Page 33 of Riding the Curve

“I’m in,” she squeaks.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” I smirk.

She purses her lips, then says it again. “I’m in. I’ll move into the other cabin.”

“You sure?” I ask gently. Inside, I’m screaming out loud for her to give this a chance.

“I’m sure.” She bites her lip, as if trying to force her mouth shut because at any moment she might change her mind.

I feel like I’m about to float off the bench, so I reach out for her hand to anchor me. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Raising the back of her hand to my lips, I press a featherlight kiss onto it. As I rise from the table, her gaze lingers on the spot my lips brushed.

Without another word, I walk out the front door before I’m tempted to kiss more than just her hand.

CHAPTER 13

Henley

“What have I done?” I mumble into the rough fabric of the pillow that is currently smothering my face.

I can’t believe I agreed to Emerson’s proposal.

Exhaustion must really be impeding my rational thinking, or maybe I’m just slipping back into old habits. I’ve never been able to refuse Emerson Lane.

“Hey, Hen, would you grab me a juice?” On it.

“Can I have a bite of that?” What’s mine is yours.

“Tell me what you want?” I want you to kiss me.

“Want to move in with me?” Abso-fucking-lutely.

No matter how many years we’ve been apart or the hurt that still lingers, my heart is still tied to him by some invisible force. One that’s about to bring us a whole hell of a lot closer tomorrow.

I groan once more into the pillow when something heavy crushes on top of me.

“Ooww,” I grumble, my words muffled by the fabric of the cushion.

“Awntie Hen? You awive?”

Lyla rips the pillow from my clutches, and her little eyes are shimmering with tears.

“Yes, sweet girl. I’m okay,” I say, pulling her into my chest and kissing the top of her head.

She crawls out of my grasp and sits beside me. “Why you on the fwoor, siwwy?”

Mom walks down the stairs at the same time. “I’m also intrigued to know why you are sprawled out on our carpet.” She places her hands on her hips, raising a brow.

Sweat beads on my forehead.

I knew that I was going to have to tell my parents about the crazy arrangement I just made with Emerson, but I’d hoped I would have had just a few more hours to process it myself. The plan was to tell everyone at dinner. Make them a carb-loaded dinner, stuff them with savory dishes, in hopes that it would give them such a food coma that my moving out wouldn’t be such a shock. But maybe talking to Mom first might give me a little bit of an advantage.

“How about I make us some tea and tell you all about it.”

“I’d love that.” She smiles softly, her shoulders relaxing as she walks across the room and lifts Lyla into her arms. “Let me get this munchkin down for a nap, and then I’ll be down.”

“I’ll get the kettle started.”