Oh Starry Knight ~ Section II

    By Crysty

    Beginning, Section II

    Part Three

    Posted on Wednesday, 19 December 2007

    When she came down the stairs at half past one the next afternoon, Emma was feeling well-rested, calm, and--dare she think it? Chipper. More than twelve hours of sleep, a long, luxurious shower, and wearing your favorite sweater did that to a person.

    "Tell me, when was the last time you asked a girl out like that and expected her to say yes?" Gordon barked.

    Across the kitchen island, Robert stirred sweetener into his coffee and laughed good-naturedly. "Which is probably why she said no," he smiled.

    Harriet got off her bar stool in greeting. "Morning, Emma! Did you sleep well?" she smiled as she grabbed another mug out of the cupboards.

    Emma arched her shoulders back in a long, body-elongating stretch and gave a happy sigh of satisfaction.

    "I'll take that as a 'yes'," Harriet handed the steaming mug over.

    Not to be distracted from the task at hand, Gordon continued his lecture to Robert: "Son, if get yourself a haircut and a better car, no woman with a right mind would turn you down," Gordon advised.

    Emma and Harriet met eyes above Gordon's head and grinned. "Well-said," Emma diplomatically ventured.

    Robert couldn't hold back his own laugh. "I'll keep it in mind."

    "I hope you don't mind that I invited Robert over, Emma," Harriet said quietly as she approached with the mug. "He called earlier, asking if I was doing anything. I joined him and his sisters for brunch, and then well, we wanted to talk a bit more."

    Emma shrugged. "Don't worry about it. We're a big house, with lots of room for people."

    "What do you think, Little Girl?"

    Harriet grinned at her new epithet and turned back to the older man. "What do I think about what, Gordon?" she asked, sweetly.

    "If this boy over here cleaned up, would you date him?"

    Harriet and Robert flushed as Emma let out a hiss of embarrassment on their behalf. "Dad, Harriet just got out-"

    Pale, resolute, Harriet cleared her throat. "I believe Robert was lamenting that another girl, this Leslie, was the one-"

    "Never mind this Leslie. Boy, give up on her. Never trusted those science majors. Too literal and serious."

    "And I'm sure majoring in English would have helped cousin Don so much more in medical school," Emma observed wryly.

    "Helped him in medical school, but he's still unmarried, isn't he?"

    The sound of Doug's bark had never been more welcome. Emma checked through the window, and opened the door. "Hey Jake!" Doug rushed in, nuzzling his nose against her hip. Emma gave an undignified yip at the cold and wet, pulling away. Doug barked his jubilation.

    "Down, Doug," Jake stood next to her, pushing his dog away. Doug trotted on towards Robert, continuing on in his quest to bestow congeniality on mankind.

    "Hey Emma," Jake smiled. He was like the winter breeze, bracingly fresh and sudden. And even while she smiled at him in friendly greeting, she could feel her stomach betray her smooth appearance.

    "How are you feeling today?" he asked quietly, gentle smile on his face.

    Emma diffidently toyed with the sleeves of her sweater even as she let his concern warm her down to her toes. "Very well rested. Thank you for asking. And you? Would you like some coffee? Come in, come in," Conscious of their curious audience, she stepped back to let him in the kitchen.

    "I just finished a cup at home. I figured I'd stop by and check to see if you wanted help with lights today. Gordon, Rob, Harriet," Jake smiled in greeting.

    "Jake!" Gordon grinned, very pleased with his own secret joke.

    "Hey Jake! How are you?" Harriet asked cheerfully.

    Jake shrugged. "Visited the post office this morning and shipped out presents."

    "For shame!"

    Jake laughed. "I didn't finish shopping until two days ago, and wrapping always takes longer than I think."

    "Emma always wraps my presents," Gordon said. "Pretty shiny boxes under the tree. Lovely taste. You should have gotten her to wrap yours," he said to Jake.

    Emma rolled her eyes. "Kind of sad and wasteful to wrap up a present I know I'll be opening in a couple of days."

    "Wait a minute. Cell phone?" Harriet asked.

    "Hm?"

    "My superhero power: the ability to hear cell phone rings from several rooms away," Harriet replied self-consciously. "Someone's phone is ringing. I hear the Happy Days theme song."

    "Um, me," Emma said, retreating quickly up the stairs to look for her phone.

    She was highly impressed with her employee's talents when she found that her phone was, indeed, warbling its cheerful tune. She was surprised to find Kim Taylor's name on the ID. Taking a seat on her bed, Emma flipped open the phone and pressed the talk button. "Hello, Kim?"

    "Emma! Oh, thank God!"

    The tone had Emma bracing herself against the bedspread.

    "So far everybody I've reached is out of town or not answering!" Kim continued.

    "Kim? What's wrong?"

    "I think I'm in labor. And I need your help."

    Emma pushed herself off her bed and started down the hall. "Oh my God. In labor? Anything. Whatever you need."

    "So I was coming back from Midland from a visit with a friend. And suddenly I'm having some contractions. I figured I'd just drive to the hospital to check. And I was doing all right, but then they suddenly got incredibly painful. So I pulled to the side of the road, called an ambulance and they're getting out here as soon as they can."

    "Okay, good. Do you need for me to drive out there? Are you with anybody? Husband? Parents?"

    "I'm alone." Kim hissed after a hesitation filled with pain. "My parents are still in Oregon! They weren't planning on flying out until the baby was due. And my husband is still in Denver on business. So…I need you to come here and get my car."

    Kim sounded calm, but her breathing was labored, and Emma could hear the tears even if she couldn't see them. She kept her whimpers of sympathy to herself, sensing that sympathetic panic and worry was not what Kim was calling for. Emma thundered down the stairs quickly, entered the kitchen, and started wildly gesturing to Harriet. Harriet got off her stool, concern wrinkling her brow. Robert started clearing the counter of the coffee mugs.

    "Okay, so we need to drive out and get your car," she stated for her concerned audience. "Where are you specifically, Kim?"

    "On US23, a few miles outside of Whitmore Lake? It's a red Saab 93. Stick shift," she hissed.

    "All right."

    "There's a bush nearby with some red plastic tape tied onto it. I'm hiding the keys in there."

    "Don't go to the bush if it means crossing a ditch."

    "Don't worry," Kim clipped.

    Emma didn't protest. "Fine. I'll get out there and take care of your car. Do you know which hospital they'll be taking you to?"

    Harriet's eyes widened.

    "I think the nearest is U of M."

    "All right. I'm going to have Harriet meet you there. I will take care of your car and find you."

    "Oh, thank you so much, Emma."

    "Just stay warm until the ambulance gets to you, okay? I'll see you at the hospital in a little while."

    "All right."

    Emma clapped her cell phone up and turned to Harriet and Robert. "Kim's in labor."

    "Oh my God!" Harriet shook her head. "Is she all right? What does she need?"

    "She's called the ambulance, but has to abandon her car. She wants us to take care of it."

    Robert rolled his eyes. "Of course. She thinks of the car."

    Emma paused. "She's incredible. Very steady, 'get this done' and no fuss." After a deep, calming breath, "She'll likely be at the university hospital."

    "I'll get over there," Harriet said.

    "I need you to come out with me," she said to Robert, "Can you drive a stick?"

    "Yeah…sure," Robert shifted uncomfortably.

    "I'll go with you," Jake said decisively.

    "Jake, you are not-"

    "I can drive a stick."

    Emma turned to Robert, who shrugged, then turned back to Jake and sighed. "Fine, Jake, you come with me, and maybe the two of you…?" she asked.

    "Of course," Robert said.

    "She's all alone. We've got to be there for her."

    "As if you had to tell us," Harriet said, rushing into the hallway to grab coats from the closet.

    "What's going on? Has she-?" Emma flew into the waiting room with cold hands and anxious eyes.

    Robert stood up and took her hands in his, bringing her to a seat. "No. They let Harriet go in a little while ago."

    Emma turned to Harriet who nodded. "She's fine. Not even at five centimeters yet and they gave her something for the pain. The baby's fine, but she's coming."

    "You're sure Kim is fine?"

    Harriet laughed. "She was obsessing over chicken cacciatore."

    "Cacciatore?" Emma asked, confused.

    "The nurse said Kim had a craving and just couldn't stop talking about it: eating it, how to prepare it, the restaurant with the best recipe…"

    "…which is?" Robert asked.

    Harriet rolled her eyes.

    Emma laughed with relief.

    "The car?" Robert asked.

    "Parked in my driveway."

    "Jake?"

    "Parking my car."

    Harriet opened her wallet and handed the ten dollar bill to Robert. Emma's mortification had her speechless.

    "We got bored," Harriet said defensively.

    "Only so many times we can go through Good Housekeeping," Robert said.

    "Just for that, you don't get any sandwiches," Emma held the bag up in her right hand.

    "I'm sorry if I'm drooling all over you. Did I mention how much I love your sweater?" Harriet asked.

    Emma rolled her eyes, handing over the bag. "Has anyone reached her husband?"

