Page 50 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
If being married to Nick means I get to eat meals like this on a regular basis, I might have to call Fred Andrews and cancel those divorce papers.
Another spontaneous Nick thought.
I was midgulp with a can of Diet Coke pressed to my lips when a dark figure walked into my living room. I tried to scream but choked instead. The soda lodged in my throat and I started to panic.
The figure walked through the foyer and into the light. It was none other than my current, maybe future ex, husband.
“Fuck,” Nick muttered, rushing to my side. “Breathe, Emmy.”
Diet Coke was dripping down my chin and coming out my nose while he patted my back. “Tissue,” I choked out.
From his pocket, he produced a red bandana and shoved it in my face. “Here.”
I cleaned off my face and took a few deep breaths, savoring the oxygen.
“What the fuck, Emmy?” Nick yelled.
“What? Don’t ‘What the fuck, Emmy?’ me! What the fuck to you? Why are you breaking into my house? You scared the shit out of me!”
“Why is your security system off?”
“It’s five thirty. I just got home.”
“You need to set it all the time. They only work when they are fucking turned on.”
“Relax,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I highly doubt that at five thirty on a Friday night in Prescott, Montana, someone is going to attempt a break-in. Even if it is dark out.”
“Yeah? Maybe ask Gigi Cleary what time she was kidnapped.”
My anger deflated when I realized he was mad because he was scared.
Logan had been the same way, overprotective and quick to anger when he thought I was being careless. So as much as it annoyed me, I gave in. I didn’t have the energy to debate his ridiculous request and rub his male ego the wrong way.
“Okay.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll set it all the time. Now what are you doing here? I thought you wanted to eat in town.”
Earlier today, he had texted me, asking if we could eat dinner at the café. It had been two weeks since Nick started having dinner with me and he hadn’t missed a single night.
Mostly we would eat at my house, but a couple of times he had collected me from school and had taken me to different places in town. On the weekends, he had come over early, and instead of cooking for me, he’d cook with me, my culinary lessons lasting all evening.
“Jess called me and said they are having a last-minute party at the farmhouse.”
“And my attendance is required?” I asked. Part of me wanted to get out and do something social but the other was content to lounge at home in yoga pants.
“My attendance is required, therefore yours is too,” he said.
“Okay. Let me get changed.” Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to go. I had pulled on a pair of super-stretchy skinny jeans, because they were almost like yoga pants, and an oversized black sweater. But since I didn’t want to be too slouchy, I’d dressed them up with a pair of black suede, over-the-knee boots.
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Clicking down the stairs, I scanned the house to find Nick. I loved that from the floating steps I could see almost all of the main floor and kitchen.
Nick was pacing along the back windowed wall of the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. When he heard my heeled feet hit the landing, he quickly hung up his call.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Ready?”
“Yes. But do we need to bring anything?”
