Page 21 of Crushes to WHAT

Maybe I’ll take two pills when my time is up.

My phone chimes with its text tone.

Emerson (!!!): Getting off work early today. I can be at your house at 3:00 instead of 4:00, if that works for you?

I gulp, clutching hard at my phone. A whole extra hour of Emerson? Last night, I was practically comatose when he left, stuck in a post-Emerson state wherein I lay on my floor staring at the ceiling for ages, unable to think anything other than oh my gosh and freaking freak, he’s so him. An extra hour could mean… I don’t know. I might get stuck in that state forever.

Almond: That works for me! I’m making barbecue chicken. And corn. And rolls. And mashed potatoes. And salad. And, probably, green beans. And I might cut up some fruit.

Almond: And there’s a not small chance I stop by the diner to get a lemon cake. It’s lemon day.

Almond: Not, like, nationally, or anything. Just, when I took a shower, it was lemon themed.

Almond: Not that I’m trying to make you think about me in the shower. I would never. Never ever. I just meant that I had my lemon soap and my lemon shampoo and my lemon drop and the steam was lemon. That’s all.

Almond: I’m so sorry.

Almond: That was so inappropriate. If you want to cancel working for me because you’re uncomfortable, I would totally understand. I hope you won’t, because I do need work done and I would hate to have Warren do it instead, but I would understand.

Almond: Not that I think Warren can’t do the job. I know he’s capable. It’s just, you know, he’s not you.

I’m typing another panic-embarrassed text when he responds, halting my shaking fingers.

Emerson (!!!): I’ll get the lemon cake. I’ve been craving something citrusy on my tongue.

Emerson (!!!): Does lemon day include lemon chapstick?

Lemon day absolutely includes lemon chapstick. I’m unsure that I can tell him that, however, because I’m too busy short-circuiting over the implications of the messages he’s just sent.

Did he just say he wants to kiss me? Is my overactive imagination, encouraged by years of romance book banter and flirting, deceiving me?

Emerson (!!!): Nevermind. If it doesn’t already, it’s going to.

Emerson (!!!): See you tonight.

Before I can process that, a bell rings as the client door opens. I turn and greet Mrs. Teague, a longtime client who rocks her hair short and adorable.

She quickly settles into my chair, apologizing for being late and assuring me it won’t happen again. It will, of course, happen again, but I accept her apologies and promises built on nothing but hope.

I set my phone aside and get started on pampering my guest, who beams at me through the mirror.

“So.” I smile. “Do you think that lemons are inherently romantic?”

Brows drawn in confusion, she answers a hesitant, “Maybe?”

Hm.

Good enough for me.

“While I snip, I need you to look up lemon perfume for me.” I hand her my phone, direct her to my favorite shopping app, and we both get to work.

My headache clears itself up.

And at 3:00, when the last of my clients has left, and Emerson is knocking at my door, I have four different lemon perfumes preparing to make my house their home.

Chapter Eleven

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