19. Emery

19

EMERY

I put away the pasta maker, set out the cupcakes to cool, wiped down the counters, and placed the wine and antipasti on the island as the salted water came to a boil. In the meantime, Stevie and Rowdy were on the other side of the island, dancing to Selena. Just as I was about to add the pasta, the man who’d burrowed into my brain all week walked into the space.

“Woody!” Stevie shouted, abandoning Rowdy to tackle Woody with a hug.

He returned the hug and sketched an anxious wave to me and Rowdy, his eyes a little wider than usual. He then pointed behind him as Mom walked into the dining room.

“Uh. Mrs. McAvoy let me in.”

That would explain the deer-in-the-headlights look. I sighed as I gently added the pasta to the boiling water.

“Woody, sweetie, I already told you—call me Dawn,” Mom said, leaning against the bar as she sent me a wink.

“Okay . . . Dawn,” he said, sounding a little awkward.

There was no telling what my well-meaning mother had done—or said —so I started a breathing exercise as I poured myself a glass of red. After downing half of it, I used my trusty tongs to move the perfectly al dente pappardelle to the saltapasta, tossing it with my homemade Bolognese sauce while I prayed that my mother hadn’t said something too embarrassing.

“Dance with me, Woody!” Stevie said, grinning widely.

“What about me?” Rowdy complained with a smile.

“We dance all the time,” she said, pulling Woody into the open space.

“Okay, Stevie-girl,” Woody said, giving her an experimental twirl as Techno Cumbia came on.

Her unhinged laugh filled the space as she started shaking her booty to the dance beat. Woody’s wry laugh made me smile, and I was surprised to see that he could keep up with the fast-paced song.

Not gonna lie. His hips were doing dirty things to my imagination.

Not in front of your daughter, for Christ’s sake.

“Hey, Em,” Rowdy said, looking amused with himself.

“Yeah?”

“Got a little drool right there,” he said, gesturing to the corner of my mouth.

I pulled a face, then shot him the finger as I tipped back the balance of my wine. Mom laughed, so I turned and beckoned her over. Amused, she went around the island and stood in front of me.

“Yes, son?”

“What did you say to him?” I whispered as I refilled my glass.

She put on an innocent look that I didn’t believe for a second—though now I knew where my daughter’d gotten that expression.

“Just told him I appreciated how happy he was making you,” she whispered back, grabbing my glass of wine as she hip-checked me away from the pan.

Stevie threw her head back and laughed at something Woody had said, and Mom gave me a smug look while pouring a swirl of my wine into the pan.

“ Mom ,” I hissed as she returned my glass. “Don’t make him nervous. He’s a flight risk.”

She wrinkled her nose as she re-tossed the pasta and sauce. “That boy ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

With that, she set the pan back down and retook her place on the other side of the bar.

“By the way, Woody,” she said over the music. “I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for saving my fool son’s life.”

Rowdy, who was watching all of us like a tennis match, laughed.

“I would’ve been fine, Mom,” I muttered, using chopsticks to test out a noodle.

Goddammit. The red wine had made a difference.

“Oh, really? How long did you wear that sling?”

I grumbled under my breath and Woody sent me a superior smile. “Ma’am, you know what? I don’t think he’s forgiven me for that.”

Mom laughed and pointed at me. “See that? I knew he wasn’t the asshole you said he was.”

Stevie, breathless from dancing, marched up to Mom and held out her hand. “Asshole is a dollar.”

Rowdy about fell down laughing and Mom reached for her purse as I turned down the music. Woody plucked a fat olive from the antipasti platter, popped it in his mouth, then grinned at me while he chewed it. “You told your mom I’m an asshole?”

Stevie held out her other hand. “You too, Woody.”

“I don’t know why I’m getting charged a dollar,” Mom said, pawing through her enormous purse. “I was just relaying the words you used.”

Stevie raised her brow. “Is that true?”

“Uncle Kess would call that hearsay,” I answered, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared down at my little menace. “Inadmissible in court.”

“Hm.” She copied my stance. “We’ll see.”

In the meantime, Woody dug into his back pocket and withdrew his dollar ever so slowly, holding it up with a smirk before giving it over to Stevie.

With the bills secured, Stevie twirled over to the large jar on the counter—already filled with dollars—then opened it and stuffed their money inside.

Tapping the glass, she declared, “Y’all need to keep cussin’ because we don’t want to run out of feed for Blanche and Tim.”

