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I WATCH AS EMI WALKS toward the nurse, she still has a slight limp to her gait, so I know she’s still healing and sore. I only hope that she doesn’t have anything seriously wrong, more damage than can be seen on the outside with the bruises and cuts littering her frail body. I know she’s nervous about being seen by a doctor, but I only want the best for her. I probably should have talked to her before making this appointment for her, but I don’t know if she would have agreed to be seen. If that makes me an ass, so be it.
I definitely feel like an ass knowing that her birthday was yesterday, and I didn’t even know. Not that we know each other well enough to celebrate birthdays together, but I can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since she’s been able to celebrate hers. I may not be able to do anything about the day itself, but I can at least get her something as a late celebration. I wonder how angry she’ll be with what I have in mind for her.
One thing that I’ve learned about Emi in the short time that I’ve known her is that she wanted to be a photographer. I don’t know what happened to her equipment, I know she had some at some point because she mentioned her mother working hard to get it for her. I can only imagine that her stepfather had something to do with it disappearing, the bastard. That’s at least one dream of hers that I can help to bring to fruition.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I fill the time with research. It doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for. Unfortunately, it isn’t available anywhere local and needs to be ordered. I decide to order everything that I want and have it shipped to my office. It will take a few days to come in, but I can’t wait to surprise Emi with it when it does.
Happy with my purchase, I’m just putting the phone back in my pocket when Emi comes through the door. I stand and she walks toward me, looking bashful and innocent. It takes all I have not to reach for her, offer her the comfort she so desperately needs. But I know she isn’t ready for that yet. I don’t worry about talking to the receptionist before we leave, I already made sure she had my credit card information for the bill. I suspect that Emi doesn’t have any insurance working at the diner, something that I hope to be able to remedy soon.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her as I slide into the driver’s seat of my car.
“No.” She twists her hands in her lap but doesn’t look over at me. “I’m actually a little tired. I think I’d like to lay down for a little while if that’s okay.”
“Of course, that’s okay. You’ve had a long day, Emi. I tell you what,” I start as I back out of the parking spot in front of the clinic. “We’ll go home, take all these bags up to the apartment, then you can take a nap and I’ll help you put everything away after you wake up.”
“Thank you, Landon. For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Emi.” She turns her gaze out the passenger window and watches the city fly by as I drive down the street toward the apartment building. The rest of the drive is relatively quiet, no sound besides our breathing and the steady hum of the engine.
We work in tandem to remove the bags from the trunk of the car and carry them up to my apartment. As soon as I open the door, Emi walks in ahead of me and carries her bags to the guest room. I follow her in and set the bags on the floor inside the door. She doesn’t say anything, just walks slowly to the bed and collapses on top of the blanket, immediately curling her body around one of the fluffy pillows. I watch her for a few seconds before backing out of the room and pulling the door closed quietly.
I want to know about the visit with the doctor, but it isn’t my place to push. She’ll tell me about it if and when she’s ready.
Stepping into my home office, I boot up my laptop to check my email. Typing up a quick message to my assistant, I let her know that I’m expecting a package to be delivered to the office this coming week. Hopefully, it’s delivered early in the week – I can’t wait to see the look on Emi’s face when she opens it up.
After answering a few more emails, and confirming meetings scheduled for the next couple of weeks, I decide to relax for a few minutes. I picked up a new book several days ago that I’m anxious to get started on. It’s by a new author from California that writes realistic fiction based on true crime. It’s different than some of the other true crime dramas that I’ve read in the past, but I’ve heard good things about it. Apparently, the author, Julie Adams, writes her stories based on actual events and unsolved crimes. Melodee, my assistant, mentioned it to me one day at work. After telling me that the proceeds from the book sales were donated to an outreach program in LA that rehabilitates abuse victims and helps them pay medical and legal fees, I just had to run out and buy the book myself.
I briefly wonder if I should start making something for dinner, I know Emi will be hungry when she finally wakes from her nap. Unfortunately, I don’t want to make her sick either – I’ve never been much of a cook. Breakfast is easy, but anything else resembling a healthy meal, not so much. Much to my grandmother’s chagrin, I wasn’t a good pupil in the art of cooking. She tried, oh how she tried. She wanted me to be able to not only take care of myself but be able to woo a woman with my soulful cooking skills. As it turns out, I just don’t have the patience for it.
