Part 9 (1/2)
”I'm happy to,” Mich.e.l.le said. ”You want the works, right, Emerson?”
Although she wasn't sold on the idea of potato salad, which had to be the new addition Hunter had mentioned, since Emerson was already happily familiar with both Harley's pulled pork and his secret-recipe honey-mustard coleslaw, she didn't want to be rude. ”Sure. That sounds great.”
Mich.e.l.le paused to slide her glance to the side. ”I take it you want the whole shebang, too, Hunter? With drinks for both of you?”
”Yes, ma'am.” He caught Emerson's eye, his raised brow reading a seven out of ten on the I Told You So scale, but at least he didn't gloat out loud. Yet.
”You got it. Two loaded sandwiches with potato salad and sweet tea, coming right up.”
Mich.e.l.le's hands moved in a blur over the food service containers in front of her, filling two red-and-white cardboard meal baskets with a pair of coleslaw-topped pulled-pork sandwiches and hefty scoops of red-skinned potato salad. Emerson's stomach let out a growl just shy of embarra.s.sing as her mouth watered and excitement swelled in her chest, and she barely made it all the way through the checkout line before her smile got the best of her.
”Okay, so that wasn't too awkward. Also, this sandwich smells as incredible as ever,” she admitted, sipping her tea and following Hunter to a wooden picnic table shaded by a nearby red oak. Still, she wasn't about to go down easy. ”But one person doesn't count.”
The edges of his mouth kicked up in mischief, and it looked like Hunter wasn't about to tap out, either. ”Oh, I beg to differ. I think the right person counts an awful lot.”
Emerson stilled, a bolt of sweet, hot need arrowing all the way through her. But as quickly as it had arrived, Hunter's smirk disappeared without a trace, leaving her to wonder if she'd conjured the gesture from nothing more than thin summer air and the desire still pumping in her veins.
”Anyway,” he continued, placing a small stack of napkins between them on the silvery, weatherworn table boards. ”Mich.e.l.le and Harley are two people, and they were both happy to see you back in town.”
”You cheated. They're two of the nicest people in Millhaven.” She picked up the plastic fork Mich.e.l.le had tucked into her meal basket, pointing the tines at him for added emphasis. ”And quite possibly the entire state of Virginia, besides. Of course they'd make me feel welcome.”
Hunter laughed, toasting her with his sweet tea. ”Nice try. Still counts.”
”Hmph.” Emerson speared a forkful of potato salad from the st.u.r.dy cardboard container nestled next to her sandwich, forgoing a smart answer in favor of taking a small, obligatory bite. But then anything she'd meant to say-h.e.l.l, anything she'd meant to even think or do or be-fell prey to the flavors having an all-out riot in her mouth.
”Mmm, holy G.o.d, this is . . .” She let the rest of her sentence go, closing her lips along with her eyes to savor every nuance. Rather than loading his potato salad up with tons of heavy mayonnaise and standard-procedure celery, Harley had opted for taste over tradition. The tangy-sweet flavors of smoke and honey danced over Emerson's palate in a burst of surprise, smoothed out by the mellow taste of olive oil and the bite of fresh black pepper. Something slightly crunchy-wait, were those fresh corn kernels? Ah, genius!-hit her senses as she continued to chew, and two more forkfuls went into her mouth and down the hatch before she finally came up for air.
”This isn't potato salad. It's a metaphysical event.” Emerson moved her fork through the mixture, taking a closer look at the small wedges of red-skinned potatoes, the pretty pop of bi-color sweet corn, and the fresh bright-green parsley in her cup. ”When did Harley come up with this recipe?”
”Five, maybe six years ago.” Hunter picked up his fork, digging into his own potato salad with a grin. ”He started with fries, but then he decided he wanted the real down-home experience. Mayo doesn't keep too well in hot weather, so he got a little creative. And opportunistic, I guess, because that's his homemade honey barbecue sauce in there, along with a bunch of other ingredients he guards like a national secret.”
Emerson took another bite, the smooth, smoky goodness exploding on her tongue. ”As long as he doesn't stop making it, and I do mean ever, I won't complain.”
”I thought you might like it.”
”Because there's no mayonnaise?” Her instinct to keep her guard up took yet another direct hit in the face of Hunter's easy smile.
”Because it's off the chain.” He paused, his dimple flas.h.i.+ng even deeper, and yep, her guard was toast. ”Okay, and also maybe because there's no mayonnaise.” He lifted his sandwich, waiting until they'd each taken a few bites before continuing. ”I know you're not a fan of breakfast, but seriously. Don't you eat?”
