that the blaze of military memories would remain at bay so she could sleep off any lingering effects of her latest drinking binge.
She put away her clothes and booted up her computer. Once her Google browser opened, she entered Fuller Homes and Construction into the search bar. After jotting down the address and phone number, she checked out their website. The company was owned by a man named Chris Fuller. In the morning, she’d pay a little visit to Mr. Fuller.
Done with the construction company, Emma pulled up her Facebook page and tried searching for Ed Moore. No luck. Either he didn’t have an account, or his privacy settings were set to the highest. A Google search turned up squat. She wasn’t a computer whiz and gave up. She’d just have to wait until tomorrow.
When morning came, Emma repeated her routine from the day before: breakfast, shower, clean clothes, and she was out the door.
At most, it took her half an hour to reach the main office. She parked her truck out front and headed inside.
It was a tiny house, Emma assumed that was primarily because it was used more as an office. She’d driven past the sales office on her way here but hadn’t stopped. The sales office was also one of their model homes, doubling as a sales room and an example of the company’s workmanship. Emma had to admit they were impressive. Although both houses were stylish and well-maintained, the sales office was undoubtedly the larger of the two buildings.
Not long after she walked inside, she was greeted by a polished-looking woman who rounded a desk to offer assistance.
“I’m looking for Chris Fuller,” Emma told the woman.
“Certainly. May I ask what it’s regarding?”
“One of his employees. Ed Moore.”
“Just wait here one moment.”
The woman disappeared into the house, leaving Emma to wander the first floor.
She circled the main living space, examining the floor plans hanging on the wall. Scattered among them were a few awards Fuller Homes and Construction had won.
When Chris Fuller approached, she was studying the floor plan for one of their bungalows. She’d been expecting a small man with gangly features—she always equated salespeople to lower animals like rats or snakes, but Chris wasn’t like that at all. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing a business suit. In jeans and a T-shirt, he stood well over six feet and was built like a linebacker, his shirt stretching over his broad shoulders. He had a bit of a paunch and a full head of hair with only a few grays. Emma had to admit he was an impressive-looking man.
“Hi there, I’m Chris Fuller, what can I do for you today, Ms…”
Emma thrust out her hand in greeting. “Emma Berk, but call me Emma.”
“Well, Emma, come on into my office.”
She followed him up to the second floor and down the hall to what she presumed was his office. He indicated she should take a seat. Once she had, he seated himself on the opposite side of the desk. “Rebecca said this is regarding Ed? Is there a problem?”
“Oh no. I just needed to contact him and don’t have the means to do so, but I knew he worked for you.”
“Well, all of our employees’ information is kept confidential. You’re not a customer, are you?”
She grinned. “No, Ed is a friend of a friend.”
Chris propped his elbows on his desk and rested his chin against one fist. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Emma?”
She shook her head. “I just need to talk to him.”
Chris studied her so intently that Emma supposed he thought she’d crack and confess whatever problems she had. She almost snorted. Not likely.
“I can’t give out personal information, but if you’d like to leave a message for him, I’ll make sure he gets it,” Chris offered after a long pause.
No, Emma thought, that’s not going to work. A message wouldn’t have the same effect as her showing up at his workplace. She wanted him to know that she could find him, get to him, just as easily as he had gotten to her. She wanted him to know that not only did she have resources, but she was just as capable as he was.
“I don’t need his information. If you could tell me where he’s working, I’ll just stop by. I promise I won’t interfere with his work.”
“How did you say you know Ed?”
“My uncle was his CO in the army. He and I both served in the military.” He didn’t need to know they hadn’t served together. “See, we’re practically family.”
Chris didn’t buy it.
“I promise I won’t keep him from work for very long.” Emma put a hand to her stomach, trying to make the gesture look maternal, but at the same time, as though she’d done it unknowingly. She’d seen Nora do it enough to pretend. “I really need to speak with him. Directly. I’m sure you understand.”
“I think I do,” Chris replied grimly. He shuffled some papers, but when he didn’t find the information he needed, he put on a pair of glasses and turned his attention to the computer screen on his desk.
Less than five minutes later, with the address on a yellow Post-it note stuck to her dashboard, Emma was on her way to a job site.
She located the address in a new subdivision, still under construction. Most of the houses on the street were in the process of being built, which resulted in large amounts of dust and debris accumulating on the road. Siding and shingles were going up on a row of townhouses, and just past that were a few homes that looked complete, at least from the outside. According to her sticky note, Ed was working in one of the nearly finished homes.
After parking the truck curb-side, across from the house, Emma hopped out. She stopped herself halfway there, straightening her shirt, then cursed the damn butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t need to impress him.
Emma rushed across the street when she spotted a man with a paint can leaving a house.
“Excuse me!”
He paused on the way to the truck sitting in the driveway. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I think you can.”
Wearing a frown, he let out a frustrated exhalation. “If you’re here to get a sneak peek at the house, ma’am, I can’t let you in. We’re a little behind schedule, but we’re nearly done. I’m sure any day now, the service manager will call you about doing your walk-through, then you’ll get to see the whole place, and none of us will be in your way.”
“No, I’m not a customer.”
“Oh?” He glanced past her to her truck. “Car trouble?”
Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Men. “I’m looking for an employee by the name of Ed Moore.”
As Emma got a little closer, the man removed a rag from his back pocket and wiped specks of paint from his hands. He looked Emma over, the frown increasing on his face. There was a deep mistrust of young women within this company it seemed, or maybe Ed never brought women around his co-workers.
“Who are you?” Sniffling, the man rubbed a calloused hand beneath his nose.
“A friend.” Emma tried not to cringe as his action drew attention to the long white nose hairs hanging down, well below each nostril’s end. “Chris Fuller told me I’d find him here.”
“You talked to the boss about this, eh?”
Emma nodded. “Yes, and I promised him I wouldn’t keep Ed long. I just need to have a word with him.”
“The boss sent you here?” He tucked the rag back into his pocket.
Feeling like she’d already answered that question, Emma didn’t bother to reply. “Is he here or not?”
His gaze dropped to her chest. She didn’t have much in the way of a rack, so she assumed he was reading the text on her shirt. She’d picked it deliberately for her encounter with Ed.
“You got a name I can give him?”
That would ruin the surprise. “He’ll know who it is.”
He sighed. “All right. I’ll tell him.”
Emma leaned against the work truck and waited while the burly fellow disappeared back into the house. She hadn’t planned out what she wanted to say to Ed, thinking she’d figure it out as she went, but now that she was here, her stomach was in so many knots it was hard to think.
She was angry that he’d come to the bar and downright pissed that he’d threatened to call her uncle.
She didn’t need or want his help to fix her situation. She intended to prove that she could locate him just as easily as he had found her.
She wanted him to hurry up and get out here before the butterflies spread further than her tummy. She needed to get this over with before she did something stupid. Like ask him to remove his shirt so she could see the hard body she’d felt on Saturday, and maybe just maybe ask to lick it from head to toe.