I can design and build a house, a parking garage, or an office building. I can renovate buildings left dilapidated and forgotten, worn with the tendrils of time rotting away their existence, and turn them into modern marvels of engineering and structural durability. But I can’t cook a simple meal that would satisfy the hunger of even a common cockroach without fear of food poisoning. Even a crock pot is a mystery to me for whatever reason. I can, however, order takeout. I have a plethora of takeout menus awaiting selection in a drawer in the kitchen. That would be the safer option.
Decision made, I can safely wait until Emi wakes up. That will give her the option of choosing where to order, anything that she craves can be ordered easily with a simple phone call. At least then I won’t have to worry about causing her to get sick. I couldn’t live with that.
I’m so caught up in the pages of my book that I don’t even hear Emi coming down the hall. I don’t realize she’s even in the room until she sits on the couch next to me and curls into my side, my arm going around her shoulders automatically. My heart swells several sizes as I realize how comfortable she’s becoming around me. She doesn’t push my arm away or flinch away from my touch. I’m grateful for that little improvement in such a short amount of time. I’ll take it as a point in the win column.
Gently folding over the corner of the page in my book, I set it on the table beside me before kissing Emi softly on the top of her head. The sound she makes is so quiet, I almost don’t hear it. It’s a cross between a moan and purr and a vision of a tiny, innocent kitten comes to mind. Smiling, I decide to kiss the top of her head one more time with a little more force and feeling.
“What are you reading?” she asks, lifting her head from my shoulder.
Reaching for the book, I hand it to her and watch as she flips it over to read the back cover. “It’s by a new author I’ve never read before. My assistant recommended it to me.”
“Looks interesting.” She hands it back after flipping through a few of the pages, her brow furrowed in thought.
“So far, it’s pretty good. This author writes fiction based on true crimes.” She settles back in against my side and yawns sweetly. Her stomach rumbles and I’m reminded that it’s been several hours since she’s eaten anything. “I need to feed you.”
She sits up as I move away from her to stand. “Yeah,” she whispers. She takes my extended hand as I offer to help her off the couch.
“What are you in the mood for? I can order from anywhere.”
“Order? Why don’t we just cook something here?”
I pause and look down at her, my hand frozen on the menu drawer. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not a very good cook.”
“You did pretty well with breakfast this morning.”
“That’s different. And the only thing I can really cook successfully.”
She walks closer and leans on the counter across from where I’m standing. “I’m a pretty good cook. At least I think I am. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten anything that I’ve cooked myself.” She turns her gaze down to the counter and I wonder what memory is afflicting her.
Walking around the counter, I nudge her chin, so she looks up at me. “I don’t expect you to do the cooking, Emi.”
“The doctor says I need to eat healthy. Lots of protein and smaller frequent meals. I have some time to make up for.”
Damn, she’s right. Takeout might be convenient, but it’s anything but healthy. It’s full of fat and fillers that her body really doesn’t need right now. “Fine. I’m sure I can think of something that even I won’t mess up.”
“We can cook together.” Her eyes glimmer with amusement as my brow lowers in frustration. I don’t think she understands just how bad of a cook I really am. “It’ll be fun.”
“Sure,” I relent, mentally cataloging what medication I already have on hand for in case of stomach issues later. “But we’ll have to go out again for groceries. I don’t have much here beyond breakfast foods. And from the sounds of it, you’re going to need some snacks too. Do you feel like going shopping again?”
She smiles before pulling away from me and darting toward the front door. I watch as she bends and pulls her shoes on. “Do you have a piece of paper?”
“Are you wanting to make a list?” I open the junk drawer on the other side of the center island and reach for a sheet of scrap paper and pen.
“No. I just need the paper.”
Confused, I toss the pen back into the drawer and walk over to Emi. She’s still smiling when she takes the sheet from me and holds it in one hand. She waits for me to grab my keys and wallet before opening the door and we take the elevator down to the parking garage.