”Not really.” The answer flew out before Emerson had any idea she'd let it, and her cheeks flushed at the admission. ”I mean, obviously, I eat enough to survive. But I guess it's been awhile since I really enjoyed a meal.”
”That's a shame,” he said with nothing but kindness in his tone. She prayed he wouldn't follow up by asking her why not-there really was no subtle way to say that between the upheaval of the career she loved and the heavy c.o.c.ktail of meds she was still getting used to, her appet.i.te had pretty much gone on an extended sabbatical.
Thankfully, he didn't. They ate in comfortable quiet, punctuated by Emerson's inevitable food appreciation noises (she tried to restrain herself, she really did, but the honey-mustard coleslaw was as ridiculous as the juicy, b.u.t.ter-soft pulled pork it was piled upon, and she was only human, after all.) The thick umbrella of leaves overhead offered just enough cover to keep the heat at bay, and Emerson turned her face up toward the dappled sunlight as she popped the last bite of potato salad into her mouth.
”You might not want to wait so long next time before you indulge,” Hunter said, folding his burnished forearms over the table with a crooked, s.e.xy smile. ”It looks pretty good on you.”
A soft laugh bubbled up from her chest, and G.o.d, he'd always known exactly how to put her at ease. ”Thanks.”
”I'm just speaking the truth, the same way I was when I said you still belong here.”
Warmth that had nothing to do with the weather flooded Emerson's body, and all at once, she realized how close he was. The way their knees barely brushed beneath the tabletop, the light sprinkling of stubble covering the angle of his jaw, the slight smudge of barbecue sauce at the corner of his wickedly full lips.
The way she wanted to open up to him without thought.
”Thank you. I mean, not just for lunch.” Ugh, so maybe a little bit of thought would've been a decent idea. ”But, you know. For letting me help you with your shoulder. And making me feel at home.”
But rather than put her on the spot with some stilted or Hallmark-worthy response, Hunter just grinned. ”Is this the part where I get to say I told you so? Because, truly, I've been waiting awful patiently, and-”
”Oh my G.o.d, fine!” Emerson caved, letting her laughter have its way with her. ”You were right. I may have been gone for a while, but I'm not a total stranger.”
”In that case, welcome home, Emerson.”
Hunter s.h.i.+fted forward, one hand braced on the table in front of him, the other brus.h.i.+ng over her forearm. Heart pounding, she leaned in to meet him out of pure instinct, knowing that he was going to kiss her and, as crazy and impulsive and dangerous as it was, she was going to let him.
But then the familiar sound of a throat clearing from over her shoulder sent ice water through Emerson's veins, chilling her in spite of the record-breaking temperature and freezing her in place.
No. No, no, no. It couldn't be . . . it wasn't . . .
”Well. Isn't this quite the surprise? h.e.l.lo, sweetheart. It's been awhile.”
Her pulse fluttered dangerously fast, and she struggled to swallow her spiraling panic in slow, hard gulps. She wasn't ready. She hadn't expected this.
She had to strong-arm her emotions. Right. Now.
Emerson straightened, and every last ounce of her free-flowing ease disappeared like a flame in a rainstorm as she turned around to face the man standing behind her.
”h.e.l.lo, Dad.”
CHAPTER TEN.
Hunter couldn't tell what was more gut-punching, that he'd gone from all systems go to all systems no in five seconds flat, or that every trace of the wide-open happiness that had brightened Emerson's pretty face those same five seconds ago had done a complete vanis.h.i.+ng act at the sight of her father.
Holy s.h.i.+t, had Hunter seriously been about to kiss her? In the middle of the Watermelon Festival? With her old man right there behind her?
Yes on all counts. Christ, he hadn't even thought twice.
Or maybe he hadn't thought at all.
”Dr. Montgomery.” Hunter scrambled to stand up. The manners he'd been ingrained with pretty much since birth had him reflexively extending his hand, realizing only after Emerson's father pinned him with a chilly blue stare that his fingers were smudged with barbecue sauce.
s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t. Hunter fumbled for a napkin to take care of the offending mess, but the moment was gone.
”Hunter,” Dr. Montgomery said, clipped and crisp. His shoulders were rigid beneath his light-blue b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, as if someone had aligned them with a level and a T-square, and not even a hint of moisture appeared on his forehead despite the unrepentant heat. ”Are you having a nice time at the festival?”
The formality landed in Hunter's ears with the same oddness as when Emerson had asked him that very question this morning. Then again, her parents had always given staid and serious a run for its hard-earned cash. ”Actually, I am. Emerson and I were just catching up.”