Chapter 3

three

Sheryl Bordeaux was a card shark.

It was something Emma had learned about her grandmother so long ago, it was simply ingrained knowledge at this point. Her gram hadn't pulled any punches when playing card games with Emma when she'd been too young to even shuffle, and she certainly didn't give anything away now that she was an adult.

Emma kept that in mind now, as she always did whenever they played cards. Some of her most frequent and fond memories were of sitting around her grandmother's card table in the small Brooklyn apartment that she'd been raised in, the same table they were playing around now.

She was so close to gin rummy, she could taste it. And it was so rare that she won against her grandmother; it was all the more exciting. Still, she maintained her poker face, acting as nonchalant as possible when her gram picked up a card from the deck.

Only for her fa?ade to drop a moment later, when her grandmother triumphantly set down her own cards and declared, "Gin."

"Are you kidding me? I was so close!" Emma set her own cards down so that her gram could see exactly how close.

The smile that played around her grandmother's lips was fond and amused as she tutted at Emma. "Close only counts in horseshoes and–"

"Hand grenades. Yeah, yeah, I know," Emma finished with a grumble, unable to hold back her smile, though, as she gathered the cards in her hands. "You taught me that life lesson a long time ago."

"You have time for one more game?" Gram asked as she readjusted in her seat, leaning in with an undeniably hopeful glint in her eyes.

"Sure," Emma readily agreed, even though she didn't check the time first. With her new job, she'd only had the time to stop by and see her grandmother once a week, which weighed on her enough to never cut that visit short. She slowed her shuffling down, peering out the window.

Primrose Grove wasn't a palace by any means, but it was one of the nicer independent living facilities on the outskirts of the city. They'd been lucky to get her gram into a private room here at a more than fair price, given that her grandmother had worked with the mother of the facility director for decades.

As it stood, her grandmother had a small bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and bathroom, with a large window in the living area that overlooked the courtyard. And Emma couldn't be more grateful.

"Do you want to go for a little walk instead?" She suggested, keeping her voice light and conversational. "I could use one; sitting at the desk all week is killer on my back."

A little fib, given that her workspace included an adjustable standing desk. But what her grandmother didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

But if there was one thing Emma knew about her gram, it was that she'd do a lot of things for Emma that she wouldn't necessarily do for herself. Like agree to voluntarily go for a walk around Primrose.

Her grandmother watched her carefully before nodding. "Why not?"

Even though her gram was still a little slow to move, she'd stopped needing to use her walker in the last month. Even so, as they stepped out of her grandmother's suite and into the clean, well-maintained hallway, Emma subtly hovered an arm behind her.

"I know what you're doing," her grandmother whispered, turning her head to look up at Emma with a smart, sharp smile. It was the same smile she'd given Emma throughout her life whenever she'd caught her engaging in anything she shouldn't be doing. In fairness, it was a rarity, as Emma had always been a devout rule-follower.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she side-stepped, reluctantly dropping her arm back to her own side.

"The cardiologist said I'm fine to be walking on my own, honey. I've been doing my steps every day to make sure."

"Have you been doing any of those steps with any of the exercise groups here?" She asked, already knowing what the answer was.

"No," her gram muttered. "You know me; I like to keep to myself."

Emma knew that wasn't necessarily the case, but her heart ached with sympathy for her grandmother.

Her gram had always thrived on stability. She'd kept the same schedule for Emma's entire life, only deviating when life necessitated an emergency. She'd liked to talk to her small handful of friends who'd all lived in the building Emma had grown up in, she'd liked to go to her job as the head administrator at Rettol Academy, and she'd enjoyed indulging in her hobbies – cards, gardening, and knitting – during her free time.

When she'd had her first massive heart attack nearly four years ago, she'd been sixty-six, and while she'd eventually made a full recovery – thank god – her healing process had necessitated somewhat of a forced retirement. And with that forced retirement had come Sheryl's loss of ability to pay the rent in the apartment she'd lived in for nearly forty years, even when Emma had been paying her own portion of rent and bills.

She'd resolutely demanded that Emma, who'd already been working full-time to slowly put herself through undergrad with as little debt as possible, not quit school to take on more work.