We all chuckled, and Woody answered, “That’s true. Gotta keep ’em well fed.”

The timer on the stove went off and Stevie twirled in excitement. “The bruschetta!”

Rowdy chuckled, shaking his head. “Couldn’t just have spaghetti night with Ragu and some frozen garlic bread like a normal family.”

Woody cuffed the back of his head. “You’re really gonna complain? It smells delicious in here.”

Rowdy grimaced, sparing a look for my mother. “Yeah, no. Sorry.”

In the meantime, Stevie fit on a glove that nearly went to her elbow and opened the oven. The bruschetta looked a little overdone, but still edible. She pulled it out and we all sort of held our breath as she angled it onto a trivet.

“It’s burnt .” She pouted, throwing down her glove.

Woody shook his head. “It’s brown, not black. Black is burnt, brown is crunchy, and crunchy is great. Especially with bruschetta.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure?”

“I burn my food all the time. This is not even close to the worst I’ve done.”

“Okay,” she said, still sounding disappointed.

She edged toward me and rested her head against my side.

“I’m proud of you, Stevie-girl,” I said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “This looks delicious.”

Everyone nodded, and that seemed to mollify her.

After we set the table, dinner went well, and the conversation was easy. Rowdy seemed a little quiet, and I wondered how his weekend actually went. When Rowdy said that he was going off to have some fun, I’d waved off Woody’s concern because I’d never had a problem with my strings-free lifestyle, but now I wondered if he was on to something.

Thankfully, Mom was her typical unrestrained self, and she did a great job of keeping the conversation going. When she again made fun of me for nearly dying out of pure stubbornness, everyone cracked up as I glared at the entire table of traitors.

“I hope you don’t expect us to take you seriously after I found you back up on that ladder even after you injured yourself,” Woody cracked.

Mom’s eyes blazed. “Emery!”

“Oh no, did I get you in trouble with your mom?” he asked, quietly fist-bumping Mom.

“You know what, Woody?” I was only partially indignant. “I hope you enjoyed pasta night. It’s your last one.”

“No! I want Woody to come to every pasta night,” Stevie pleaded as she grabbed his hand.

Woody swallowed thickly and shot me a blink-and-you-miss-it look.

“I can’t promise I’ll be able to come every pasta night, Miss Stevie,” he said softly. “But I do like your bruschetta.”

That man knew I lived and died by my daughter, and he had to know I’d be feeling some kind of way about his complimenting her cooking. Quickly after that, Woody announced to the table that he was exhausted and had to go catch up on some sleep. Stevie seemed disappointed but held his hand as she walked him to the front door.

“Thank you for eating with us, Woody,” she said, quieter than she’d been all evening. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay for cupcakes?”

“I hafta go home, but I enjoyed tonight very much,” he said, kneeling. “And do you remember what we’re gonna be doing tomorrow?”

She looked confused.

“Well, I’m painting the fence in the morning and if you still wanted to?—”

“Yes!” she said, hopping up and down. “I get to help you with the fence.”

“I was going to start early, around seven o’clock, so...”

“I’ll be there,” she said with a firm nod of her head, and I knew she’d absolutely make it happen. “I’ll set an alarm.”

I shared a brief smile with Woody, and then Stevie threw her arms around his neck. “I can’t wait,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

I could practically see the remains of the wall around his heart crumbling to dust. He’d better get out of here quick, or I might not ever let him leave.

I watched out of the living room window as Woody mounted Shadow and made his way back up the hill. Mom joined me on one side and Rowdy on the other.

“Where’s Stevie?”

“Icing the cupcakes,” Mom said. “And don’t change the subject.”

I winced, thinking about what Stevie was about to do to our dessert.

“I hadn’t realized there was a subject to be changed.”

“Don’t try to be coy with me, son,” Mom said, raising a brow. “You suck at it.”

Before I could open my mouth, Rowdy elbowed me. “Listen to your mom.”

“About what?”

“That man has it so bad for you, Emery,” Mom said, a knowing smirk on her face.

“ Mom . It’s not like that. Also”—I gestured to the side—“his cousin is right here.”

“Why do you think that is, Em?” Rowdy said, laughing. “I know my cousin very well, and if you’ve spent any amount of time with him, you’ve discovered his dirty little secret.”

Had I missed something? I turned to him, confused. “What dirty little secret?”

Rowdy pursed his lips. “That he’s secretly a cinnamon roll.”

