Part 7 (1/2)
”I'm game,” Eli said, s.h.i.+fting on his broken-in Red Wings to take a step closer to Emerson.
Hunter's pulse kicked hard against his rib cage. ”No, you're not.”
Despite the ruckus going on in his chest, his words came out as slow and easy as a Sunday morning, and although they stopped Eli's movement, his brother's grin stayed put.
”Lavender and chamomile sound kinda nice. Sure, I am.”
”No,” Hunter repeated, neither his smile nor the rest of him letting up. ”You're not.”
Okay, so he had no claim to Emerson whatsoever, and considering how seriously she took her job, a hand ma.s.sage right here in front of G.o.d and everybody was bound to be harmless. But good behavior wasn't one of Eli's talents, and even though Hunter knew his brother had a code of honor lurking someplace beneath his c.o.c.ky exterior, he wasn't about to choose now to test the boundaries of where the freaking thing began.
Even if that meant testing the boundaries of where his composure ended.
”Okay, then,” Eli said, holding up his hands in surrender for just a second before gesturing toward Emerson. ”Guess you get to be the one to give it a go. I always knew you had a softer side.”
Hunter's breath jammed in his lungs, and he realized too late what Eli had done. But backpedaling now was out of the question, and anyway, he'd been doing PT with Emerson all week. He could handle a little hand ma.s.sage, no problem.
The fact that he didn't want to backpedal, even if he probably should? Yeah. He'd deal with that later.
Hunter shot Eli a split-second look that promised murder, or at the very least a solid a.s.s kicking later, before turning toward Emerson. ”Looks like I'm your guinea pig.”
She took the lotion from Daisy, who turned to answer Eli's question about the sandalwood soap at the other end of the tent, both of them moving out of earshot.
”Your brother's still a troublemaker, I see.” Emerson pinned the words with enough of a smile that Hunter's smile in return slipped out with ease.
”Yeah, it's at the top of his resume. But, really, we can skip the ma.s.sage if you want.” As much as Hunter didn't mind the one on one, he wasn't about to make her uneasy in order to get it.
”Therapeutic ma.s.sage is part of my job, remember?” Emerson freed the lid from the bottle with a soft pop, squeezing a dime-sized amount of lotion into one palm. ”Plus, we've done nearly half a dozen of them this week on your shoulder.”
”Not in the middle of Town Street.”
Just like that, she froze, her cautious demeanor slamming back into place like a set of two-ton doors. ”I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I only offered-”
”I'm not uncomfortable,” Hunter said, mostly because it was the truth, but also because, dammit, he wanted that smile of hers back. ”I know you want to help Daisy with her business. All I meant was that people will probably talk.”
Emerson laughed, soft and yet matter-of-fact. ”They started talking the minute I got back, and I doubt they'll stop anytime soon. The reality is, I live here now, and you and I are going to run into each other. Seems like turning that into a big deal is only feeding the fire.”
And wasn't that a h.e.l.l of a good point. ”Okay then,” Hunter said, extending his arms toward her. ”I guess my hands are in your hands.”
”Great.” Emerson pressed her palms together, rubbing her fingers back and forth just like she did before the ma.s.sage therapy they did at the end of his sessions. ”So are you having a nice festival so far?”
”Awfully formal, aren't you?” The teasing was out before he could trap it, and s.h.i.+t, could he put her any further on the spot? ”Sorry, I just meant-”
”I know what you meant,” Emerson said, reaching for his hands. Closing her fingers around one wrist, she pressed her thumbs into the heel of his palm, rotating them in slow circles. ”And I guess you're right. It's just a little weird to be back in Millhaven as an outsider.”
”You're not an outsider.” She'd been born and raised here, for Chrissake. Now, that a.s.shat Daisy had met in Camden Valley and married a few years ago? He was an outsider.
Emerson seemed unconvinced. ”I've been gone for twelve years, Hunter.”