Instead, they'd both left the apartment. Emma had found herself sharing her shitty little place with her roommates, and her gram had found a studio that she'd been just been able to afford.

And that had worked… for a little while. Her grandmother had adjusted to her new life – away from her social network, out of the job she'd had since she'd been in her twenties – but she'd managed.

Until four months ago, when she'd had her second heart attack.

This one had been even worse than the first, and she'd been in the hospital for nearly a month.

She'd vehemently resisted going to Primrose Grove, citing that she wasn't even old enough for "that place" yet.

This was somewhat true; her grandmother was only seventy, and she was one of the youngest residents here.

But Emma knew her grandmother. And she knew she'd been terrified of moving into a brand new locale, surrounded by brand new people and routines.

Emma had felt fucking terrible about it – she still did – but the reality was that her gram needed to live somewhere that had medical staff on-site, and Emma was far from a place in her life where she could afford to provide something like that for the woman who'd raised her.

She wished things were different, but they weren't. So mostly, she wished her grandmother, who'd never been comfortable pushing outside of her comfort zone, could somehow find a way to slip into making some friends. To find something that would make living here enjoyable.

"Maybe we could take a look at the events calendar when we swing through the lobby?" She suggested. "They might have something going on that you'd like?"

Gram hesitated ever so briefly before she shook her head. "I don't think so," she murmured before she cleared her throat and aimed a very direct look at Emma. "You know, little lady, I'd like to talk about you rather than me for a while. How about that?"

Emma couldn't help but scoff out a smile at the little lady nickname that her gram had used for her entire life. Even when Emma had hit her growth spurt at thirteen and stood a solid six inches taller than the short, slight older woman ever since. "What do you want to know?"

"First of all, I want to know how you're feeling. You keep looking at me like my health is in question, but you were in the hospital far more recently than I was!"

Emma's eyes rolled involuntarily as she thought about her almond flour-induced allergic reaction last week. "Yeah, I guess so," she grumbled, narrowing her eyes at Regan's total disregard for her roommate contract.

Like, who said they read a roommate contract, and said they agreed to abide by it, only to be a total fucking liar?!

She wished she could say she was shocked by it, but unfortunately, given that this was Regan she was dealing with, she wasn't.

Shaking her head, she grit her teeth, and looked at her grandmother. "But I'm one hundred percent okay, haven't had any other issues since that night. Good as new."

The one and only thing she would give to Regan was that she had insisted on handling all of Emma's hospital bills, including the ambulance. Emma hadn't wanted to call one, knowing the hefty charge she'd receive for it after the fact, and she'd been fairly certain that after her first epinephrine dose, she could reasonably take the subway to the closest hospital; it wasn't very far.

Regan had called the ambulance, anyway, gently keeping her hand on Emma's shoulder to keep her sitting at their kitchen table.

She supposed that paying exorbitant hospital fees to someone like Regan, who had a hefty trust fund to rely on, wasn't such a big deal.

Her gram studied her closely. "All right; I trust you to be able to take care of yourself."

Emma nodded, feeling that sense of pride at knowing she had her grams' trust. It had been something she'd felt honored by since she'd been a teenager.

As they turned another corner, Emma spotted the pair of women she'd hoped to find on their walk. As far as she'd seen, there were six other women who were under eighty, all of whom seemed to clique up in different permutations. Two of them seemed to always be chatty and in good spirits whenever Emma saw them – typically in the large, communal kitchen – and she'd been subtly trying to nudge Gram toward them for months, now.

She tilted her head toward them. "Oh, hey – have you chatted with those ladies yet? We could go over and see what they have going on?"

Her grandmother looked at them for several beats before she looked back at Emma and shook her head. "No, little lady, I don't think so. Not today."

Before Emma could even try to insist, her gram asked, "Have you made any plans with your mom yet? She said she may be coming by this evening."

Ugh, Emma felt the question land in her stomach like she'd swallowed a lead weight. She was immediately thankful she'd come to hang out with Gram early, so she could easily leave before the evening.