I opened my mouth to say something. Protest. Act like Rowdy didn’t know what he was talking about, but . . .

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. “And that thing he did tonight with Stevie? Dancing and being free like that? He doesn’t do that with anyone.”

I let out a breath. “That was kind of sweet, wasn’t it?”

“And he wouldn’t be doing that if he didn’t feel some kind of way about you.”

“Rowdy—”

“With all due respect, shut up, Em. You don’t know how badly he was hurt. He’s always been a little rough around the edges, but he was so in love with that Shane asshole.”

“Not sure what that has to do with anything,” I said, toeing the wooden floor.

“The first thing he said, the very first thing he told me after all that went down was that he would never ever let himself get played like that ever again.”

“I’m not playing him.”

“I know that. And based on what I saw tonight, at some level he knows that, too.”

I thought back to all the ways in which he’d shown me his softness, even against his better judgment, and my hand went to my chest.

“Okay . . .”

“Look, Em. All I’m saying is that the Lockwood family doesn’t do casual.”

Rowdy grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth, so I asked, “How did last weekend go, Rowdy? You never said.”

“Imagine that,” he retorted, thinning his lips.

Mom patted his arm. “I don’t know why people think hooking up is all that great. I mean, I have needs?—”

I buried my face in my hands. “Mom, I beg of you.”

“—but my biggest need is to be loved. As I am. And I know you like to act like the hookup king, but I know that you secretly want somebody who loves Stevie almost as much as they love you, and that’s hard to find in this world.”

“ Mom .”

“I’m just saying.”

Waving between the two of them, I asked, “When did y’all decide to gang up on me?”

“It wasn’t so much a conversation as it was a look,” Rowdy said, grinning at my mother.

She nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. Because me and Rowdy? We are not stupid. We see what’s going on between you two, and we’re here to tell you: Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Grandma! That’s two dollars!” Stevie said, racing in from the kitchen, white icing on her nose.

Ah, fuck.

“How much of that did you hear?” I walked up to her and wiped off the icing.

“I just heard Grandma cuss!”

My mother eyeballed me the entire way to her purse. She gave Stevie a five-dollar bill. “I want my change.”

Stevie dutifully took the five-dollar bill and went back to the kitchen.

“So what if I like him more than just a hookup?” I hissed. “He hates how soft he gets around me.”

“But he does get soft around you?” Rowdy asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

I nodded. “When we kiss . . .”

His grin widened. “He is a sucker for a good kiss.”

“What am I supposed to do? I don’t wanna hurt him, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, either.”

“Bullshit,” Mom said, right as Stevie re-entered the living room

“I’m taking a dollar away from you, Grandma.”

“That’s fine, sweetie.”

Stevie pushed two dollars into her palm, grinning as she walked back to the swear jar.

Mom turned to me. “Nobody knows what they’re doing. We’re all just winging it out here. Do you think your father and I built this beautiful relationship because we were so damn smart?”

“Kinda.”

“Nope,” she said, chuckling to herself. “We got pregnant on the first date.”

I stitched my brows together. “But...I thought you said I was born premature.”

“Haven’t you ever done the math?” she asked.

“Yeah. You said I was, like, really premature.”

“Baby, I love you. Really I do. But you weighed eleven pounds when you were born.”

Rowdy snorted.

“So, wait,” I said, shaking my head. “You knew you wanted to marry Dad after one date?”

“No, I just knew I wanted to continue fucking him.”

“Grandma!”

Mom walked the two dollars in her hand over to Stevie. “That’s the last of my cash, sweetie. If I cuss any more, I’ll owe you.”

She twirled, pumped her fist, and returned to the kitchen.

Once she was out of sight, I asked, “So...you married Dad because he was a good lay?”

“Is there a better reason?”

“I don’t know. That he was a good man? That he’d love his children? That he’d support you?”

“He was those things, but mostly it was the thing in bed,” she said with a wistful smile.

“That’s good to know,” I snarked. “I guess that means me and Woody will be together forever.”

Mom and Rowdy shared a look.

“Nuh-uh. No more silent communication between you two. That’s far too dangerous.”

“I’m just saying, son. We see what’s happening. And we think it’s a good thing, but just...be careful. I think he’s a fragile man.”

Rowdy nodded. “Far more fragile and terrified than he’d ever let on.”

I watched through the window as Woody disappeared from view. “I hear you. I might not totally know what this is, but I hear you.”

I wondered if they knew I was just as terrified.