Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(44)

“So you bring all your dates here?” he quips with a flirtatious wink.

Dates. “No. I avoid that like the plague.” Now it’s my turn to look out the window with a rough laugh.

Confusion graces his features. “Dating?”

“Yeah. Too busy. You know how it is. Don’t need the distraction.” I flash him a quick smile. “Wait. No, you don’t.”

Emmett doesn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, he looks at me with a little too much keen interest.

Luckily, I’m rescued from his scrutiny by Martha swinging past with our food. “Okay, kids. Two Julia specials.”

She plunks the oversize omelets down in front of us. Emmett’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as he takes in the portion sizes.

“More coffee coming up,” she announces before taking off.

“Julia special?” Emmett asks.

I lift a shoulder in response as I spear my fork into the perfectly cooked eggs.

“What’s inside?” He eyes it suspiciously, like maybe Martha and I have conspired to poison him.

“Ham. Cheddar. Bell pepper. Green onion—”

“Hell yeah. Sounds great.” Emmett lifts his utensils to dig in.

“And pineapple.”

He stops midcut.

“You put pineapple in your omelet?”

The horror in his baby blues is somehow… satisfying. After all, he’s basically invited himself every step of the way tonight.

“Yeah, why?” I ask innocently.

“I…” He eyes the dish with something that borders on disgust.

“Will acquire the taste?”

His responding laugh is rich and warm. It wraps around me like a favorite blanket as his gaze meets mine and he points his fork in my direction. “Exactly.”

With that, he digs in. And I find myself watching him more than I’m eating my own meal.

“You know what?” he announces after several minutes of silence. “This is pretty good. I can see the appeal.”

I chuckle and meet his gaze. “You’re a man of your word, Emmett Brandt.”

“That I am, doll,” he says, humor lacing his words. “Now, be honest. Do you think Catherine is actually here plotting my murder? Or am I overthinking her obsession with death and crime? She seems sweet enough, but it’s weird, right?”

I snort a laugh and some of the tension from the day drains from my limbs as I relax back into my seat.

And from there we settle in. Emmett ends up eating his entire omelet—pineapple chunks and all. He even starts in on the coffee with me.

Coffee that Martha never lets drop to empty.

And with a full belly, endless caffeine coursing through our systems, and a tentative friendship blossoming between us, we talk.

And we sip our coffee.

And we laugh.

And we talk.

We cover sports, school, work, animals, plants, family, food. Hell, we even cover embarrassing childhood memories. We talk about everything and nothing. The conversation flows effortlessly.

We lose all sense of time and place. And by the time we pry our eyes away from each other, I realize the sun is rising.

“Holy shit. It’s… morning?”

“You know what? I don’t believe you’re immune to pounding coffee all night,” he jokes.

A shrill giggle lurches from my throat. Because I’ve spent another night with Emmett Brandt—and much to my surprise, I very much enjoyed his company. A confession that would make my brother keel over and die on the spot.

But when Emmett looks me in the eye and says, “Now it’s my turn to take you for my favorite breakfast,” I surprise myself again by saying yes.





CHAPTER 18


Emmett





Richard

Where the FUCK do you think you disappeared to last night? We had the perfect setup. All you needed to do was be at your house. But according to Teri, you’ve been gone all night.





Emmett

Sorry. I had plans.





Richard

This show isn’t a chance for you to turn into Houdini or to sneak out and visit a side piece. We need you on set. Working.





Emmett

I didn’t know I was required to stay in my house all night. I must have missed that in the contract.





Richard

I suggest you pull out your contract and read up on all the reasons I can fire you while you’re at it. Dating anyone outside the girls I’ve provided you for the show is a breach. We’ve got world-class lawyers. Your next payment could easily be your last.





* * *



I must be high on caffeine or delirious from lack of sleep because I am sitting in the passenger seat of Julia Silva’s car on my way to taking her to family breakfast.

After Richard’s worked-up texts this morning, we decided it would be better if we didn’t get spotted at her house together. So now I’m sitting here like a lovesick puppy dog waiting for her to clean up and get ready for breakfast with my family.

And true to form, I practically pant when she walks out of the front doors of her high-rise apartment building.

She’s not even dressed up. She’s wearing fucking overalls. Light-wash denim overalls with a white tank top and a pair of pearlescent Birkenstocks.