Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

12. Emmett

12

emmett

Maddie: Pics or it didn’t happen.

I roll my eyes at the text from my sister, but quickly reply with a full-length picture of me in tonight’s outfit.

I can’t be mad at Maddie’s interest in what I’m wearing. This is the consequence of my actions. I’m the one who texted her earlier today, asking what someone would wear to a five-star seafood restaurant. She wanted to know why I needed to know. I said it was none of her business. After a slew of messages going back and forth, she declared that I had a date and she wasn’t going to be convinced of anything else.

I didn’t correct her.

In my defense, I was desperate. So desperate I not only recruited Maddie for fashion advice, I actually went to a men’s store, where I bought three button-down shirts, four pairs of dress pants, two ties, a suit jacket, shoes, and a vest. Maybe more. I was scared to check the bags.

I don’t know how it happened. One second I was asking my salesman, Javier, to help me find a simple white shirt and black pants for my dinner tonight with Stella. I think Javier put something in the cucumber water he gave me, because the next thing I know, I’m staring at a total I’ve never seen at a clothing store in my life.

I don’t wear dress clothes. I’m a jeans and T-shirts guy to my core. In the fall and winter it’s flannels. My “nice” clothes that I brought for this trip are a white short-sleeve button-down and a pair of khaki shorts. And even if I were at home, the options I’d have for date clothes would be skimp. I don’t date, therefore I don’t have date clothes.

Except apparently tonight I do date. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

And that is what I said.

Though I didn’t mean it. Not like that, anyway. It just slipped out.

This isn’t a date. This is a friend wanting to help another friend. A guy wanting to give a girl a nice night out. A man not wanting a woman to feel self-conscious eating alone at a restaurant.

That’s what I’m playing on repeat in my head. Because if that loop stops for even a second then I’m going to think this is a date.

And it’s not. It can’t be.

This is Simon Banks’s sister. The little sister of my boss and best friend. Then there’s that whole fact that she’s at least a decade younger than me. I’m sure there are more reasons why this can’t be a date, but those three are strong enough for me to take hold of.

Maddie: Looking good, big brother. Have fun on your date!

Emmett: Not a date.

Maddie: Then what is it?

Emmett: Dinner.

Maddie: With a woman?

Emmett: None of your business.

Maddie: That’s all the answer I need Have fun!

“Pain in the ass,” I groan as I pocket my phone. I grab my wallet, put on my watch, and give myself a spray of cologne. I’m usually not a big cologne guy but Javier gave it to me today and said it was a gift with purchase.

I think he just felt bad for drugging me.

A few minutes later I take the short walk from the beach house I’m staying at and knock on Stella’s door. I fidget for a second, pushing my hands in my pockets, before taking them out and playing with the new watch. I’m about to start messing with the buttons on my cuffs when I hear the door open.

I think I stop breathing. I don’t mean to stare, but how can I not? Stella is standing in front of me looking like a god damn goddess.

She’s wearing a sparkly gold dress that should be illegal. The deep, low vee in the front is breaking the laws of physics. How is it covering what it needs to while tempting me in the most infuriating way? The sleeves are long but fitted to her toned arms. And the skirt? It’s so short I have to swallow a moan and will my cock to behave. As my eyes continue to travel down her tanned legs I see that she paired the outfit with a pair of stiletto heels that make my knees nearly give out.

There’s something about a woman in heels that has always done it for me. And Stella can fucking wear a pair of heels. How well? So well that I’m starting to say fuck the age gap and conveniently forget that she’s my best friend’s sister.

“Hi,” I remember to say.

Her smile is bright, and it’s just now I’m noticing the red lipstick she’s wearing.

Fuck me…

“Hi, yourself. I just need a few minutes. Come in.”

I do as she says, forcing myself to not stare as she turns her back to me to grab her purse. Fuck…is there a piece of her body that dress doesn’t hug perfectly?

