Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(12)
“Emily . . .” Carol says carefully, her eyes dropping to the hand keeping her from moving. “If you don’t mind, I’ve gotta get going.”
With a defeated sigh, Emily lets go and I see the moment she doesn’t want Carol to feel bad, because she plasters a soft smile on her mouth and aims it up at her. “Sure thing, Carol. Tell Billy I said hi and I’ll see y’all at Hank’s next Friday.”
“Will do, hon! Bye, Jack! Oh—and you’ll get keys for move-in by next weekend.” And with those parting words she’s off, rushing out of the coffee shop as quickly as she entered.
I expect Emily to immediately pounce on me, suggesting that if I don’t cancel the sale of the house, I should lie in front of a moving bus instead. Which is why I’m surprised to find her completely silent and staring off in the distance at nothing in particular. One soft little frown between her brows. Shit. I’ve known her long enough to recognize that the line between her brows is not good. Last time I saw that frown it preceded her going after the same editorial job as me for our college paper junior year after my friend Harris frustratingly asked about my interview while Emily was nearby. I wanted that job so bad, and she knew it. And then she went and interviewed for it too—and beat me. (I got her back, though, when I talked to our professor and snagged the student teaching placement I knew she wanted at Rome Elementary. Jeez, are we cruel people?)
Bottom line, that is an Emily Walker scheming frown.
And when she suddenly looks back at me and her lips curl into a devious smirk, I know I’m about to have some sort of hell to pay.
“I’ve gotta go,” she says quickly, shoving her laptop back into her tote bag and standing.
“What happened to needing this table so badly?” I don’t trust whatever is going on in that head of hers but I’m excited for it all the same.
“Something more important just came up.” She smiles another smile that tingles up my spine. “Enjoy your coffee, neighbor,” Emily says before walking away and leaving me with an eerie feeling. One that instinctively has me throwing this coffee out and ordering a new one.
FROM: Emily Walker <[email protected]> TO: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> DATE: Mon, May 27 9:00 AM
SUBJECT: Word to the wise . . .
I saw you got your keys to the house early. If I were you . . . I wouldn’t unpack yet. You never know when something might go wrong and you’ll have to climb back up that beanstalk.
FROM: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> TO: Emily Walker <[email protected]> DATE: Mon, May 27 9:30 AM
SUBJECT: Word to the wise . . .
Oh god. Was that really a Jack-in-the-beanstalk joke? I haven’t heard that since freshman year of high school when I shot up a foot overnight and had to wear high-water pants for a week.
Give me a minute. I’ll think of an embarrassing name to call you.
For now, I know you’re obsessed with me, but try to keep your eyes on your own property.
FROM: Emily Walker <[email protected]> TO: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> DATE: Mon, May 27 9:33 AM
SUBJECT: Word to the wise . . .
Good luck. There’s nothing embarrassing about me. I’m perfect.
FROM: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> TO: Emily Walker <[email protected]> DATE: Mon, May 27 9:35 AM
SUBJECT: Word to the wise . . .
Oh really??? . . . Emily Stalker . . .
FROM: Emily Walker <[email protected]> TO: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> DATE: Mon, May 27 9:35 AM
SUBJECT: Word to the wise . . .
Please. That was barely even a zing. You can do better than that, Jackson Bonnet.
Chapter Four
Emily
“Okay, where is she?” says Annie, practically shoving me out of the way as she barrels through my door to get in my house.
“You know, ever since I got this cat, you never come over just to see me anymore.”
“That’s the price you pay. Where is the little angel?” Annie, my youngest sister, is a tender soul. But right now, she looks like a gremlin while dropping to her hands and knees in her green overalls to search under the couch for the cat. Her head is whipping in all directions, pretty blue eyes bugging out of her head. I’ve never felt terrified of her before—but right now . . .
“She’s probably back on my bed. That’s where she likes to sleep.” I end the search just so I don’t have to witness her like this anymore.
Annie is little more than a puff of smoke as she races down the short hallway to my room, emerging a few seconds later with a squishy orange bundle of fur in her hands. She holds Ducky up so she can smoosh their noses together. “I love you I love you I love you,” she says in the babiest of baby voices.
Honestly, I don’t blame her. I love Ducky more than anyone should ever love a cat. I got her a few weeks ago, when I couldn’t take the complete isolation in my house anymore. I went down to the animal shelter and spent the afternoon there, sampling kittens like Ben and Jerry’s flavors. I played and snuggled with probably twenty different cats before finding Ducky. She was a little underweight after living on the street for too long, and I was told she would need a lot of love and attention. We were an immediate match made in heaven.
Once again, my front door swings open, and my sister-in-law, Amelia, rushes in. Her eyes zero in on Annie and Ducky and she shape-shifts into a missile about to launch. “Give me the child!” she says, racing to Annie’s side and snatching the kitten away to the sounds of Annie’s protests.