Emma Blooms At Last by Naomi King

in—and probably why I get such a kick out of your dat.”
    â€œYou didn’t lose any brothers or sisters, I hope?” Emma murmured. “If something happened to James, I’m not sure I could bear it.”
    Jerome felt comforted by her concern, even though the accident had happened more than half his lifetime ago. “No, it seems they broke the mold when they made me,” he said with a chuckle.
    For a moment, Emma’s gaze lingered on his. Such an unusual shade of brown her eyes were, similar to a mixture of honey and cinnamon. Too soon, she eased her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That was a horrible thing to endure when you were so young.”
    Immediately she clammed up, and once again Jerome wishedhe’d selected his topic of conversation more carefully. Their food came, and after a few minutes of silent grace stretched into a lack of conversation that felt unbearably strained, he tried again. “So, what do you like to do for a gut time, Emma?”
    She looked at him over the top of her thick hamburger sandwich, which dripped with cheese and fried onions. “I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I haven’t thought much about it.”
    What could he say to
that
? Was Emma truly so housebound with her parents that she never even got together with girlfriends? Or was she evading another date with him?
    As Jerome scooped up another bite of mashed potatoes drenched in rich brown gravy, he thought it was more likely that Emma didn’t remember how to enjoy herself. She’d grown past the age of attending Singings . . . but surely fellows around Cedar Creek and Clearwater had asked her out. Had she turned them down, waiting for Matt to realize how she felt about him? Jerome didn’t press for answers, because Emma was intently studying her soup cup as though she wanted to look at anything but him.
    Or did that hint of a smile twitching on her lips mean she was looking for a way to tell him something?
    When Emma had gone several moments without saying anything else, Jerome fell back on an idea he’d had in mind as a last resort. “You know, I’ve got three newborn mules at home, none of them spoken for yet,” he mused aloud. “I think I’ll train one of them to harness for Abby and James. They’re every bit as dependable as a thoroughbred for pulling a buggy, and usually less temperamental.”
    Emma flashed him a smile. “Oh, that’s a fine idea, Jerome. Something only you can give them,” she replied. “And I was thinking I’ll crochet them an afghan. Abby’s so busy with sewing for her business, she doesn’t have time for much handiwork.”
    â€œShe’ll like that. And it’s something James can curl up with aswell.” Jerome felt as relieved as Emma looked, to have this decision made—even though it meant that he had no more specific reasons to ask her out. Crocheting was something she could do at home, with her parents . . .
    â€œAlthough,” Emma continued in a low voice, “I won’t have much time for crocheting, either, considering how I’ll be working at the Cedar Creek Mercantile. Starting on Monday.”
    Jerome’s fork clattered to his plate. “
Really?
I never would have guessed—I mean—” He searched desperately for words that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. Words he wouldn’t regret. “Well, that’s quite a surprise, Emma! You didn’t let on at the wedding, so—”
    â€œSam asked me yesterday. Now that Abby’s married, he doesn’t want her working there, you see.” Emma’s face turned a pretty shade of pink. “My first inclination was to say no, but—well, after you told me I should get out more, I decided to try it. So, see? I
was
paying attention to you, Jerome.”
    Jerome gazed at Emma, corralling his thoughts about how shy and