I try to shake away every inappropriate thought that is running through my mind right now. Which includes, but is not limited to, Stella wearing nothing but those heels as her legs wrap around me. Or waking up in the morning and seeing that glittery dress in a pool at the foot of my bed.

“You clean up nice,” I hear Stella say.

“Thanks. You too.”

Thanks? You too? Fucking idiot…

“Ready?”

I nod and cough at the same time, needing to get my bearings back. “Ready.”

Ready to go to hell, that’s for sure.

“Congratulations!”

Applause erupts around us as a man slips an engagement ring on his brand-new fiancée’s finger.

Now I’m really glad I came here with Stella tonight. After what she told me about this restaurant, I can’t imagine how she’s feeling watching a couple get engaged two tables over from us.

“You okay?”

She nods, but considering her eyes are glued to her bowl of seafood linguini, I highly doubt she is.

“That’s how Duncan proposed.”

Fuck, I wasn’t expecting that.

“I mean, not here, but at a restaurant.” She pauses again before going on. I notice she does this a lot. Like she’s picking her words strategically. I don’t know if it’s because it’s hard to talk about her life before she became a runaway bride or because she wants to make sure she says the right thing. But no matter what, I’m not about to fill in the silence when the floor is hers. “ We were in Nashville. A steakhouse that he loved. It was where we had our first date.”

“I mean, I guess that’s romantic?”

Stella shakes her head and adds in an eye roll for good measure. “You’d think. But he knew I didn’t want it in public. We’d talked about it. One night we went to a hockey game and a guy proposed on the Jumbotron. Luckily, she said yes. I’d told Duncan that I didn’t want it like that. Too much pressure and I didn’t want to ugly cry in front of strangers.”

“So then he turned around and proposed to you in front of strangers? What a fucking putz.”

This makes her laugh. “Yes. Putz. That’s actually the perfect word to describe him. But it was okay in the end—the proposal that is.”

“Okay? Proposal’s shouldn’t just be ‘okay.’ Plus, he did it in a space you said you didn’t want. Did he even get you a decent engagement ring? I’d like to also go on record that if I ever see him again, I’m punching him square across the face. I’m not asking permission, and I’m sure as shit not going to ask for forgiveness.”

I don’t know why this is making me so angry, but out of all the things that I’ve heard about Duncan, this one is making my blood boil more than anything else he’s done to her.

Apparently my declaration of violent intent is the right thing to say as Stella’s hand reaches across the table and rests on top of mine. And the smile she gives me? I’ll tell her every day how I want to hurt him if she smiles at me like that.

“While I appreciate the hypothetical act of violence, it’s really okay. I didn’t ugly cry. I was ready.”

“Ready? Did you know he was proposing?”

“I did. I saw him put the ring in his pocket when we left for dinner. And even if I wouldn’t have seen that, he was being weird all day. Fidgety. I knew it was coming, so I could stave off the tears.”

I start to respond before Stella slams her hands on the table .

“No. No more Duncan talk. Not tonight. He’s not going to ruin this restaurant for me. And you know what? Enough about me. You. Let’s talk about you.”

I agree about the Duncan talk, but there has to be other subjects. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, we do. I feel like all we do is talk about me and talking about me always goes back to Duncan, and I’m not going to let him ruin this night. So, Emmett Collins, tell me something about yourself.”

“Um…” I’m suddenly unable to remember anything of interest about myself. “I work for your brother?”

Stella gives me a look that Maddie has given me many times. I don’t know what it means in their age demographic, but in mine it translates to “no shit, Sherlock.”

“I know that,” Stella says. “I know this isn’t a date, but what would you talk about or tell your date if this was one?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“How would you not know?”

“Because I don’t date.”

She stares at me like I have horns growing out of my head. “What do you mean ‘don’t date?’ I thought you were single?”

“I am.”

“But you don’t date?”

“That’s right.”

“How does that work?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“It’s not.”

“Okay. Then the answer is I just don’t.”

“At all?”