”So now you're back. Sure, some things have changed a little.” Twelve years wasn't twelve minutes. Nothing stayed exactly the same, even in small towns. ”But that still doesn't make you an outsider.”
She lowered her chin, a tendril of hair dropping over her gaze in a copper-colored curtain as she concentrated her touch on the spot between his thumb and forefinger, and d.a.m.n, how could he feel one little touch all the way up his arm?
Emerson spoke without looking up. ”Not even if I'm one of the things that's changed?”
”You haven't changed that much.”
Okay, so the reply was bolder than his norm. But despite whatever she was guarding, the words felt as obvious as the bright-yellow canopy tent over their heads.
What's more, Emerson didn't argue. ”Neither have you. You still like to fix things, don't you? Keep the status quo.”
For a second, Hunter was tempted to call her out on the subtle s.h.i.+ft in focus, but since that'd probably kill the conversation in six syllables or fewer, he said, ”I still like things simple, sure. I live on a farm. I don't want to fix you, though, if that's what you're getting at. I think you're fine just as you are.”
Her laugh was all amus.e.m.e.nt. ”But you don't even know me anymore.”
”Bet I do.” Okay, so he was borderline flirting with her now, but that relaxed, wide-open smile she'd been wearing when he'd first seen her talking to Daisy had found its way back over her face, and Hunter felt too d.a.m.ned good to listen to reason and stop.
”It's been twelve years,” Emerson tried again. Too bad for her, she wasn't the only stubborn kid on the block.
”Uh-huh. You still hate mayonnaise.”
She scrunched up her nose, and even with frown lines bracketing both her mouth and her forehead, she looked cuter than anyone had a right to. ”That's a given. I've hated that stuff since birth, and I'll hate it 'til I go in the ground. Anyway, mustard's better.”
”Okay.” He paused while she seamlessly transferred her touch from his right hand to his left, the crisp, fresh scent of lavender filling the s.p.a.ce between them. ”Something tougher, then. Let's see. I bet you still have that dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice on your bedside table even though you know more than half the book by heart.”
”That's not too surprising,” she said after a pause. ”Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book.”
”Uh-huh. Even money says it's sandwiched between two romance novels.”
Emerson's blush had her dead to rights. ”So I still like a good happily ever after.” The doubt in her eyes remained, and okay. Guess he'd have to go all in.
Hunter tilted his head. ”I bet you make a charitable donation every year, but not to a big organization. You pick something small, where the people really need the help.”
Her hands. .h.i.tched over his, and ha! He had her. ”I may make a contribution to the local food pantry in Las Vegas every winter,” she said. ”But those volunteer-run places get so much less donation money than you'd think. Every dollar helps.”
He measured her with a thoughtful glance, hoping like h.e.l.l that his triumphant smile wasn't popping through too much. ”See? Not so different after all.”
”Just because you made a couple lucky guesses doesn't mean I'm the same girl you went to high school with.”
The slow, deliberate pressure she was sweeping over the tops of his knuckles put him at a tactical disadvantage-holy h.e.l.l, her hands felt good on his-but he wasn't about to scale back now, even if she seemed more pragmatic than p.i.s.sy. ”And just because you've been gone for a while doesn't mean you're an outsider in your own hometown.”
Emerson lifted her chin to move the hair from her eyes, the sa.s.sy smile on her lips sending yet another slap shot against his sternum. ”Some of my favorite things include indie movies and sus.h.i.+, Hunter. At the very least, I'm pretty sure that puts me outside the norm here in Millhaven.”
Whoa. She might have you there, chief. ”Okay,” he conceded. ”So I wouldn't know an indie movie if it jumped up and bit me, and you already know that around here, we call sus.h.i.+ 'bait.'”
She lifted her brows into victory formation, but uh-uh, he wasn't ready to go down just yet. Although Emerson hadn't completely shed her air of caution, she was a h.e.l.l of a lot more at ease than he'd seen her since she'd been home.
And calm composure be d.a.m.ned, Hunter wanted to show her what he saw.
”Still, I bet you fit in better than you think,” he said.