    Harriet grinned as she pawed through the contents. She squealed when she came up triumphant from her search with a wrapped sandwich and a small tub of potato salad. "I got her cell phone, and I've called him. Her husband's doing his best, but he's snowed in."

    "Crap," Emma sighed.

    With sandwich in hand, Harriet settled back in her seat. "He's very thankful that we're here, but of course is beating himself up."

    "Poor guy," Emma grabbed the bag again and dug out a sandwich and another container of potato salad for Robert. "What about her parents?"

    Robert took it gratefully and settled back in his seat.

    Harriet slowly chewed and swallowed her mouthful of sandwich before replying. "She wanted me to call, but she said that it'll be fine if they just arrive when they'd originally been planning. They're worried and impatient for news, of course, but really excited."

    "Good."

    Jake blew in with the coffee.

    "Oh I think I'm in love with you," Harriet said, gratefully taking the cups and pouring out servings for everybody.

    Jake smiled and bent closer to Emma. "Everything all right?"

    "As well as can be expected," she replied to him.

    "Good," he gave her a reassuring shoulder rub before locating the bag and taking out the last two sandwiches for the two of them. "Come on. Eat a little." He gently nudged her elbow with his in the direction of two empty seats.

    Emma took the seat and grabbed the sandwich he held out. "I'm sure you already have plans for this evening," she said apologetically. "We can handle this."

    Jake shook his head companionably. "I called my brother before I came in. He and his wife have generously accommodated the change in plans. I'll be having dinner with them tomorrow."

    "You didn't have to-"

    "I know, but I figured I ought to stick around, just in case you get a call to fly off to Burma in the next few hours."

    Emma laughed. "Well, then I hope you've got your passport on you, because I don't slow down for anybody."

    "I'll learn to keep up," he smiled.

    Emma felt her heart kick itself into high gear again. After a nervous smile, she turned back to her sandwich.

    They took turns visiting with Kim. Robert and Emma struggled together on the crossword out of an abandoned New York Times while Harriet and Jake laughed over the comics. Emma poked some fun at Jake's latest sports column, egged on by Robert's own incendiary remarks. When Kim's husband called again for an update, Emma patiently provided as many details as she could, and sympathetically lamented that the airport in Denver remained closed and he stranded.

    After thorough discussion it was unanimously agreed that Harriet, having coached both her sisters through one birth each, was to be the one with Kim during delivery. With clear mind, another bucket of ice chips, and steady hands, Harriet turned towards the doors and followed the nurse back towards the rooms when Kim was reported to be at nine and a half centimeters.

    "Amazing," Emma sighed into her seat. "We're lucky that we had Harriet around this morning, huh?"

    Robert nodded. When his cell phone started ringing, he smiled sheepishly as he excused himself. "I think it's my mom. I've got to answer this."

    Emma smiled tiredly at Jake. "Eight hours. You are such a hero for staying on with us."

    "Should I get some more coffee?"

    "Mm. I think I'm in love with you now," she sighed. She flushed as the words sunk into her own brain. Sitting up, she cleared her throat, quick to change the subject. "Um, no, I don't need more coffee. Really, Jake, this whole thing doesn't have anything to do with you."

    "Well, we've made it this long to meet the baby, let's finish it. It's the only appropriate way to end this day, isn't it?"

    Emma shrugged.

    "Are you worried about your father?" Jake asked.

    "Oh, no. I called him a few hours ago when you getting more coffee with Robert. He'd already made dinner plans with Nolan anyway."

    "No doubt to get the skinny on how we were together at the hockey game."

    Emma laughed. "As long as I don't get home to a lecture on how if I'd only worn my hair differently…"

    Jake chuckled.

    Emma cleared her throat. "Jake?"

    "Hm?"

    "I'm sorry about it," Emma said ruefully, intently picking at her fingernails. "You know, it all."

    "Sorry?"

    Emma turned to face him, eyes earnest, hands just a bit shaky. "You know, about Dad and the whole," Emma gestured ambiguously.

    Jake laughed. "Emma, you can't change the way your father is. And if you're uncomfortable with his forward and blunt ways, then you should tell him."

    "And you're not?"

    "Why should I be? A man I highly respect had decided that not only does he like me, but he cares for me enough to take a vested interest in my future." He cleared his throat. "And I can't fault his taste," he said seriously.

    The words thrilled her even as they made her want to run away. Emma gripped the armrest of her chair to steady her embarrassment away. "Um, look, it's just-"

    "Anything happen?" Robert plopped back into his seat across from them.

    Emma turned to Jake, then Robert. "Ah, no. Jake and I were just, you know, talking."

    Robert maintained a look of slight confusion but inwardly kicked himself.

    "How's your mother?"

    "Just fine. My Great Aunt Kate is arriving from California later tonight. Mom reminded me that I had to pick her up at around 1 a.m."

    Emma glanced up to check the clock. "We've still got a lot of time, though I'm sure Kim would rather it be over sooner than later. Isn't this part supposed to be the faster portion?"

    They waited in silence. Emma watched the progress of the second hand on the clock, mentally pushing it to move faster. At long last, an hour or so later, Harriet strolled through the doors, looking only a little worse for wear, but grinning most definitely like an idiot. "She's born! She's born! She's born!"

    "Born! That's wonderful!" Emma jumped up, taking Harriet into her arms in a fierce hug. "When do we get to see them?"

    "They're cleaning up right now," Harriet said, "But we'll be able to go in soon. Seven pounds six ounces, eighteen inches."

    "Is that good?" Robert turned to Emma. Emma shrugged, looking back on Harriet.

    "It's good," Harriet grinned. "Both Kim and her daughter are just fine."

    "Just fine! We need to call her husband," Emma said, digging the cell phone out of her purse with wiggly fingers. "I can't. My hands are shaking."

    "I'll take care of it," Robert took the phone. "Does she have a name yet?"

    "Kim said they'd agreed on Noelle Karen," Harriet said. "I do believe that's the name she's been given."

    "Noelle Karen Taylor," Emma tried the name out carefully. "It sounds lovely."

    Robert nodded and turned to start dialing Paul Taylor's number.

    Emma hugged Harriet again. "Oh, thank you for being here, Harriet."

    Harriet laughed tiredly. "It's no problem. I'm glad I could help out. And Kim was the real star, of course. She didn't even need me there. You would never have guessed this was her first."

    "Well," Robert said, joining them again, "He's happy, but still feeling miserable for not being here. I promised him that Kim would call him later."

    "I'm sure she will," Emma reassured him.

    "Miss Smith?"

    Harriet turned to the nurse.

    "Miss Taylor and her daughter are ready for visitors now."

    "Well, we're here, ready to see them!" Harriet smiled. Emma collected up the coats as Robert and Jake gathered up the cups and wrappers. After a quick silly group grin, they followed the nurse past the double doors.

    "And why isn't she here?" he demanded.

    "The hospital wanted to keep Kim and Noelle over night to rest up," Emma explained to her father. "Can I get some more ketchup?" she asked Harriet.

    "And what's more restoring than good company?!" Gordon bellowed.

    Harriet smiled and handed two packets over.

    After examining the edge, Emma sighed and tore the corner of the packet off with her teeth. Emma looked back up at her father. "Don't worry, Dad. We're bringing them over here tomorrow. Kim and her baby will stay with us until her husband gets in from Denver. They'll be staying in my room, and I'll sleep on pullout."

    "Aw, no, Emma, I can sleep on the pullout," Harriet gestured with a French fry.

    "It'll only be for a night or two," Emma shook her head, denying her employee her guilt. "I'll be fine. Your stuff's all over the place in the guest room anyway."

    Gordon eyed the fries longingly. It had been their aroma, and the cheerful laughter, that had teased him out of bed and down the stairs. It was good to see young people in the house again. Felt brighter. It made his daughter happy.

    It was a special occasion, after all. Emma sighed, taking out the small serving she'd ordered for him, taking out half the fries, and handing him the rest. "I knew we should have eaten at Jake's."

    Jake laughed over his Big Mac. "And then nobody would get any fries, because Doug would steal them all."

    "Or at least we should have gotten something different," Emma sighed. "Something healthier than McDonald's."

    "Everywhere else was closed, remember?" Harriet observed. "And we were not going to make you cook for us!"

    "Where's Young Robert?" Gordon asked, happily munching on his fries.

    "He's at DTW picking up his great aunt."

    "Not so great an aunt, forcing a man out of the house so late at night," Gordon observed.

    Emma rolled her eyes at the lame joke. "She's over eighty and hates red-eyes. This was the best they could do."

    "Besides, I think that Robert's devotion to his family is quite lovely, and speaks very well for his character," Harriet said innocently with a sly wink at Emma.

    "Very good character! Very true! Let me tell you, little girl," Gordon grinned to himself. "Minute I met that boy, I knew he had a good head on his shoulders. A girl would be wise to snap him up before some other fool science major comes along to tempt him."

    Jake met Harriet's eyes across the sodas, and Harriet stuffed her mouth with fries to prevent her laughter.

    "I didn't realize that you were going to stay with them all day, Jake," Gordon smiled, turning to his other favorite project.

