the air. “Oh, don’t worry about Julia. She might never admit it, but deep down I think she’s tickled pink you’re staying down the hall. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to her outside of Passion’s Crest. ”
Scott sputtered and coughed into his hand. “Passion’s Crest?” he repeated.
A pink blush stained Emily’s cheeks. “It’s a soap opera. Julia’s, um, rather caught up with it.”
Scott’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see.”
“So, don’t let her scare you off,” she added hurriedly. “She can take a bit of drama.”
Scott considered the meaning behind her words. She didn’t want him to stay away, he realized. He sat back in his chair, watching her pick at the crumbs on her plate with the tip of her fork. “I’d really like to move forward, Emily,” he said. “I never felt right about the way things ended. I...I want to make things right for you while I’m here in town.” He forced a grin, wondering if his tone betrayed his inner concern. “Think you can forgive me?”
Emily’s eyes roamed his face quietly. “You seem to feel really guilty,” she pondered aloud.
“More than you know.” He swallowed the last of the pie, tasting nothing.
Interest flickered in her gaze. After a pause, she tipped her head and smiled pleasantly. “I can see that cherry pie is still your favorite,” she commented, motioning to his empty plate.
“And on that note, I think I’ll take seconds.” As he cut into the pie once more, he stopped himself, and slid her a glance. “I mean...thirds,” he said, grinning.
“Comfort food,” her voice came softly.
“When I was younger, my family and I always looked forward to a homemade pie. It seemed to always make things just a little brighter.”
His stomach burned and he attempted to numb the pain with a hearty bite. If he kept going like this, he’d lose the physique he’d achieved by spending an hour in the gym each morning. Right now, he honestly didn’t care.
“You remember how tight money was for my family after my father died.” She paused, and drew a deep breath. “My mom was working two or three jobs at times and couldn’t always make it home for dinner, but Sunday she was always at home, and we looked forward to that night all week, because that’s when she made pie.”
It was a sweet story, nearly pleasant enough to make him forget the horrible part he had played in her young life. It gave him some hope to learn that there were glimmers of happiness in her childhood after all. “She baked every Sunday?”
“Every Sunday.” She smiled at the memory. Catching his stare, she smiled and shrugged. “Guess I associate pies with a feeling of comfort and safety. Sounds silly, I know.”
Scott swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on the fullness of her mouth, the slender frame of her shoulders as she hunched over her plate. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.”
He cleared his throat. “My family could have learned a lot from yours. My dad was always at work and when we did eat together, there was no real laughter, no warmth.”
“Guess I should be happy you never brought me over for dinner, then,” Emily said, but through her smile Scott could sense the twinge of hurt and confusion.
He pressed his lips together, thinking of how cold his father had always been to Emily, how his mother would casually change the subject when Scott mentioned her. He’d asked to bring Emily to dinner once in the entire three years they dated, and his father had made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. At the time, he’d attributed it to snobbery on his parents’ part. Collins was a big name in town, an established name, and Emily was one of... Those poor Porters.
“My family wasn’t like yours, Em. You know that. You all had something. Love, joy. You knew each other.”
Emily tipped her head. “You didn’t know your parents?”
“Not one bit.”
Emily studied him thoughtfully. “I remember the time your father
Scott sputtered and coughed into his hand. “Passion’s Crest?” he repeated.
A pink blush stained Emily’s cheeks. “It’s a soap opera. Julia’s, um, rather caught up with it.”
Scott’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see.”
“So, don’t let her scare you off,” she added hurriedly. “She can take a bit of drama.”
Scott considered the meaning behind her words. She didn’t want him to stay away, he realized. He sat back in his chair, watching her pick at the crumbs on her plate with the tip of her fork. “I’d really like to move forward, Emily,” he said. “I never felt right about the way things ended. I...I want to make things right for you while I’m here in town.” He forced a grin, wondering if his tone betrayed his inner concern. “Think you can forgive me?”
Emily’s eyes roamed his face quietly. “You seem to feel really guilty,” she pondered aloud.
“More than you know.” He swallowed the last of the pie, tasting nothing.
Interest flickered in her gaze. After a pause, she tipped her head and smiled pleasantly. “I can see that cherry pie is still your favorite,” she commented, motioning to his empty plate.
“And on that note, I think I’ll take seconds.” As he cut into the pie once more, he stopped himself, and slid her a glance. “I mean...thirds,” he said, grinning.
“Comfort food,” her voice came softly.
“When I was younger, my family and I always looked forward to a homemade pie. It seemed to always make things just a little brighter.”
His stomach burned and he attempted to numb the pain with a hearty bite. If he kept going like this, he’d lose the physique he’d achieved by spending an hour in the gym each morning. Right now, he honestly didn’t care.
“You remember how tight money was for my family after my father died.” She paused, and drew a deep breath. “My mom was working two or three jobs at times and couldn’t always make it home for dinner, but Sunday she was always at home, and we looked forward to that night all week, because that’s when she made pie.”
It was a sweet story, nearly pleasant enough to make him forget the horrible part he had played in her young life. It gave him some hope to learn that there were glimmers of happiness in her childhood after all. “She baked every Sunday?”
“Every Sunday.” She smiled at the memory. Catching his stare, she smiled and shrugged. “Guess I associate pies with a feeling of comfort and safety. Sounds silly, I know.”
Scott swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on the fullness of her mouth, the slender frame of her shoulders as she hunched over her plate. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.”
He cleared his throat. “My family could have learned a lot from yours. My dad was always at work and when we did eat together, there was no real laughter, no warmth.”
“Guess I should be happy you never brought me over for dinner, then,” Emily said, but through her smile Scott could sense the twinge of hurt and confusion.
He pressed his lips together, thinking of how cold his father had always been to Emily, how his mother would casually change the subject when Scott mentioned her. He’d asked to bring Emily to dinner once in the entire three years they dated, and his father had made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. At the time, he’d attributed it to snobbery on his parents’ part. Collins was a big name in town, an established name, and Emily was one of... Those poor Porters.
“My family wasn’t like yours, Em. You know that. You all had something. Love, joy. You knew each other.”
Emily tipped her head. “You didn’t know your parents?”
“Not one bit.”
Emily studied him thoughtfully. “I remember the time your father
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