"Um… not yet," she answered honestly. Because she wasn't great at lying to her grandmother, and – mostly – because she knew Gram would find out the truth from Kimberly, anyway.

She stared straight ahead down the open, airy hallway as they turned a corner, starting the second half of the loop that would lead back to her grandmother's room. But she could feel Gram's eyes on her.

Emma knew how badly her gram wanted that reunion between Emma and her mom. She knew, clear as day, that her grandmother was so desperate for her daughter and granddaughter to forge this unbreakable bond, one that apparently Gram had managed to keep with Kimberly despite all of their issues over the years.

It was something Emma wished so badly to understand. How did her grandmother manage to so easily push through the hurt of Kimberly's abandonment? Was it different because Kimberly was her daughter, whereas she was Emma's mother? And, what went even deeper than the hurt – how was it not awkward? How did her grandmother know what to say to Kimberly?

How could she make their relationship seem totally… normal? That was what Emma was most desperate to know. How ?

She wished she could ask. She wished that this topic hadn't become so prevalent in their lives, ever since Kimberly's grand return a few months ago.

Because Emma's inability to push through this barrier with her mom seemed to be the biggest disappointment she'd ever caused Gram. And seeing the disappointment on her grandmother's face when Emma had blurted out how she felt about Kimberly… well, she'd hated it. And she was resolutely not going to repeat it.

"She was here Thursday night, again," Gram mentioned, a small, hopeful grin playing on her lips. "She brought the girls, and we all went out to dinner. Just to the place down the street, but it really was so lovely. I think, maybe if you spend time with your sisters and your mom, you might find the girls provide a little conversational relief."

Even the mention of Emma's sisters made her stomach tie itself in knots, and she didn't have the heart to tell her grandmother that she honestly felt the exact opposite. "Uh, maybe."

Emma could feel her grandmother studying her profile as she quietly said, "You're always more than welcome to come to Thursday dinners if you want. I think it would be great to have us all together."

She could feel her throat tighten at her grandmother's words, at how hopeful and intent she sounded.

"Yeah, sometime," she agreed.

And, on some level, she meant it. But that didn't mean that the idea of making that a reality didn't make her feel nervous, clammy, and unready.

She heard her phone buzz in her pocket and was relieved for any excuse to check briefly out of this conversation.

Her gram nodded at her. "You should check it. It could be important."

Regan Freaking Gallagher – 2:31 PM

Hey! Just letting you know that it's BLAZING hot today – the power went out after you'd left but should be back on soon! Make sure you unplug and re-plug everything in your room!

Maybe she'd spoken too soon about that relief, after all. For a brief moment, she debated not answering before she grumbled to herself and sent off –

Emma Bordeaux – 2:32PM

Thanks for the update/reminder.

"And?" Her grandmother prompted.

Emma felt herself flush as she locked her phone before her grandmother could sneak a peek.

"Uh, it was just Brynn. You know, my coworker. But it's not urgent."

It was such a lie, but she didn't want to disclose the truth.

As far as her grandmother knew, she'd moved in with her friend, Regan – a stretch of the imagination – and that was how she liked to keep it. After her grandmother's first heart attack, when they'd had to move, Gram had very clearly felt terrible regarding Emma's living situation. And over time, she'd found that holding onto these little pieces of life and keeping everything – family, relationships, friendships – separate worked very well for her.

Even when she'd told her grandmother about how Regan had put her in the hospital last week, she'd been careful to keep her ire out of her voice.

"Oh, well, give me the work updates!" Gram encouraged excitedly.

That, Emma would happily do.

Emma made it home from Astoria by five, thankful that it seemed the air conditioning in their building had, indeed, kicked back on sometime in the last couple of hours.

She was desperate for this heat wave to come to an end. In the ten-minute walk to her building in the thick, muggy air, she was sweaty, uncomfortable, and wanted nothing more than to strip her sweat-soaked shirt off at the quickest opportunity.

"Regan?" She called out into the apartment, cautiously optimistic as she closed the door behind her.

She stilled, straining to keep an ear out to detect any signs of life from within. When there was no response to her shout, she nearly did a little victory dance. If she weren't still so freaking hot , she might have.