    Jake played with his straw. "Just happened, I guess."

    Gordon's eyes were bright with amused interest as he fondly regarded his daughter. "Indeed?"

    "Well, Emma and Robert certainly couldn't have solved that crossword puzzle all by themselves," Harriet observed.

    "It's good to have a clever man around, isn't it?" Gordon observed to his daughter.

    Emma opened her mouth to counter but Harriet, as if reading Emma's thoughts, diplomatically intervened. "I hope we weren't too much of an interruption to your schedule, Jake."

    "It wasn't a big deal. My brother's family will come over tomorrow night to celebrate Christmas instead. I was also told my niece was happy to have an extra day to practice her gift for me."

    "Oh? What kind of gift?"

    "It's supposed to be a surprise. But for my birthday, she sang, 'Somewhere over the Rainbow' for me. I'm going to guess this will fall in the same vein."

    Harriet's eyes sparkled with excitement. "How old is she?"

    "Seven," he said. "And completely spoiled."

    "Especially by her uncle, I'm sure," Emma smiled.

    "Cute kid, but she needs some siblings," Gordon declared.

    "Yes, because spoiled only-children are the worst," Emma grinned.

    Though he was tempted to reprimand his daughter, Gordon would not be distracted from his mission. "Cousins would also do," Gordon told Jake.

    Emma laughed. "Of course."

    "I got Kim's apartment keys, so we can stop by tomorrow and grab some clothes and things for her and Noelle," Harriet wisely chose this moment to interrupt.

    Emma nodded. "She's getting discharged tomorrow at around noon, so why don't we stop by her place first?"

    Harriet nodded. Emma turned to Jake before he could volunteer again. "Not a word, Jake. We can handle this one on our own," she vowed.

    Jake shrugged, knowing which battles to fight and which to concede. It would help, he figured, to get some distance between them for a bit. Just a little time to get some perspective. "Fine, fine. I'll try not to be helpful."

    Emma rolled her eyes. "Thank you."

    "Besides, it'll give me time to rest up for Burma," he grinned.

    "Why don't you just get the store-bought ones?"

    "My mother used to wrap them this way," Emma said, as she weighed the advantages of placing her newly-fashioned ribbon blossom on the northwest or northeast corner of the package. "She taught me. Can you cut off another two feet of ribbon for me?"

    Harriet complied.

    Kim and Noelle sprawled on the couch, tucked in an afghan, sleeping baby on sleeping mother's chest. Emma laughed as she realized that they both slept with their mouths wide open.

    "Take a picture of them?" she asked Harriet, after the girl finished her task.

    Harriet looked up and grinned. Grabbing the camera from her purse, she turned it on in preparation. "I'm sure that Paul will love having these pictures."

    Emma taped her ribbon construction in place as Harriet took the picture.

    After one more careful examination, she declared her father's gift for Jake to be "done" and moved on to the present he'd bought for her.

    At the sound of the doorbell, the women looked at each other. Mother and baby remained asleep.

    "Paul?" Harriet asked quietly.

    Emma checked the VCR clock. "I didn't think he was going to get a flight today. Robert, maybe?"

    "He's got this thing with his family," Harriet said. "I'll check. You're busy."

    Emma smiled, turning back to the box before her. The snowman paper. Happy in her decision, she reached for the roll and her scissors.

    Hearing Harriet's footfall at the entranceway, Emma looked up. "Who was it?" she asked.

    "Visitor for you. He says his name is Frank."

    Grabbing on to the coffee table, Emma pulled herself up to a squat and got up slowly. She tried to keep the nerves out of her voice. "Frank? Frank who?"

    "He won't say, but he says he wants to see you."

    Emma nodded, passing Harriet in the hallway. The younger woman went back into the family room. Knees just slightly wobbly, Emma walked to the foyer.

    There he was, snow dusting his wool coat, the coat she'd helped him pick out just last year. His mouth curled into a nervous smile as she approached him. "Emma, thank you for seeing me."

    "Of course." A handshake? Hug? What was appropriate at this moment? She awkwardly stood. "Um…do you want something to drink?" She gestured to the kitchen.

    "Actually…" Frank looked around the house, uncomfortable. He reached up to comb his hands through his blond hair nervously, an action that she'd always teased him fondly over in the past. "Maybe we can go out for a walk?"

    She turned back to the safe haven of the family room, and looked back at Frank. Their breakup hadn't been particularly vitriolic, but she hadn't recalled that it'd been this amiable. Disturbing longings made her doubt that spending time with him would soothe her mental equilibrium in any way: she ached to be held in his arms, feel the warmth of his heartbeat against her ear. But he was so polite and seemed anxious to have the conversation. If she said no, she was the rude woman who, after he drove several hours to see her, could not even spare five minutes. There really was no choice, was there? "Well, all right." Emma moved to the closet, taking out her coat.

    He patiently waited as she put on her coat and zipped up. Having him standing there just looking at her without expression made her move slowly, to smother the signs of tension and nerves. She opened the front door again and gestured for him to precede her.

    "So, uh, how are you?" he asked as they walked down the driveway.

    "I'm good," she said succinctly. "Lots of things happening lately. A lot of it good."

    "That's great to hear."

    After a moment, Emma reciprocated: "And yourself?"

    "I've been doing all right. Busy, as always."

    He looked thinner. "Overworked?" she asked.

    "Most definitely," he smiled.

    "And you love it."

    "No doubt."

    After another moment of awkward silence, she decided to help them along again: "You must be pleased about the Steelers. They have a decent shot at the playoffs."

    "We'll see. They could be doing better. The loss to New England was pretty disheartening."

    Emma minimized her condolences to a shrug.

    "So!" he said.

    She turned to him.

    He swallowed, and started once more. "So, you're probably wondering why I drove up here."

    Emma smiled. "Guilty as charged."

    "The thing is," he began. He lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. Emma curled her mittened hands deeper into her coat, clutching goose down tightly. "The thing is," he started again, "I've thought about you lately. A lot. Um, since Jane mentioned that you'd called."

    Not knowing what to say, she continued to walk. The McKinleys were always terrible about keeping their sidewalks cleared, she observed as she stomped prints into the deep snow. Her boots weren't tall enough, but at the moment she didn't really care about snow in her socks; her discomfort was already quite extreme.

    "That is, I'm sorry, Emma. Not about the breakup. It's just, I'm sorry I hurt you."

    It was amazing how stale words could still sting. The possible responses occurred to her as quickly as she dismissed them.

    Well, good.

    That's okay.

    Hurt? Me?

    She went with the most honest one: "Then why are you here?"

    Frank shook his head, stopping in his steps. "No, no. It isn't supposed to go like this."

    "Oh? How is it supposed to go?"

    Frank looked at her, helpless. "Emma, I love you."

    It wasn't getting better.

    "I hate that this happened," he continued.

    Love. Just. Frank. It happened. I can't change it. What the-

    "Emma," he braced her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "I wanted to see you to explain. Make you understand."

    Emma cleared her throat. "Well, you've got half your wish."

    "I can't-I can't move forward without this."

    "Great," she said. "Well, you've got all you'll get. Move forward the hard way."

    "You don't even know-"

    "No, I don't. But I know that I don't have to stand here while we replay our breakup. I heard you clearly the first time."

    "I'm not here for that, Emma. I came because something is wrong. We didn't…we didn't finish right."

    "Do breakups ever finish right? It's finished. Let me refresh your memory: 'I'm sorry, Emma. You're the first woman I ever loved, you know? And nothing will change that.'"

    "Nothing will," Frank protested.

    "'I'm just not in love anymore, you know? This hurts me more than it's hurting you, because I hurt when you hurt,'" she repeated bitterly. "Did you hurt when you proposed to Jane, Frank?"

    Frank looked at her and honestly replied quietly. "No, I didn't."

    Heat on her cheeks. Embarrassment? Anger? She pulled her hands out of her pockets, yanking off her mittens. Oh dear. Tears.

    "But I hurt now!" he protested.

    She dragged her mitten across her cheek to wipe the tears away.

    Snot on her mitten. Great.

    "Emma, look at me!"

    Emma shook her head, turning away. She needed to get back home.

    "Emma!"

    He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her towards him. She refused to move closer, and when he tried to put his arms around her, she pushed him away. "Frank, you can't just come here expecting me to suddenly exorcise all your guilt."

    "It's not guilt, Emma. Well, not just. I just…I wanted you to know that I love you. I really do."

    Emma shook her head. "You make no sense!"

    "I don't," he said, helplessly. "I know I don't."

    She stared at her boots, the questions pounding through her brain, but lips resolutely sealed. He looked as miserable as she felt. Now here was an opportunity to ask. Did she want to know the answers?

    No, she didn't, the coward in her replied.

    But she had to ask the questions. Regardless of what the answers might bring, she needed to know. In order to move on. It was likely, she concluded, something that Jake would have advised her to do.

    She counted to five to give herself some time to clear her mind. "You love me," she repeated, beginning slowly, her voice a bit rough.

