Page 94 of Riding the Curve

“Thank you!” I gasp in between tickles.

Finally stopping to let me catch my breath, he returns to combing through my waves. “All our cooking these past couple of weeks helped. I may have also enlisted the help of your mother.”

That makes me rise immediately, scooting back on the blanket, and folding my knees beneath me. “Wait . . . you cooked with my mom today? For me?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums softly.

“Umm . . . was my Dad around?” I ask, my heart beginning to pick up pace. My mother and Ryleigh are aware of what’s going on between me and Em, but I haven’t been brave enough to tell my father quite yet.

“Yep,” he says, drawing out the ‘p’ with a pop. “Ryleigh was there, too.”

Unconsciously, I start fidgeting with the ends of my hair. Wondering what kind of conversation may have occurred between them while I wasn’t there. “Did they ask you anything?”

He’s quiet as his palm massages the back of his neck.

Em’s telltale sign that he’s nervous.

“Well, I . . .” He clears his throat, shifting his gaze my way. “I can’t do this with you all the way over there.”

In a matter of seconds, I find myself being lifted to straddle his lap.

“There, that’s better,” he says. Swallowing deeply, he cups my cheeks with his hands. I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. “I kind of told him we were dating.”

“Oh my god. You told my Dad?”

He chuckles as my voice squeaks. “Well, it was kind of hard to hide the truth while I was in the process of helping your mom cook you dinner.”

I squeeze his chin between my fingers, turning it from side to side, pretending to examine it thoroughly. “Well, I don’t see any bruises, so I’m assuming it went well.”

“Really well.” His voice rumbles low, seeping deep into my pores. A chill shivers through me, and Emerson leans back to dig through the basket he brought. “Thought you might need this.”

He lifts my arms above my head and slides the sweatshirt all the way down. I’m swallowed by the softest fabric that has ever graced my body. Lifting the collar to my nose, I soak in his scent. I sigh contently as it warms me up from head to toe.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Hen.”

Suddenly the butterflies that had been floating around in my stomach begin to droop.

“Beau called me.”

“Your boss Beau?”

There’s no need to look up. I already know the answer.

He got the call.

And just like that, a pin pokes through my heart. Instantly, my ‘bully’ of a mind swoops in and begins to rapidly deflate all the hope I’ve been holding within it. It flooded my mind with the most outrageous assumptions, and I tried my best to power my way around them.

“He’s going to move on. You are ridiculous for falling for it again.”

“Did you honestly think you would be worthy enough for him?”

“He’s just being polite. This is his way of telling you goodbye.”

“Let him go. You’ll only drag him down.”

I know what my mind is telling me is false, but sometimes the words inside my head feel so heavy—so real, that I struggle not to drown beneath them. It takes everything in me to claw my way to the surface, where I know the truth lives.

Without a word, I begin wriggling out of his lap. When I lift my leg to stand, his large palm squeezes it back down.