She didn't need to call out again, not when she was met with resounding silence. No music playing from behind Regan's closed bedroom door – loud enough that she could always hear it from anywhere in the apartment – and TV wasn't on in the living room, either.

Entirely unsurprisingly, Regan did not exist quietly. Ever. When she was home, Emma was very well aware of that fact.

Walking into the kitchen, she checked the calendar on the side of the fridge. The one that Regan had finally started to fill out in the last week, ever since she'd nearly murdered Emma.

Things had been better between them since then, Emma would admit. It took almost killing her, but Regan had started to actually adhere to the contract she'd apparently pretended to agree to weeks ago.

She'd given Emma a wide berth in the last six days, only making short, direct conversation when they incidentally run into one another. She'd made a point to text Emma a picture of everything that had any mention of nuts on the label in the trash the morning after the hospital trip. And she'd taken to writing her work schedule on their calendar.

The schedule in question informed Emma that Regan was working a double today. She wouldn't be off shift until ten, which meant she wouldn't be home until at least midnight, given that she typically seemed to like to hang out with her coworkers for a while after work.

Emma grinned brightly; it seemed she was able to experience a lucky break from time to time, after all.

With that knowledge, she reached down to tug off her T-shirt right there in the kitchen, relishing the feeling of the air-conditioned temperature directly on her body.

And with Regan at work tonight, Emma had the perfect opportunity to sit down and try to get some real writing done for the first time in a month. Maybe she could start to draft her latest book review!

During the week, Emma was so busy with Allegra's schedule that it was impossible to find the time and energy to do any writing of her own. And during the last few weekends, it seemed something had consistently popped up – first, she'd been unpacking from her move, the weekend after she'd taken her Gram to one of her physical therapy follow-ups and had spent the day with her, and last weekend she'd been recovering from her near-death experience.

She'd have a simple dinner first. She knew she had some chicken salad in the fridge that she'd had for lunch at work for the last few days…

Emma stopped short as soon as she opened the refrigerator. Because it was empty.

Not completely; condiments were still lining the door, and drinks were on the top shelf. But all of the actual food that had been in there was gone.

Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she dropped her head back in annoyance as she shut the fridge.

Only to snap her head up a moment later as she heard the front door open and close in one quick motion before footsteps bounded down the short hallway leading to the archway of the kitchen. In several short moments, Regan came into her view, stumbling to a stop upon seeing Emma.

Regan's eyebrows lifted high on her forehead as her gaze slid down and focused below Emma's face. "Huh."

Confusion slid through her, but only for a few seconds before Emma realized that she was standing in the middle of their kitchen, topless.

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, she tugged her balled-up T-shirt up over her chest and stomach. She recovered from her surprise enough to snap, "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Regan answered, and Emma honestly wasn't sure if Regan was just stating a fact or if she was trying to be a smart aleck, but it still rankled.

Clinging to that annoyance – because it was better than embarrassment by a mile – she grit her teeth. "I'm all too aware of that. But you were supposed to be at work until ten."

The calendar to prove it was hanging on the fridge, right next to her!

Regan shrugged, still staring unrepentantly at Emma's chest in spite of the T-shirt Emma held up. "Right. Yeah. I should still be at work. Only, Topped Off – and, actually, that entire block – is experiencing a total blackout. Just like the one we had here. So, after an hour, I decided to shut down for the evening. God forbid people start crowding into our non-air-conditioned confined quarters, demanding caffeine from machines that aren't working." She shuddered. "Anyway. Here I am."

As she finished with her explanation, Regan lifted her gaze up again, and a mischievous smile took up residence on her face. "I definitely didn't think I'd be interrupting your… special alone time."

"You aren't ," she bit out, even though Regan kind of definitely was. But not any sort of explicit alone time, as Regan was clearly implying. Pivoting away from that before Regan could run with it, she gestured at the refrigerator. "Where's my chicken salad?"

Regan's eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion for several moments before something dawned on her. "Oh! I had to throw it out. And the other perishables we had in there. The power was off for a few hours, and I was worried that something smelled… not right? I couldn't determine what it was, but I didn't want to chance it."