    "Yes, I do," he said quietly. "I really do."

    "You want me to know that you're sorry."

    "Yes, I do."

    "But not because we broke up."

    "What happened was…complicated. I didn't…we couldn't get the kind of-"

    She interrupted him. "No. The breakup was what…it was. I couldn't control that," she said simply. "It hurts, but I- well I kind of understand. I'm not happy with it, but, yeah. But h-How do you know?"

    "Know?"

    "Know…that what happened to…us won't happen with…her, you know. Eighteen months in? You love her, but…you loved me."

    Frank looked at her blotchy cheeks, her puffy eyes. "I…I don't know."

    Emma looked away. "How can you want to take such a risk, then?" she asked.

    "Oh, God."

    "It'll hurt her too."

    "It might," his voice cracked. "But if it doesn't…" he shrugged. "I can't explain how I know I want to take this chance." He took a deep breath. "And I can't explain how, or why we just…stopped. But," he took her freezing hands in his, pressing his forehead against hers, finally understanding her fears, finally realizing the true reason for his own guilt and hurt. "Emma, you can't stop yourself from taking the chance again. You shouldn't."

    His gaze was unflinching. "You can't just make me not scared anymore," she said, quietly. "You were the one who did it."

    "I know I can't."

    "And you can't promise me that next time, it'll work out. Or that it'll hurt any less."

    "No," he kissed her on the forehead.

    "But you're telling me to keep going."

    "Yes."

    "Just because."

    He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest. "Because I love you," he repeated. "I want you to…just…"

    "I can't be happy for you."

    "No," he chuckled ruefully. "I guess not. But," he said, tilting her chin so that he could speak gaze to gaze: "Maybe…be happy for you?"

    Part Four

    Posted on Sunday, 6 January 2008

    As awareness tiptoed into her mind and body, Emma mashed her face into her pillow in denial, but then came awake with a start. What time was it?

    She rubbed her eyes, checking the window. Darkness.

    It wasn't supposed to be dark when she woke up. In a panic, she sat up and clutched the alarm clock to her chest. Examination of the device quelled her fears: it was 6:44 p.m. She had not slept the entire night away. However, she should have started dinner half an hour ago.

    Pushing the layers aside with a tired shiver, Emma rushed into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

    6:44. How did she just sleep away three hours?

    No one had woken her. Hadn't she specifically asked Harriet to wake her at 4:30? Not entirely a trustworthy employee, Emma grouchily concluded.

    So she'd looked just a mite bit shaken when she'd come back in from her walk with Frank. So Harriet had seen that and had guided her up here and tucked her in. That was still no excuse for not following orders, no matter how vacantly they had been uttered.

    Three hours. She thought she was through giving up hours and effort to trying to understand and get over Frank Churchill. The man, she decided, was absolutely terrible.

    And didn't deserve another second of her thoughts, Emma declared to herself. What were they going to have for dinner tonight? Chicken, she decided. Chicken and steamed vegetables. She still had half a head of brocliflower. She pulled an unsteady hand through her hair in an attempt to tidy it up. When she realized that it was a futile gesture, she harnessed it all with an elastic.

    It was like he had some radar: just when she was getting her footing and feeling a bit perkier, he came by to blow the house of cards down.

    An afternoon, completely wasted. Certainly no time for Christmas lights now.

    Yet another disappointment for 2007.

    Not, she gritted her teeth as she came down the stairs, that she was wallowing in misery. Unlike what Frank had implied, she hadn't been walking around Michigan bleeding bitter, sad thoughts everywhere. There were lots of good things that had happened this year too. She had moved back and settled in. She was starting a new store. She had new friends; one of them had a baby. All very good, she told herself. No, she wasn't unhappy. She was balanced.

    Who appreciated the good stuff without experiencing the bad?

    She was happy for herself, she scowled. And scowled again when she realized that she was repeating her thoughts.

    The house seemed far too quiet. Was Kim napping again?

    She found her father in the family room, watching a game on mute. An old game, she concluded as she noted the fuzzy resolution on the large-screen television. ESPN Classic. It looked like the '98 Rose Bowl.

    Upon seeing her father wrapped in her mother's favorite afghan, nearly asleep in his La-Z-Boy, Emma felt her heart clinch. Her father never seemed as. . .beautiful to her as he did at that moment. Nor so old. Loss and heartache heavy on her heart, she injected some blasé enthusiasm into her voice before speaking. "Go Wolverines," she said. Her voice was still filmy with sleep.

    Gordon opened his eyes, let his gaze rest on his daughter, and smiled. "There you are, my dear. Are you feeling better? Harriet said you looked tired when you got back from your walk this afternoon. We didn't want to disturb you."

    "Ah, thanks." Emma cleared her throat. "I had a good nap. Where is everybody?" she asked, confused.

    "Harriet and Kim already took the baby over to Jake's. He called this afternoon and invited us to join him and his brother's family for dinner. I was just about to go upstairs and wake you when I heard you moving about."

    She felt what little energy she had in her snuff out completely when she heard Jake's name. She wasn't feeling up to confronting him, confronting those mixed feelings. Her heart was still raw from the pummeling she'd taken this afternoon. "Jake? Of course."

    Well, the reaction had been less than he'd hoped for, but Gordon supposed that at this point, it was good that she did not feel entirely safe around the boy.

    Emma was tempted to forgo dinner altogether, but shuddered at the prospect at being left alone with her thoughts all night.

    Frank had always been too soft. Tragically afflicted with indecision and regret.

    Not enough regret to want her back.

    Not that she wanted him back.

    She didn't need him. She didn't need Jake, either. She didn't want Jake. She had more then enough problems, dealing with the only man in her life, she frowned at the empty bag of chips sitting on the coffee table. Lips pressed in resolution, she quelled the urge to lecture, acknowledging to herself that it was her fault that he'd indulged; after all, she'd not been very vigilant about stocking the fridge with snack alternatives that he might enjoy.

    "We should bring some wine," Emma said. She avoided her father's probing gaze by moving to the corner of the room and inspecting the wine rack. "What kind of meat are we having tonight?"

    The color was slowly blooming back into her cheeks. Her movements were a bit jerky, but did not demonstrate any sort of the depressed lethargy that Harriet had alluded to before. Gordon nodded in approval. "Jake didn't say."

    She settled upon a pinot noir. Snatching it up with false gusto, she turned to her father with an overcompensating smile. "Well, then, I guess we ought to get going."

    Emma stood resolute as her father blustered through the bundling and layering process. However, five minutes after they started arguing, Gordon was in his down coat, sealing out cold from his neck and cheeks with not one but two scarves. Gloves were layered underneath thick gloves, which were layered under mittens. He growled as she placed the heavy fur hat upon his already wool-crowned head.

    Oh, he concluded, she was grumpy tonight. Grumpy and bossy.

    Despite all the layers that she had equipped herself with, it was bracingly cold outside. She appreciated its invigorating effects and used the opportunity to ensure that her conversation with Frank stayed buried deep, way deep inside. Her father's constant mumbling served as a more than pleasant distraction and she clung to it for all its worth.

    As her father pressed the doorbell, Emma gave herself a mental pep talk regarding Jake Knight and his attentions. By the time Jake opened the door, she stood calm, collected, and cheerful.

    Jake greeted his guests with a wide grin. "I was about to call and see what was keeping you!"

    "We were debating scarf usage," Emma glared at her father.

    "It's a less-than-one-minute walk. You don't need a scarf for that. You don't even need a coat for that."

    Emma rolled her eyes at her father. "Something smells good," she said politely to Jake as she started to dismantle her own winter body shield construction. When Jake reached to help, she tried to make her step in retreat look natural.

    "Chicken cacciatore," he said, laugh in his voice.

    Emma laughed as she stuffed her mittens into her pocket. "Of course it is."

    And, Jake sighed in half-disgust, they were back to skittish. She'd chatted and laughed loudly and not looked at him once during the entirety of dinner, Jake observed with some annoyance. As it got later, she got sullen and silent.

    He twisted the stem of his wine glass with deceptive carelessness. Isabella leaned in to ask a question about his latest trip to Boston. He answered as if giving the question 110% of his concentration, but his own thoughts remained with the woman sitting across from him who pushed her last two pieces of onion around.

    Together. Apart. Together. Apart.

    It was none of his business, he reminded himself. And honestly, he'd done his best. Women were work enough. This one was obviously a little. . .off.

    Some quirks, he conceded, were well worth getting used to. Not many, as his still-unattached status attested to, but some. So she was a bit controlling, a bit crazy, and one never knew what she'd have going on next, but all the same, she was funny, bright, and very easy to chat with. Not to mention very easy on the eyes.

    But the hot and cold routine was frustrating. And though her messages had been mixed, he himself had settled upon what he was going to do about it. Or, more accurately, not do.

    Sure, maybe she was out of her milieu. The past few days had been busy and hectic. But didn't everybody, at some point, get flustered and busy? Why did it seem to be so difficult for her to deal with?

