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  And I’d gone to him last night. It was his turn. Even he should be able to figure that out.

  While I was getting ready for bed, Nick texted that Coco had delivered a baby girl they’d named Francis, after Nick’s great-grandmother, and would call Frannie. Baby was fine, Coco was fine, and everyone was enjoying some champagne. It made me smile—they had every reason to celebrate. A once-in-a-lifetime love, four beautiful children, nothing but happily ever after ahead of them.

  How did some people get so lucky? I wondered as I lay awake in the dark. In this massive world full of billions of people, how did some manage to find that one person they were meant to be with? How did they get all the pieces to fall so perfectly into place? Was it a matter of geography? Because Coco and Nick had gone to the same college. He saw her walk by on campus one day and knew she was the one. So there was timing involved, too. What if she’d been late for class that day? What if he’d been looking in the other direction?

  I thought about Mia and Lucas. They had met in Paris when Mia happened to go into a bar where he was working one night. What if she had chosen a different bar? What if he hadn’t been working that night? What if it hadn’t been raining and she hadn’t gone into a bar at all? What if she’d kept walking? If any one of the circumstances had been altered the slightest bit, one of the pieces might not have fit, and their paths would never have crossed. Their story would have gone untold.

  I considered Stella’s decision to be with a man whose company she enjoyed, even though there didn’t seem to be a physical spark between them. Was she settling because she’d gotten tired of waiting around, or was she making the best of it? Logically, I could see where having a companion like Walter would be better than spending night after night alone. But it just seemed so unfair.

  Why did lightning strike for some people, and not for others? Why did some of us pick the wrong people over and over again, and others got it right the first time? Why were we told as kids to listen to our hearts when things like geography or timing or luck seemed to matter so much more?

  What did our hearts know, anyway?

  Twelve

  Nate

  Emme didn’t call, text, or stop by again on Monday.

  I didn’t hear from her all day Tuesday, either.

  Or Wednesday.

  At first, I felt guilty because I figured it was my fault for acting like nothing was different between us on Monday morning after everything that had happened Sunday night. Her feelings were probably hurt. Or maybe she was confused. I knew I should reach out, apologize, explain myself, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone or go across the hall and knock on her door. And maybe I was wrong, anyway. Maybe she was totally fine and simply busy at work. After all, she had told me she would be really busy this week.

  But I missed her. Not just her help with Paisley, but her company. Her face. Her laugh. The way she made me feel. We’d spent so much time together over the last several days, it was hard to believe that before Paisley arrived, we might have gone a week or so without even seeing each other in the hall. There were probably entire days that passed where I didn’t think about her once. Now that seemed impossible. I couldn’t get her out of my head.

  After a while, I started to get angry with her. Was she punishing me? Was she purposely ignoring me in order to make a point? Was she sending some sort of message that said I don’t want anything if I can’t have it all? Was this some passive-aggressive way to let me know I had already succeeded in disappointing her in less than twenty-four hours?

  Wasn’t she the one who had said she wanted to be open and honest? This seemed like a juvenile game to me, and I wouldn’t play it. If she was upset about something, she should tell me, not expect me to read her mind, goddammit! This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to get involved with her in the first place. She was too emotional. She didn’t understand me. And clearly she’d lied about having no expectations. In the meantime, I was tired, crabby, and lonely, trapped in my apartment with no one but a baby for company and hardly getting any sleep.

  By Wednesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. When I heard her voice in the hallway around 10 PM, I raced over to my door and put my ear against it.

  “Absolutely, it went great,” she was saying. “Don’t worry about anything, just get some rest. Are you glad to be home?” A pause. Keys jingling. “Good. And how’s Frannie doing? I saw the picture, she’s so cute! All that hair!”

  Coco must have had the baby, I thought. Sounds like it was a girl. I heard her key turn in the lock.

  “Well, I can’t wait to come see you both. You let me know when you’re ready for visitors.” Another pause, followed by laughter. “I bet they are. Sounds good. Okay, take care of yourself. Bye.”

  After that, I heard the door to her apartment open and close. I straightened up, trying to think of some reason to go over there and see her. A concrete reason, not an emotional one. My eyes scanned the room, but nothing jumped out at me. A moment later, Paisley, who had been napping in the swing, woke up and started to cry. It was while I was in the kitchen making her bottle that it hit me—her plastic containers, the ones she had brought the spaghetti and meatballs in. I’d eaten all the leftovers from them yesterday and washed them out. I could return them. That was a good reason, wasn’t it?

  After feeding Paisley, I put her in the sling, gathered up the containers, and went across the hall. I knocked on the door, my stomach jittering like I was a teenager picking up his first date. Quickly, I ran a hand through my hair and checked my breath. I was fairly certain I’d showered and brushed my teeth sometime today, but I definitely hadn’t done anything extra. Did my clothes match? Were there stains on my shirt? Had I put shoes on? Yes, no, yes. Fuck. I was nervous. I heard footsteps inside her apartment, and my chest tightened up. But when she opened the door, I played it cool.

  Well, as cool as a guy could wearing a baby on his chest and carrying a bunch of GladWare.