Emma stared, feeling like she was on crazy pills. "So, you got rid of everything. Even my things."

Regan stared right back. "Obviously. I've already been responsible for you going to the hospital for food-related causes; I wasn't going to keep something in the fridge that could make you sick again."

Reaching up to rub her temples, Emma tried to breathe through her irritation.

Especially when Regan clapped her hands once, garnering her attention. The feeling Emma had in her stomach did not align with Regan's bright smile in any way.

"I think this calls for a roommate grocery-shopping trip!"

"I think not," Emma snarked right back.

"We have no real food," Regan astutely pointed out. "Even before I got rid of your chicken salad, you barely had anything in there. And I haven't gone shopping since the debacle last week, because I've been terrified to buy anything with the wrong ingredients; I don't want to bring anything in here that you could be allergic to."

There was something in Regan's tone that was both factual and beseeching, almost like it had been practiced. It was enough to raise Emma's suspicions about her chicken salad not really being off.

She narrowed her eyes. "Can't you just read the labels if you're so concerned?"

Regan's stupidly bright smile was guileless, her dark eyes wide. "Emma, I couldn't even properly read a roommate contract. You trust this noggin not to kill you by mistake?" She tapped her index finger against her own temple.

Emma wasn't an idiot; she had a very real hunch that she was being played into spending more time with Regan.

But on the other hand, she wasn't sure she could trust Regan to properly read food labels. Plus… Regan wasn't technically incorrect in saying that Emma really hadn't had anything else by way of groceries.

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm only doing this because I actually need to go grocery shopping."

Regan's grin was far too wide, revealing her pearly white, perfectly straight teeth.

Was food really all that important?

Emma pondered that important philosophical question as she pushed the cart up and down the aisles at the store, following Regan. Who – surprise, surprise – seemed to like to talk through all of her choices before depositing things in the cart.

"I'm better with a list," Regan informed her, even though Emma didn't ask.

She hadn't commented on anything for over ten minutes as she held steadfastly onto the belief that her silence would make this experience go quicker.

Her lack of response hadn't seemed to hinder Regan in the least, though, as she continued to chatter their way down the next aisle.

"You know what I miss the most about living in a suburb? Like, back in Massachusetts, before I moved here?" Regan posed the question as if Emma could possibly know the answer as she maneuvered their carriage around a woman who was pondering pasta sauces.

"I'm aching to know." The sarcasm escaped her, breaking her quiet streak.

Regan continued, seemingly unaware of Emma's lack of sincerity. "The size of the grocery store aisles. Everything here is so cramped."

Emma turned to look at Regan as she registered her words. A question that she genuinely wanted the answer to formed in her mind, one that she couldn't help but ask. "Why did you even move here?"

It was a question she'd never really thought to voice. Granted, she'd tried her best not to think too deeply about Regan for the last two years. It had been something she'd actually avoided because – in spite of Emma's best efforts – Regan was an interesting person. Deeply irritating. But interesting.

Now that she'd voiced the question, she couldn't help but push for the answer. After all, it was too late to pretend she'd never asked. "I mean… you don't have a location-specific job." Regan could be a barista literally anywhere . "And you don't have any ambitions you're pursuing in Manhattan. Or any family here. You're not going to college here. You didn't even move here the year after high school, right?"

The more she spoke, the less sense Regan made to her.

Regan grew up in a wealthy family in Massachusetts, with everything she could possibly want available at her fingertips. And she'd just decided to move to Manhattan at nineteen, with no academic or career pursuits? She'd decided to move to one of the most expensive places in the country, away from her family, to work at… Topped Off?

Regan turned to look back at her, and – for once – she didn't have a quick, enthusiastic, glib response. Her full lips were quirked to the side, and there was the slightest crinkle between her eyebrows before she answered, "Sutton lived here."

Her words were thoughtfully spoken but didn't explain anything to Emma. If anything, they incited more confusion.

Incredulously, she turned to stare at Regan as they turned into a new aisle. And because she was so focused, she didn't even realize she'd bumped into someone else's cart until after the damage was done.