    This, he mused, was exactly why he'd been hesitant to get involved with her in the first place. And why, he concluded, it would be wise to hold back from now on. To take that attraction he felt for her and stuff it.

    It wasn't a decision, he asserted, made over injured pride. And the information that Harriet had intimated earlier regarding Emma's afternoon visitor also had nothing to do with it. Allowances had been made. They hadn't been enough.

    Relationships were supposed to feel a bit more natural than this, yes?

    "Dessert?" Isabella asked.

    "Ah, yes," Jake nodded.

    "Fantastic," she grinned. "I'll take care of it," she pushed her seat back. "Gabby?" she looked to her daughter. "Do you want to help me?"

    Gabby nodded with a toothy grin. "Uncle Jake, Uncle Jake, Mommy let me help make it."

    "Wow," he observed. "I can't wait to eat it," he said to her.

    Gabby climbed off her chair, giving another impatient wiggle and tug at her itchy tights.

    "She's lovely," Kim said to John after both mother and daughter were out of earshot.

    "House is being taken over by women. Have yourself a son," Gordon advised.

    "I'll do my best, sir," John said, eyes sparkling with humor.

    "I don't know how I'll fit in dessert," Harriet observed. "I'm so beyond full already."

    "You have to. Isabella's tiramisu is beyond amazing," Jake said.

    Kim groaned. "Of course it is. This whole dinner is. Can you and your sister-in-law move in with us?" she asked Jake. "I guess John's invited too, being family and all. But Paul's only good at frozen stuff."

    Emma reached for her wine glass for another healthy gulp. When her father raised a brow, she gave a remonstrative glare of her own; he'd gotten a respite from his diet today, had he not?

    Uncomfortable to let the silence linger any further with loudly ticking time bombs about, Harriet offered her gratitude loudly and brightly. "Thank you for having us over, Jake. Your cooking is phenomenal."

    "It's a distant aunt's recipe," Jake shrugged, taking another sip of his wine.

    "Lucky family, then," Harriet acknowledged.

    Emma was relieved. Well, most of her was relieved. Jake seemed to have dropped any pretense of flirting. Her badly bruised ego could have done with a bit, but she was glad that he'd somehow gotten the message. It wouldn't have been good, not with her like this.

    Why not?

    Gabby entered with the first servings of tiramisu. Gordon's eyes lit up on his favorite dessert and he gladly reached for the offered plate.

    "Dad," Emma said decisively. "Why don't we split a piece? I don't think I can finish one of these on my own."

    Gordon's eyes met his daughter's over the table. When she glared back at him, he conceded with false congeniality. "Of course. Goes straight to the hips, you know," he said.

    Harriet chuckled. Kim's own gaze lost a bit of light. When her daughter started fussing, she stood. "I'll be back in a little bit," she said. With a warning glare to Emma, she pushed her chair back from the table and wandered out into the hallway.

    Interfering, opinionated employees. Perhaps she'd been a bit overzealous in hiring on so many people in the startup process. After all, she and Jane had started Pasttime on their own.

    The tension radiating off their party was now palpable. Jake mentally charted out his options. Ignoring the situation seemed high on his list. It certainly meant less work for him, and fell in line with his decision regarding Emma. But his inner Good Samaritan could not be quieted. "Coffee?" Jake offered, pushing back his own chair.

    Emma didn't have the energy or stamina to protest when her father gladly accepted. She shook her head. "I think I'm developing a headache," she said, helplessly.

    "Maybe moving around will help out a bit," Jake suggested. "Perhaps you might lend me a hand?"

    The suggestion was more a command than a request. Emma submitted to it, but not without an extra jerk of her chair when she stood.

    They entered the kitchen on Gabby's heels. Emma couldn't understand why the sight of the little girl's bobbing blond pigtails made her heart beat so hard, made her eyes sting.

    She was just so tired.

    "We could have handled the coffee," Isabella said.

    "Not until you've learned how to brew it in a concentration other than rocket fuel. I'm pretty sure I've tasted espresso less intense," Jake replied.

    Isabella leaned close to bestow a kiss on her brother-in-law's cheek. "Wuss," she said. "Come on, Gabby," Isabella handed another two plates to her daughter before taking up a tray with the remainder. "Let's scoot."

    Left on their own, they locked determined gazes over the counter. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his lecture. Jake stayed resolutely silent on that score. "Can you handle the sugar and cream?" He gestured to the empty sugar bowl and creamer on the counter.

    Emma nodded.

    Jake rolled his sleeves up and reached into a cabinet for the coffee beans. Emma grabbed the jar of sugar from the counter and started emptying a small fraction into the bowl.

    What was she so angry about? Jake couldn't resist defending himself, at the very least. "You know, we're not trying to kill your father."

    Emma put the jar down with a slam. "Oh, really?" Emma asked. "Well, you're doing a good enough job of handing over everything he needs to do it himself."

    "One dinner does not an unhealthy lifestyle make."

    Emma placed the cover of the sugar bowl on with an angry clink. After a guilty check to make sure she hadn't broken anything, she scowled. She'd spilled some of the sugar.

    Greg started the grinder. "Emma," he said, exasperatedly. "Aren't you being a bit overdramatic?"

    "Fine." She shrugged. "You win," she said, petulantly wiping down the counter. "Everybody knows so much more than I do. I don't know anything. I don't care," she said tiredly.

    Why did he have to be the nice guy? Biting back a self-admonishment, Jake crossed the kitchen to grab her by the arms. "What's with the attitude?"

    Emma struggled against his hold. "It's not an 'attitude'. I'm just frustrated right now, and I don't have to explain it. I don't have to be happy all the time. So you'll just have to-to deal if I'm not."

    "Harriet said you had a difficult visitor this afternoon," he began, tentatively.

    Emma let out a growl of frustration. "Jake, don't push. It's none of your business. And," her injured pride spoke before she could stop it, "If you want to back off, and forget things, well, then this is not how to do it," she said.

    Jack ran a hand through his hair. "I've tried backing off. It doesn't work."

    "You're just not trying hard enough," she said levelly.

    Jack considered the furrowed forehead, the burning eyes, the flushed cheeks, and the glossy lips. She was spoiling for an argument. He didn't know if he was ready to throw down with her or just kiss her to death.

    Not being of the masochistic bent, he pushed away. He slowly moved to the coffee maker and loaded the machine with a new filter, and the coffee grinds. After another few calming breaths, he managed to speak smoothly. "There's some Equal in the pantry. Why don't you put that out too?"

    Emma awoke on Christmas day with frozen toes, a strange back ache, and a very bad attitude.

    Laying these charges on her dumb bed, and not at all on her own mounting feelings of depression, Emma forced herself out of bed and prepared for her day.

    She was doing fine. Sometimes, people just had bad days. She was allowed to be tired of things. She was allowed to be frustrated, she told her reflection.

    After tying her robe over her pajamas, she stood up to look out her bedroom window at the house two doors down. She couldn't help but recall Jake's cooler attitude with a tinge of regret. When she remembered what her own attitude and behavior had been. . .Manic, unreasonable, and probably nonsensical. Emma groaned.

    It was for the best, though. The disappointment she felt was all vanity, she told herself. Because there wasn't anything there. She didn't want for there to be anything.

    Making her way down the stairs, she was surprised to discover only her father in the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Dad," she said with practiced cheer and a kiss on the cheek, "Where are Harriet and Kim?"

    "Harriet's gone over to Young Robert's this morning, and Kim's husband came about a half hour ago to get his wife and child."

    Disappointment was tight in her throat. "Oh," she said. "Why didn't you wake me?"

    "Everybody thought it was best that you got some more rest."

    As if she was some invalid. Or some beast that needed to hibernate in order to be pleasant when awake.

    She was a productive woman, with many responsibilities. That's what she was. "Well, you should have woken me. I had presents for them," she said.

    "Mrs. Anderson stopped by and dropped off a fruit cake."

    "How nice of her."

    "I gave her a pineapple."

    Emma raised a brow in query.

    "Had to give her something," he shrugged.

    It was her father's increasingly wary gaze that snapped her out of her self pity parade.

    It was Christmas and here she was, chip in her shoulder, upset over nothing. Get over yourself, Emma. "I'm glad that Paul got in all right."

    "He looked a bit worse for wear, but completely delighted to see his family. Thrilled to see his daughter."

    Emma smiled at the thought. "That's good. I'm glad that the Taylors could have a family Christmas after all. Speaking of which. . ." she said, hint of humor in her eye. "Maybe we ought to take a look at our tree?"

    "Okay, Dad, one last present," she declared, reaching behind the tree.

    Gordon looked up from his new digital camera, which he'd received with much alacrity, and of course, an obligatory but dispassionate, "It's a pity I have no grandchildren to take pictures of."

    She seemed much more her regular self now, he was pleased to observe. Some of it was a show put on just for him, of course, but she seemed to be on her way.

    "Here it is! Hiding behind that poinsettia."

    "Another one? You shouldn't have, my dear," he bestowed a kiss on her forehead, eying the package balefully, trying to assess what type of present it was from the wrapping paper. The digital camera had been nice, for sure. But of course, as far as gifts were concerned, there was another end of the spectrum. The stack of dieting and health books, the pedometer, and the new blood-pressure-monitoring device sat in the corner, promising him many a future argument.