  “Hey,” I said casually. “I brought your containers back.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Her expression was blank, at least while she was looking at me. When her eyes dropped to Paisley, she smiled. “Hi there, peanut. You doing okay?”

  I couldn’t see Paisley’s face, but she wasn’t crying, and she kicked her feet and wiggled her arms like she was happy to see Emme. I was too, but I didn’t let on. “We’re fine,” I answered, as if she’d asked how both of us were doing. “How are you?”

  She straightened up and gave me the blank expression again. “Fine. I just got home from work.”

  I nodded, taking in her black blouse, pencil skirt and heels. Her curves looked delectable—breasts, hips, calves. “You look nice.”

  “Thank you. Want me to take those?” She reached for the containers in my hands, but I didn’t want to give them to her, because then she could turn around and go inside with them and I would be forced to go home and spend another evening all by myself.

  “I’ll bring them in,” I offered, and without being invited, sort of side-stepped past her into her apartment. “Should I put them in the kitchen?”

  She sighed heavily and shut the door. “Okay.”

  I set them on the counter and noticed she had just opened a bottle of Abelard Pinot Noir. One empty glass stood next to the bottle. “Your cousin’s winery, right? They make some great wines. Have you ever tried their Riesling?”

  “No.” She walked toward me slowly, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m not much of a Riesling girl.”

  I nodded. The silence that followed was awkward. The apology I owed her was stuck in the back of my throat, I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and she did not appear inclined to rescue me. Could I blame her?

  But a moment later she came into the kitchen and took another glass down. “Would you like some?” Her voice held no enthusiasm whatsoever.

  It was a fairly lackluster invitation, but I took it. “Okay. Thanks.”

  She poured wine for both of us and handed one
glass to me. Then without saying anything, she leaned back against the counter and took a long drink from hers. I was trying to think of something to say when she spoke up.

  “I saw my cousin on Monday, and she offered me a job up north.”

  “Are you going to take it?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Immediately there was a pit in my stomach. I didn’t want her to take a job somewhere else, but I couldn’t say that. “You should. That’s a great area.”

  “It is.”

  I could tell from the look on her face she was hurt. God, I was a fuck-up. I’d come over here because I’d missed her laugh, and all I was doing was making her miserable. I tried again. “Last time we drank wine in your kitchen, there was a barbecued bunny on your counter.”

  She nodded.

  “And more of a smile on your face.”

  “Sorry. Guess it’s been a long day.” She crossed her legs at the ankle and held one arm across her stomach. The message was clear.

  Damn. She’s tough. I set my wine glass down without drinking from it. “Emme, come on.”

  “What?”

  “Stop trying to freeze me out.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I’m trying to freeze you out?”

  “Yes. It’s obvious.”

  Then she laughed, but it wasn’t the kind I’d been waiting for. “That’s a good one, Nate, since you’re the one who acted like a total stranger Monday morning.”

  “I did not act like a total stranger,” I said defensively, although I knew exactly what she meant. “I acted like a friend, which is what we are.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. If you want to pretend like nothing happened between us, go right ahead. But we had a conversation about it, and—”

  “During which you said you’d be patient with me,” I interrupted.

  “And during which you said you’d be open and honest with me.”

  “I said I’d try,” I shot back. “I told you, I’m bad at this. I don’t get it.”

  She came off the counter and stood up taller. “That’s bullshit, Nate. You’re not bad at this because you don’t get it. You’re bad at this because you won’t let yourself be good. Because you don’t want anybody to need you.”

  My temper flared. How dare she throw my own words back in my face! This was why you shouldn’t reveal your weaknesses to people—they used them against you. I was so mad, I couldn’t find the words to defend myself. That never happened to me.

  Emme, however, had plenty of words. “Well, I don’t need you. And I don’t need this in my life. So you got what you wanted.”

  This is not what I wanted! I felt like screaming. But I just stood there, my hands clenched into fists, my face and neck boiling hot, my jaw locked. Paisley began to cry.

  Without saying anything else, I turned around and stormed out. Her door had slammed behind me when I realized I’d forgotten to bring a key and was locked out of my apartment. Fuck!

  I drummed my head with the heels of my hands while Paisley cried and squirmed in the sling. Now I had to knock on her door and ask for her help, again, when I’d just been a dick to her, again. What was the matter with me? I braced myself with one arm against my door and took a few deep breaths. With the other hand I rubbed Paisley’s tummy through the front of the sling. “I’m sorry, kid. This is not your fault.”

  It wasn’t Emme’s fault either. I couldn’t lash out at her because I was angry at the direction my life had taken and felt ill-equipped to deal with it. Nor could I blame her for getting so close to me that she saw through my crap. I’d let her get this close. I wanted her even closer. It was just so fucking hard to let someone in after all this time.

  But I didn’t like who I’d been in there. I could do better.

  Turning around, I closed my eyes for a second, took one more deep breath, then knocked on her door.