Jarred back into the moment, the apology was already falling from her lips, "I'm so sorry, I didn't–"

Abruptly, the words fell away as she realized exactly who she'd run into.

Felicity Hammond. Whose eyebrows lifted just as high as Emma's were on her own forehead, clearly surprised. "Emma. Hey."

"Uh… hey," she returned, shifting uncomfortably.

She hadn't seen Felicity in over two years. Not since she'd accepted a position for a doctoral program in Oregon and had then promptly broken up with Emma after having been together for five freaking years. After planning a future together, one they'd intended to really start after Emma finished grad school.

"Hey," Regan inserted herself into the moment, and Emma wasn't sure if she was more annoyed by that fact or grateful for it. "Sorry we bumped into you."

"It's – it's fine," Felicity cleared her throat, looking from Emma to Regan. "Not a big deal." Her gaze slid back to Emma. "I'm surprised to see you here. Far from your own neighborhood…?" She trailed off, obviously waiting for an answer.

Emma shook herself out of it, gripping the carriage handle to center herself. "Yeah. This is my neighborhood now. I'm surprised to see you here since this is far from your neighborhood. In Portland."

She'd been determined not to show Felicity just how deeply cut she'd been by their breakup and, thus, had continued to follow her on all social media. Her lack of knowledge about Felicity's comings-and-goings in the last two years boiled down entirely to Emma's self-control at not looking at Felicity's socials.

It hadn't been easy that first year. But she'd done it. And, as her gaze meandered to Regan's profile before snapping back to Felicity, she resolutely didn't ever think about the coping mechanism she'd employed in those first few months.

Felicity smiled slightly, breathing out a chuckle. "I'm back for a few weeks to visit. Staying with my sister, so…"

Ah. Emma nodded. Of course, she remembered that Felicity's sister lived only four blocks away. She tapped her thumbs slightly against the handle, wondering what the hell was appropriate to say when you ran into the woman who broke your heart, accompanied by the roommate you only ended up living with because that plan for the future hadn't come to fruition.

A situation that was only made more complicated by how much she didn't want said roommate to ever be privy to this part of her life.

"Sisters, right?" Regan jumped in, looking between the two of them.

Looking, much to Emma's chagrin, entirely too interested in this awkward interaction.

Felicity nodded, giving a small, suspicious smile in Regan's direction. "Yeah, right." Her attention landed back on Emma. "Speaking of sisters, I should probably get back to Jan's."

"Yeah, you probably should," Emma agreed, curtly.

"My sister totally hates it when I run late," Regan added.

The reminder that Regan was there made Emma grip the handles of the carriage even tighter, and she started to walk blindly ahead. It didn't matter which aisle she went down, as long as it wasn't this one. Not only was seeing Felicity again at the bottom of her wishlist, but having that experience with Regan?

A nightmare.

"Maybe I'll see you around while I'm in town," Felicity added as they passed by one another.

Emma couldn't help but look at her despite her previous resolve to move staunchly ahead. "I doubt it," she returned.

Within the first few steps she took, she heard Regan let out a low whistle. "Oh my god , that was stone cold. I love it; it's really nice to see that part of your personality isn't strictly reserved for me."

Embarrassed irritation heating the back of her neck, Emma grit her teeth and didn't acknowledge that. "I need to grab bread. Why don't you go down the next few aisles yourself and meet me in the back?" She firmly suggested.

As she'd unfortunately predicted, Regan's hurried footsteps kept pace a step behind her. And with every step she took, she could feel Regan's stare boring into her.

It only made her will to ignore it even stronger.

"Sooo," Regan drew out, amusement gratingly clear in her tone. "Who the hell was that?!"

"No one. Never seen her before a day in my life," Emma dryly answered.

Regan huffed out a laugh. "Emma, the vibes were vibing . Hard. I'm not an idiot."

This time, Emma did turn to aim a pointed stare at Regan, arching her eyebrow.

Regan tossed her head back and laughed, reaching out to lightly push at Emma's shoulder. As if they were friends. "If you aren't going to tell me, I'm going to have to guess."

"You making conjectures about random people in the supermarket is your own business."