    But not today. Today was Christmas. And his daughter had been feeling under the weather lately. It was a parent's job to please his child, especially today. Let the fool woman believe she was doing her duty by him.

    Emma seated herself back on the couch as her father started tearing into the paper. Thus far, it hadn't been bad. She'd devoted appropriate enthusiasm to the earrings, thick winter coat, and warm socks he'd given her. And, more importantly, he'd accepted all his presents with enthusiasm and without protest. Some of it had been contrived, but she appreciated his efforts, and only hoped he understood how much she cared for him.

    She'd been unsure of this one. A few weeks ago, it'd been a good idea. However if she'd known that she'd be feeling like this on Christmas day, she might have aborted the plans altogether.

    She braced herself for. . .anything, really, as he finished ripping the paper off the box.

    After lifting the top off, he dug through the paper to lift up his prize. And then turned it around, examining it carefully for meaning or significance. As he concluded that the present did, indeed, serve no other function than its simple prosaic existence, he stated the obvious: "Well, it's an eggplant."

    "Yes," Emma cleared her throat, knowing that the news would be accepted easier if it were simply decreed instead of cautiously proposed. "It's an eggplant. I signed us up for one of those organic vegetable delivery services. I was thinking that maybe we'd go vegetarian from now on."

    An eggplant.

    Vegetarian.

    This wasn't a gift.

    The impatience he'd struggled to tame over the past few weeks once again threw itself against the cage of his control. "Why would we need to be doing that, dear?"

    "Well, you know, I was flipping through some of those books," she gestured to the pile she'd given him. "And you know, a lot of them argued for the benefits of a vegetarian diet."

    "But, Emma-"

    "Dad, it's good for you."

    Gordon shook his head. "What's the good of living longer if you can't eat meat? Life's not worth living without ribs."

    Emma shook her dad. "No, Dad, please li-"

    "No, Emma, I need for you to listen. I know that ever since your mother passed on, you've had this misplaced sense of responsibility-"

    "It's not misplaced, though. I mean, I saw for myself how things were when I moved in. I've just been trying to-"

    "I know what you're trying to do, and I app-"

    "You don't appreciate it," Emma said sternly. "If you did, you'd listen to my advice."

    "You're trying to--!"

    "I'm only trying to change things because they're wrong!"

    "That's it!" Gordon roared. Coming around the living room, he took the coffee mug from his daughter's hand, plopped it down on the table, grabbed his daughter's arm, and marched her through the hall, through the kitchen, and out into the freezing cold. "Can't even finish a sentence in my own house," he grumbled.

    Emma yelped when her slippers hit the cold, snowy sidewalk and the wind grabbed at her chest. "D-dad!" she stuttered with the cold. Had he gone completely insane? "D-dad!? Where are we g-going?!" Emma pulled her wrist, but the hot harsh grip would not loosen. She was going to kill him. She hissed as another gust of biting wind slapped her. When she realized that he was pulling her up the driveway of Jake's house she pulled harder on the grip. "No. Dad, No."

    Doug, aware of the arriving guests, excitedly barked from behind the door. Gordon poked insistently at the doorbell. Emma started hissing threats. "No more beer. No more anything. Forget the vegetables. Just gruel, Dad. Just gruel and an occasional boiled egg for protein. That's all you're getting. He's not here," Emma said. "Let's go!" She'd seen a curtain get pulled aside in the Coles' window. Embarrassed, she tried to pull her robe tighter around her frame, hoping that if she continued to withdraw into herself, she'd vanish completely.

    After another couple of minutes of incessant doorbell-ringing, the door was pulled open, and a bleary-eyed Jake rubbed his eyes. Before he could speak, Emma growled at her father. "Look at what you've done!" she reprimanded.

    Ignoring Emma's threats, Gordon took his daughter, drew her in front of him, and shoved her into his neighbor, who steadied her by the shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Jake. May she bring you half the joy she's brought me." Briskly making a 180, Gordon retraced his steps back towards his home.

    Emma started shouting after him. Her hoarse lungs, mortification, and anger pitched her voice high, loud, and excruciatingly painful to hear: "Gordon Woodhouse! The minute I get back in that house. . .you're. . .you're grounded!!!!! " As she stomped out the door, Jake grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into the house. Flushed, she turned to the man, anger bright in her eyes, cold and temper burning a flaming red in her face.

    He turned to watch Gordon march back to his home. "I didn't know you could be that shade of purple and still live," he mused.

    "How unfortunate, because once I get back in his house, he'll wish he died purple!"

    And he was, once again, sucked back into the tornado.

    "This isn't a war," he rubbed at his face, running his hands through his sleep-tousled hair.

    "It's not. It's him being a stubborn idiot!!!" Emma fumed. "Can I borrow some boots?"

    Jake shook his head, closed the door, and hands on her waist, steered her through the hallway towards the kitchen.

    "We're going to give him a bit of time to cool off. Come on. I need coffee. You may have inherited Meg's thoughtful heart, but you certainly got his temper."

    "That's his fault," Emma grumbled. "Grumpy old man."

    Jake reached for the coffee beans and loaded up the grinder.

    Emma gritted her teeth as she watched Jake grind his coffee and prep the coffee maker. He didn't need to be in the middle of this, she rued. Especially after last night. Embarrassment sealed her lips and she contemplated the view out his kitchen window. She sighed as she tried to appear more grateful that he didn't kick her out of his house as well.

    Sleep still filmy over his low voice, he spoke succinctly and gruffly. "I need a shower to wake up. Stay here and don't leave. Help yourself to coffee when it's ready. You know where the sugar and cream are. Doug!" The dog tilted his head in attention. "Keep her here."

    The minute Jake turned and left the kitchen, Emma turned back towards the hallway they'd come through. Doug gave a bark and a low growl. Emma rolled her eyes and started walking.

    Doug chomped down on the edge of her robe and pulled her back.

    She turned in surprise and watched the dog warily.

    His eyes were bright with friendly innocence.

    Emma muttered under her breath, leaning against the counter. After a slow count to ten, she opened her eyes, and located the garbage can. She whipped off her slippers and threw them into the basin, taking a brief moment to lament their loss; they'd been a gift from her father a few Christmases back. Peeling off the socks, she stuck them in a corner over a vent to dry. The bottom cuffs of her flannel bottoms were wet. To minimize contact with the freezing fabric, she rolled the cuffs up.

    After rolling her shoulders, and ascertaining she was feeling more comfortable, she started hunting through the cupboards for mugs. She'd been in the kitchen just last night, but this morning, left alone, she noticed how unnatural his storage system was. She curbed the urge to reorganize the dishes in increasing size. The pantry was a bit unorganized, but she grabbed the sugar without moving the box of fettuccini next to the penne.

    He was a man who truly enjoyed the rich things in life, she mentally scolded, as she took the time to note the contents of his fridge.

    Then again, recalling how the T-shirt he'd slept in stretched so cozily across his wide shoulders and athletic frame, she supposed that the rich things in life didn't seem to hurt him in any small way. Finding center-cut bacon and eggs, her mouth watered and her stomach vocally begged for a nice, greasy breakfast, the likes of which she'd not had for weeks.

    Finding bread on the counter by the microwave, she decided: gashouse eggs and bacon.

    She'd made herself at home; her robe was hung up over a peg by the kitchen door. She'd dug out an apron that he hadn't been aware he'd had. The ribbons were tied neatly at small of her back.

    Doug greeted him with a happy nuzzle. Jake scratched the dog's ears.

    "It's good that you still know how to cook with bacon grease."

    Emma turned. "The coffee's ready, and I also squeezed some OJ." She turned back to her eggs.

    Jake reached for a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. After a deep appreciative smell, he took a sip. "Mighty fine day."

    "Uh, Merry Christmas," Emma said.

    "Merry Christmas to you, too."

    She continued to cook in silence, letting him decide how much of her story he wanted to hear, or if he wanted to hear it at all. He seemed content to simply watch her work. She concentrated on keeping her hands steady.

    This was not how she'd pictured her Christmas morning going.

    "I, uh, gave Doug some bacon."

    Jake looked at his dog. Doug grinned. "Suckered her too, huh?" he asked.

    Doug barked.

    The phone rang, so Jake reached for it. "Hello."

    Emma stayed silent as Jake exchanged Christmas greetings with his father. Where was he? How come he didn't celebrate the holiday with Jake? How come Jake didn't celebrate the holiday with John and Isabella?

    She drew two stoneware plates out of the cupboard.

    "Huh? That's just Emma, cooking breakfast."

    She dropped a fork.

    Swearing, she bent to pick it up and put it in the sink.

    Red to her ears, she decided to try to not pay any more attention to Jake's conversation.

    She was seated and drinking out of her glass of orange juice when he finished exchanging tidings with his father.

    Seeing her sitting at the kitchen table, the sun glimmering in her hair, he couldn't help but smile. "You're a sight."