  She didn’t answer right away, and when she finally did, I could tell she’d been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot, her mascara was smudged, and her nose was red. I felt horrible.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You were right. I was a dick on Monday morning, and I knew it. I’ve been missing you for two days but I was too stubborn to admit it and apologize. Returning the containers was only an excuse to see you.”

  She sniffed.

  “Can you forgive me? Please?”

  It took her a moment, but she nodded slowly, her arms crossing over her chest again. “Fine. Is that all you want? Forgiveness?”

  I swallowed hard. I could say yes. I could walk away from this right now. And she could take that job up north and meet some great guy in the wine business who’d treat her right. But when I pictured her in someone else’s arms, I felt sick. “No. That’s not all I want.”

  She waited, listening.

  “I want another chance with you. I want to try harder. And I don’t want you to take that job up north.”

  “Nate,” she said, her voice shaky. “Don’t say these things if you don’t mean them.”

  “I mean them.” I looked her right in the eye. “Please, Emme. Give me another chance. I can do better.”

  “You have to let me in,” she said, tearing up again. “I can be patient, I can be your friend, I can forgive. But you have to let me in. Talk to me. Trust me.”

  “I will,” I promised, wishing I could hug her right now. Between us, Paisley cried louder. “From now on, I will.”

  Emme sniffed and smiled. “Poor thing. You should get her to bed.”

  “I know, but…” I hung my head. “I locked myself out.”

  “You what?”

  “I forgot my key.”

  She burst out laughing, wiping her eyes. “Oh my God. This is a first. Hold on, let me get your key.” Then she cocked her head. “Wait a minute. That’s not why you apologized, is it? Just so you could get your key?”

  I held up both hands. “No. I swear to God, I meant the apology and I would have done it anyway. Forgetting my key just sort of…sped it up.”

  “Ha. Serves you right.”

  A minute later, she let us into my apartment and lingered in the doorway. “Need help with her?” she asked.

  “No, I’ve got her,” I said, lifting Paisley from the sling. “I’ll try to get her back to sleep. But I’d love it if you’d stay.”

  The smile I’d been waiting for lit up her face. “Let me change out of my work clothes and come back, okay?”

  “Of course.” I took off the sling and tossed it onto a chair. “But first, come here.” Holding Paisley off to one side, I opened my other arm to Emme. She snuggled into my side, laying her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my waist. I kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I was an idiot.”

  “You were,” she agreed. “But you’re going through a lot of stuff right now, and none of it is easy. I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks.” I closed my eyes, wondering how long she’d last.

  Paisley fell asleep relatively quickly, after only about fifteen minutes of pacing and rocking. I put her in her sleeper and went downstairs, surprised to find Emme sitting on one of the chrome and leather chairs, wearing a pink T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Her feet were bare, she’d let her hair down, and her makeup was off.

  “I let myself in,” she said, rising. “Hope that was okay.”

  “Of course.” I turned out all the lights but for one lamp, so I could see her beautiful face, and went to her, taking her head in my hands. “I wish I could take you somewhere. I’m sorry we’re always stuck in this apartment having to be quiet. We can’t even be in my bed.”

  “Shh.” She ran her hands up my chest and rose up on her toes to press her lips to mine. “I don’t care where we are. I just want to be close to you.” As her fingers worked their way down the buttons on my shirt, I reached beneath hers, sliding my hands over her soft, warm skin, closing my palms over her breasts, teasing her tight little nipples with my thumbs. My cock grew hard and thick inside my jeans.
r />   She shoved my shirt off my shoulders, and I let it drop to the floor and whisked my T-shirt over my head. Immediately she brought her mouth to my chest, kissing her way down to one nipple, circling and stroking it with her tongue. Her left hand moved to my crotch and rubbed the erection bulging against the denim.

  My knees nearly buckled. “Fuck, that feels good.” I reached one hand between her legs and caressed her softly through the flannel.

  She moaned and brought her hands to the button and zipper of my jeans. After pushing them to my knees, she grabbed me by the hips, turned my back toward the chair she’d been sitting in, and pushed me down. Then she knelt in front of me.

  “Oh, God,” I said as she lifted her shirt over her head. Her ivory skin glowed, her perfect breasts made my mouth water, and her mischievous expression had my cock twitching.

  She piled her long blond waves onto the top of her head as she swayed over my lap. “Hold my hair?” she asked playfully.

  I replaced her hands with mine, thinking I needed at least two more pairs to touch every place on her body I wanted to touch right now. But a moment later, I was mesmerized by the sight of her fingers reaching for my cock, wrapping around it, moving up and down the shaft, swirling over the tip. She brought her lips closer to it, and I held my breath, my jaw clenched tight, fighting the instinct to use my hands on her head to push her mouth onto me. All I could think of was how good it was going to feel to slide my cock past those luscious pouty lips into the warm, wet heaven of her mouth.

  But she made me wait. She went slow, licking up the sides of my cock from bottom to top, circling her tongue around the tip, rubbing her lips gently over the most sensitive nerve endings in my body. Finally, she took the head in her mouth, sucking softly, her hands still wrapped around my length. My leg muscles tightened. My hips wanted to move. My breath was coming in short, quick bursts.

  “Emme,” I begged.