Regan hummed, the sound still entirely too entertained. Emma swore she could practically feel Regan skipping with glee.

Emma worked hard to maintain boundaries between all aspects of her life, and the Felicity part did not mesh with the Regan part. It went against everything inside of Emma. Those were two worlds that she liked to keep very separate in her mind.

"Well, my first guess is that this was some sort of Pretty Woman situation. You picked her up – oh, wait. No. I think she's a little older than you are. So, scratch that. She picked you up, and you two engaged in a torrid affair. Before things ended miserably because her shitty coworker hit on you." Regan paused, tilting her head up in thought before she shook it. "Nah, that one isn't really working for me."

"Really? It sounded very plausible to me."

"Okay! What about Notting Hill ? You were at work one day, years ago. Just a normal gal, living your life. She's a celebrity…" Regan trailed off, shaking her head again. "Nope, that one doesn't work, either."

"And why is that?" Emma regretted that she'd asked the second the words left her mouth. It was like adding fuel to a gas fire.

Regan stared at her, incredulous. "Because if she was a celebrity, I would know who she is. Obviously. I was raised on tabloids. Celeb gossip is one of my favorite subjects."

"Right. That's what makes that plot impossible."

"Yup," Regan popped the p sound. "Oh! Okay – what about The Proposal ?"

"You gave up on Julia Roberts plots so quickly," Emma remarked, steering the cart toward the very back of the store, where the freshly-baked bread was.

"You're not giving Julia right now." Regan studied her critically. "I guess you would have been Hugh Grant in that scenario. Either way–"

"Oh my god ." The words burst from Emma's throat with a groan. "If I give you the most basic of information, can we stop with the movies?"

The satisfied smile on Regan's face told Emma that this had been exactly her plan all along. Emma hated that she was impressed. Or, if not impressed, she could somewhat appreciate that Regan had known she was being a shit, at the very least.

"Her name is Felicity. We were together. We broke up."

The six-word overview of her only real relationship felt like so little, like it wasn't nearly enough to describe what had transpired between them.

But it was also all she was willing to give Regan. Plus, brevity was the soul of wit and all that.

Regan gasped so loudly, so dramatically, Emma jumped. "You're into women?!"

"Keep your voice down ," she hissed, looking over her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was for Regan's shout to carry and actually reach Felicity.

"Well, sorry!" Regan's tone and expression were anything but. She, thankfully, lowered her volume as she whisper-shouted, "I just – we've known each other for two years! How did I not know this information?"

"Probably because you know very little about me," she succinctly summed up.

"And whose fault is that?" Regan needled, tapping her finger insistently on Emma's shoulder.

Emma cut her a glare.

"Does Sutton know?" Regan asked, dropping her hand back to her side, tilting her head in thought. "Because she never mentioned it to me, either."

"No," Emma clarified. "Because Sutton never pries for information, and it was never relevant to bring up."

"Not relevant?!" Regan cried out, making Emma wince at the volume yet again as she tossed her arms into the air. "Sutton – your friend – went through her own sexual awakening crisis last year, and you said absolutely nothing! Nada! Zilch!"

"Her sexual awakening wasn't about me," Emma pointed out, baffled as to how that was relevant. "And I never went through any sort of crisis, so I don't really think our experiences were comparable."

And the truth was that Sutton never asked Emma for advice or expressed that she was actually in crisis , as Regan proclaimed. Sutton had talked to Emma about her burgeoning sexuality, but it had always felt to Emma that Sutton had appreciated Emma merely lending an ear rather than commentary. Which she was clearly getting from Regan.

Regan stared, clearly dumbfounded. "You are so… weird."

And Emma simply could not control how her mouth fell open in disbelief. "Pot calling the kettle black, in a major sort of way."

Regan was unrepentant. "Yeah, but at least I own it!" She jabbed herself in the chest with her thumb before doing the same to Emma. "You think you're normal!"

Good. God.

She reached out and grabbed her favorite sandwich rolls before turning on her heel. "On that note, I'm going to peruse the store at a normal pace. Less focus on me and more on grocery shopping, because we've had more than enough sharing time today."