    "I'm sure I am," she said, with a self-conscious pat to her hair. "Come on. The eggs are getting cold," she gestured to the place across the table.

    She'd found the placemats and napkin rings. One of his mother's Waterford crystal bowls held diced melon.

    "Um," she held her glass up after he'd taken his seat. "Merry Christmas, Jake. Thank you for, uh, putting up with the drama this morning," she said. "And. . .last night. And. . ." Emma sighed. "Thank you."

    Jake chuckled as he took up his glass of orange juice and clinked hers with it. "Merry Christmas, Emma."

    They ate their breakfast slowly and silently. Emma savored each bite, letting the flavor supersaturate before she swallowed. He smiled, taking pleasure in her enjoyment.

    At length, she managed to scrape up enough humility and courage for an apology. "Jake. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be the way I was last night. I was just. . ."

    Jake looked at her expectantly.

    Emma sunk her forehead into her hands, leaning forward on her elbows to stare down at the table edge. After another attempt to put together a logical string of sentences, she looked up when he spoke instead.

    "You were feeling frustrated towards your father, and you took it out on me," he said reasonably.

    Well, that was mighty presumptuous. Emma's eyes flashed. "You know, you're not entirely innocent in all this."

    The peace of the morning meal was over; the skirmish was starting now. "Because I served him the poison?" he mocked.

    "Well, that too."

    "Oh, there's a 'too'?"

    Emma shrugged. "You were better when you were the nice guy next door."

    "You told that guy to mind his own business."

    "Well, I certainly didn't walk over this morning wanting to drag you into this. Maybe you should have lived farther away. Maybe you should have been spending Christmas with your family."

    "Perhaps I should have, but he and my stepmother are enjoying their anniversary, and I think I'd be de trop. John and Isabella are at her folks' place."

    Deflated, Emma sunk into her seat and stared across the table.

    "So?" he prompted.

    "So what? I figured you were going to finish our conversation for us."

    Jake rolled his eyes. "Don't be childish. So tell me the 'too'."

    Emma flushed and looked back at her plate. She picked up an abandoned piece of bacon and chewed it.

    "Well, this certainly gets interesting," Jake said, leaning forward.

    Emma pushed herself off her chair and started clearing the dishes.

    "Should I guess?" he asked.

    Emma cleared her throat. "I think my father should be calmed down by now. Why don't I wash these dishes?"

    "Why did he kick you out this morning?" he asked.

    Emma flushed. "That's-"

    "-None of my business?"

    He followed her to the sink and waited patiently for her to put the dishes on the counter. When she reached for the sponge, he shoved it out of her range. When she flipped the faucet open, he closed it. She turned to him, head spinning with 'too' and business that was not his. He boxed her in at the sink with his arms.

    Emma felt the heat rush through her cheeks. Mortification, embarrassment, fear, and an overwhelming, thrilling, tickle of electricity pulsated through her system.

    "It might not have been my business," he said quietly. "But now I'm making it mine." Ducking his head and fusing his lips to hers, he nearly groaned at how good she smelled, tasted. His hands left the counter edge and crept up her back, holding her tightly to him.

    Her gasp died on a long, pleased sigh. Thoughts of reluctance and resistance dissipated in the heat. She couldn't help but let her own fingers tangle in his sweatshirt, clutching him to her.

    She was without doubts, thoughts, and embarrassments. And all she could think to do was kiss back, hoping by sheer perpetuation on her part, he'd follow.

    The shrill ring of the phone shattered the moment. She stepped back, glad to hold on to the counter for support as he cursed, sighed, then went to get the phone. The greeting he had for his brother seemed less than enthusiastic. Emma grinned to herself privately as she once more reached for the sponge.

    As she dreamily soaped, sprayed, and arranged the dishes on the drying rack, she rode the vestiges of that happy high. It was when she accidentally dripped water on her toes when she realized that as completely mindblowingly hot and gratifying as that kiss just was, it hadn't done anything to fix her situation.

    Ok, so maybe it put the situation in a bit of perspective, she grinned to herself.

    Seriously. So she was simply tossing aside all those important lessons she'd learned from dating Frank?

    Furthermore, look at her now! Mooning over the neighbor when her father was at home, undoubtedly gorging himself sick on chips, chugging beer like a frat boy, and smoking like a chimney. She had to get home.

    He finished speaking with his brother as she put the last dish on the rack.

    "Maybe we ought to talk in the family room?" he suggested.

    She opened her mouth.

    "Your father is fine."

    He brooked no opposition, and so she followed him into the family room, settling down on the couch. He took a seat away from her, on the recliner.

    "So," she said, blushing.

    Jake laughed. "I don't think it has to be like this. Just start talking. It'll be disjointed, but we'll just keep talking until it's all covered."

    She looked at him. He smiled back. Scowling into her hands, she sighed. "Fine." She cleared her throat. "I guess, now that it doesn't matter, I'll start with the 'too'. This is kind of embarrassing, but, the 'too', well, I was upset last night that you seemed to lose interest." She spoke quickly. "But, ah, yeah. Not a problem anymore."

    Jake chuckled as he took another sip of coffee. "You set yourself up for that problem."

    She flushed, retort ready. It died even as logic came cool and clear into her brain. "I-I guess I did," she admitted. "I. . .when I arrived last night, something was on my mind. It made me. . .hesitant with you." After a moment, she continued. "You mentioned my visitor yesterday." She took a deep breath. "It was my ex."

    Jake's eye flashed with impatience, and, her inner diva preened, a hint of jealousy. "I figured."

    "And, it didn't go well. We weren't trying to get back together, or back at each other, or anything. But we had to. . .talk for a bit, and that wasn't. . .a cakewalk. And he said some things that hurt me. But not because they were mean. But because they were a little, you know, true."

    He reached a hand out for hers.

    "We-I mean, I, was in the relationship, serious, f-for a while," she swallowed. "He wasn't." The words still stung on the tongue. She kept her eyes trained to the pattern of the wallpaper. "And, of course, it didn't work out. And I--I didn't take to the breakup very well. And I guess it made me feel a bit. . .nervous about trying it all again." She was tempted to say more, but what was there?

    Jake smiled warmly. "Really?" he joked. "Couldn't tell."

    She took a deep breath determined to push on. "Anyway, not too long after the relationship fell apart, well, that's when Mom died."

    He winced with sympathy, and traced the bones of her hand gently.

    "It wasn't hard to leave South Bend. At that point, I wanted to start somewhere new. And, of course, Dad. I had to take care of Dad."

    "So you moved here as quickly as you could."

    "Yes. And everything was going all right, for a while. It was even going great," she smiled. "The store's up, and it's beautiful. Dad seemed to be doing all right, even if he was complaining. But then. . ."

    "Then. . ."

    "Well, one day, I can't get the Christmas lights up. And then Frank's getting married. To my old business partner. And, well, then you came along. And all that stuff with Harriet and Kim happened. And they--they just disappeared this morning without a word, and that hurts, you know? And to put the cherry on top," she sighed with bittersweet laugh, "I pushed Dad to his limit." She sighed. "I know. This doesn't make sense. Christmas decorations are nothing. And people can come and go as they please. It's just. . .

    ". . .it's Mom," she shook her head. "I know. I'm like a broken record. But it's her. This was her favorite holiday. You must have seen the house back then; poinsettias and nutcrackers everywhere, a tree so large that needles were all over the house. And Christmas music. From the First through the Thirty-first, it felt like it was going twenty-four/seven."

    Jake got on the couch to bundle her closer to him.

    "We all miss her," she sighed. "And, maybe if I just accepted that, this would have been easier. I guess the lights were just my way of starting a new tradition. I know I can't make Christmas the same as Mom, but I figured. . .why not try something to distract us for a bit?"

    "There's no need for distraction," Jake said quietly.

    "I think I know that, now," she said ruefully. "If I hadn't been so determined to change everything up, make everything new, maybe I wouldn't have driven Dad so crazy." She shook her head. "This morning, I told him I wanted us to shift to a vegetarian diet," she admitted reluctantly.

    Jake laughed loudly. "It all makes sense now, why you ended up at my front door."

    Emma rolled her eyes. "He was being so good to me, too. So patient, and I think I knew that he was trying. Anyway, I may have gone a bit overboard with the precautions, but still!"

    "Emma," Jake said, threading her fingers with his. "Gordon's an active man. He's always been an active man. And I know you have his interests at heart and that you care for him, but. . .Emma, he's the Lion. He shouldn't be cooped up in a house and be ordered about. How old is he?"

    "Sixty-three."

    "Sixty-three, and still so healthy and energetic. I think it's a good sign. If he's managed to get on for sixty-three years without your vigilance, I think he'll continued to do all right."

    "Jake, the likelihood of something happening to someone increases as he gets older. . ."

    "Didn't you already tell me that you sucked at math?"

    "These are numbers, and Jake, I'm serious. Someone needs to care for him."

    "Agreed. And you can care for him. You do. But you can't keep him from being himself."

    "I guess not." Emma sighed. Since he seemed to be waiting for her to speak more, she shrugged and concluded: "Anyhow, um, that's everything."

    "Not quite."

    "Oh?"

    "What about the handsome, steadfast neighbor of yours?" He shifted, letting her fall back against his chest. "Have you thought about what to do with him?"

    Feeling his heart beat against her back, feeling the warmth of his gaze, even if she couldn't see his eyes, she felt that tickle. A hopeful one. And, she found, she couldn't ignore it. Not anymore.

    Not that, she was sure, he was going to let her.

    She bundled herself up in his arms. She was surprised at how easy it was to lean. Strangely, Frank's 'I just know' made a bit more sense. "Well," she said shyly, "while I'd prefer he take it slow, I think that's more up to him, now, isn't it? Seeing as I was given to him for Christmas."

    He smiled. "Best Christmas gift I could ask for." Bending to kiss her neck, he chuckled when she sunk into his embrace more, fluid and very happy to be there.

    When he heard the doorbell, he bit back an oath, and brushed a kiss on the back of jaw. "I promise you, I'm not normally this popular," he said, pushing himself off the couch.

    "I guess now would be the time when I told you that my life usually isn't so. . .active either."

    He sent her an amused glance.

    "Fine, maybe I'm used to a bit of it. But that's because I can't say no."

    "Then I might want to confess as well; people call me. A lot," he shrugged.

    "Must be that fabulous advice you give," she chuckled.

    When the doorbell chimed an impatient second time, Jake got up, laid a kiss on her hand, and moved towards the foyer.

    Emma threw herself back on the couch cushions, grinning at the ceiling. And, because she felt too energetic, she gave a small victorious kick into the air. Her head spun with the information she'd dumped on Jake. Poor guy; she'd had months to process and she hadn't settled on anything. But, she mused, he was so good.

    And now. What was she feeling? Besides undeniably good? Was she supposed to feel upset? Depressed, still?

    She couldn't. Not anymore. All she could feel was peace.

    Maybe there was something to be said about simply saying it aloud. Not bearing it alone, but sharing it. And conceding that, maybe, just maybe, things didn't have to be perfect or new. But just what they were.

    And maybe it also helped to have a really handsome man hold your hand and tell you things were going to be all right, she mused.

    "I ought to call Dad," she said, as she heard his footstep at the doorway.

    "I don't think you'll have to do that," Jake said.

    Emma got up off the couch, brushing away imaginary lint away at her flannels.

    Her father followed their neighbor into the room, expression proud, but all the same a bit nervous. "I figured you might need some more clothes. Seeing as you're always on my case about layering up in the cold."

    "I promised John I'd look something up and get back to him," he said, leaving the room.

    Left alone with her father, Emma stepped forward.

    Gordon set the stuffed tote bag on the floor and moved towards his daughter. Her hands were so warm in his. He smiled meekly at her smiling face.

    "I'm sorry, Dad," she said earnestly. "We don't have to become vegetarians."

    He smiled apologetically, pulling her to him.

    He was still cold from his walk outdoors, but she burrowed further into his embrace. She was happy to see that he'd used two scarves. "I love you," she whispered.

    "I love you, too, dear. And, ah, I'm sorry."

    She looked into her father's bright eyes. "I didn't mean to be so pushy."

    "I didn't have to be so grumpy."

    "Yes, you did," Emma laughed.

    "Okay, maybe I did," he said. "But I knew you cared."

    "I'll back off. Not completely, but. . ."

    Gordon nodded. "I imagine we'll fight more."

    "Probably. But I'm going to start picking my battles."

    Gordon gave a bark of a laugh. "Just like your mother."

    A bit of the light in Emma's eyes faded a bit. "I miss her."

    Gordon held his daughter tighter to him. "Of course you do. I do too." He sighed. "Woman could be a darned nuisance, but I never knew anybody better."

    Emma hugged her father fiercely.

    "She'd be proud of you, handling all this, and me."

    Emma smiled into his coat. "Thanks, Dad. I think she'd be proud of both of us, for not killing each other yet."

    She submerged herself in the warm content feeling. And found, despite her mother's absence, this was probably one of the best Christmases she'd had in a while.

    "So, ah. . .Jake's not mad, is he?"

    "He was taken aback by the theatrics this morning, but. . .ah, I think I've made things okay."

    "Oh really?"

    Emma frowned at the gleam in her father's eye. "Really."

    "Then. . .things are. . .cozy?"

    "Perhaps," she replied succinctly.

    "Boy!" Gordon roared joyfully. "Get in here!" Turning back to his daughter, he laid a wet kiss on her forehead. "Now I think we can both agree that in this case, your father most certainly knew what was best for you!"

    Emma shook her head. "I'm never going to hear the end of this. Dad, no more pressure. I mean it. Jake and I are taking this slow." She kept her worries that it wouldn't work out to herself; she'd deal with it, she concluded, when or if it happened.

    "Thought the boy was a bit more persuasive than that," he grumbled.

    "You've brought her up too proper. She wants a slow and proper courtship," Jake replied from the doorway. He stepped forward to accept a congratulatory pat on the back. He grinned at Emma's eyeroll. "I think you might want to bundle up in those clothes your dad brought over. I thought I saw something. . .intriguing going on outside."

    Emma turned to her father. Gordon shrugged, expression all innocence. Emma moved to the window to check, but Jake tucked her under his arm, grabbed the tote bag, and guided her to a bathroom. "Hurry up and change, and then you can find out."

    When he got back to the family room, Gordon grinned contentedly. "It's making out to be a great holiday, Jake."

    "To be sure."

    "And…ah, I'm glad, for the two of you."

    "I'm pretty glad of it myself."

    Jake nodded his head towards the Woodhouse home. "Did you. . .?"

    "Harriet, Robert and Kim," Gordon smiled.

    "She's going to flip."

    "I know," Gordon replied.

    Emma's eager steps pounded through the house as she made her way back into the family room. "Now can we go outside?" she asked, agitated. Gordon gestured towards the boots he'd brought over.

    Emma laced up her boots quickly. "Maybe some BLTs for lunch."

    "Turkey bacon," her father conceded.

    Emma nodded at the compromise. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard. "But we don't have any."

    "No worries; Harriet brought some back."

    "Harriet's back? Where is she?" Emma pushed herself up from her seat. "Oh, Dad, you didn't tell her-"

    "I did no such thing. And she's busy. Come along, then."

    Emma and Jake pulled on coats and made their way out the house. Doug trotted alongside, cheerfully. Gordon beamed and grinned with his secret, as enthusiastic as a four-year-old. "Come on!" he took his daughter by the arm and started to drag her.

    "It's nice to see that you're getting your exercise today," Emma said. Further teasing died on her lips when she saw her home. Beside her, Doug started barking, but Jake held him back.

    Robert walked on the roof, placing what had to be the gaudiest Santa and reindeer setup Emma had ever seen. "Oh my God."

    Paul anchored a ladder against the side of the house. Harriet grinned, from where she'd finished pumping up the inflatable lighted snow globe of the North Pole. "Wait until you see it in the dark."

    All the windows were garlanded and bordered with lights. A herd of twinkle-light-spangled, wire reindeer grazed on her lawn.

    Emma took the scene in with astonishment. "You guys!"

    Robert waved from the roof. "Merry Christmas, Emma!"

    Because she was entirely without words, she started to laugh. "Merry Christmas!! I love it!!!!" she said, running to Harriet, grabbing the woman in a tight hug.

    "You officially live in the tackiest house on the block!" Paul said.

    Emma kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you!"

    She patiently waited and worried as Robert made his way back onto solid ground. She greeted him with a "Merry Christmas" and a kiss. "Don't do that again, ok? You made my heart stop up there!"

    Robert shrugged. "I was careful. And we'll need to get it down. Unless you want Santa up there year-round."

    Emma sighed happily. "Honestly, right now? I'm seriously contemplating just that. You guys. This is the most amazing gift you could have possibly given me." She couldn't stop looking it all over.

    The Gibsons had stopped to admire and gawk. Emma waved her hand. "Merry Christmas!!" Turning back to her friends, she sighed in deep appreciation. "I never imagined anything this elaborate. It's. . .truly amazing. Thank you. Thank you so very much." She sniffled in surprise. "What am I doing, crying? Ha. We should go inside."

    "Kim's prepared some eggnog and hot chocolate," Harriet promised.

    "Well, what are we waiting for, then?" Gordon asked. He guided the hard workers inside to the kitchen for their reward.

    Emma lingered, petting one of the wire reindeer, still unsure of its existence. She took her mitten and glove off, letting her fingers rest on the freezing cold wire.

    "Happy?" Jake asked, beside her.

    Emma looked around her, and looked back at him. "Yeah," she stepped towards him, pulling him to her by the scarf and kissing him again. "I am."

    "You can neck inside just as easily as out!" Harriet cried out teasingly from the kitchen door. "Come on!"

    Jake took a step towards the kitchen, extending a hand to her. "Well?"

    Emma smiled. "Well, let's go inside, then."

    The End

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