How do I tell her that my version of dating is picking up a woman’s bar tab and heading back to her place? “Not at all. I just…I have a very abbreviated version of dating.”

It takes her a second before I see the recognition in her eyes. “Oh…gotcha. ”

Stella doesn’t follow it up with anything else, but I can tell in her eyes that she wants to push. To ask more.

And for some reason, I want to tell her.

“Aren’t you curious as to why?”

She shakes her head, pauses, then tips it side to side. “No. Yes. No. It’s none of my business. If you want to tell me, great. I’d love to hear more. If not, I get it too.”

Stella isn’t the first woman to want to know about this part of me. Pretty much all of the women I’ve told this to have been curious for an explanation. For them, I usually give a variation of “it’s just not for me.” But with Stella? She gets the whole story. It only feels right.

“I didn’t exactly grow up with a good example of a loving relationship.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

I nod my head while taking a sip of my whiskey. “Yes. And if that was it I’d probably be okay. Except when my dad took off I never saw him again, and my mom decided to try and set the world record for marriages.”

“There’s a world record for that?”

“There is. Twenty-three.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a curious person,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “Plus, I made the joke once to Mom and she got very excited so I had to bring her down to Earth. She’s only at seven, though she is in Vegas right now, so eight could be happening as we speak.”

Stella’s jaw drops a little more with every word that comes out of my mouth. “Seven marriages?”

“Yup.”

“Wow,” Stella shakes her head a bit and takes a sip of her wine. I follow suit with another drink of my whiskey. “That’s something. Seven weddings and she never ran out of one?”

How I don’t spit my drink out at Stella’s comment I’ll never know.

“Did you really just say that? ”

She gives a coy look with a small shrug. “If you can’t make fun of yourself, who will?”

I hold my glass up. “To dark humor.”

She returns the gesture. “The best kind.”

“Thank you.”

I turn to Stella as we sit on a bench with a view of the beach, ice cream cones in hand. Or as Stella calls it, “sweet treats.”

“For what?”

“This. Tonight. Everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

She shakes her head. “No. I do. You didn’t have to do any of this. But you did. Hanging out with me. Dinner. This wasn’t on your itinerary for the week. Hell, you didn’t even want to stay. You don’t know how much this means to me, and I need to tell you thank you.”

I feel choked up when I finally get the words out. “You’re welcome. But truly, it’s been my pleasure.”

And it has. I know she assumes I had this grand itinerary for the week, which I didn’t. I brought golf clubs that I didn’t intend to use. I brought swim trunks that until Stella talked me into the beach I didn’t plan on wearing. My days would’ve consisted of working, inspecting the properties, and handling anything I’d need to before dinner at some sports bar or a spot off the beaten path.

Instead I’m enjoying fine dining with a beautiful woman and days ahead I’m actually looking forward to that don’t revolve around work. I really should be thanking her.

Because I don’t hate this. I don’t hate it one bit.

“I know you said you don’t date,” Stella says, her mouth half-full of her strawberry cheesecake ice cream. “But you should know, that if you did, you’d be really good at it.”

This makes me laugh. “Please don’t tell my sister that. ”

“How old is she?”

“About your age. The product of husband number three. If she found out that I’m apparently good at dating, she’ll have a field day with it.”

“There’s no apparently. You are.”

Not that I’m looking for compliments, but I’m genuinely curious how I am. Because as I quickly retrace the events of the night, nothing sticks out that should put me in the “good at dating” category.

“Can I ask how?”

“Just little things,” Stella begins, her eye line turning back toward the Gulf. “You opened my car door for me. Pulled out my seat at dinner. Let me order my own food. Bought ice cream.”

I have to blink a few times because she can’t be serious. Is the bar that low? I know Maddie has complained about the dating pool, but I didn’t realize it was this fucking bad.

“Stella.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m literally stunned. Did this asshole not put in any fucking effort?

“I know what you’re probably thinking.”

“What’s that?”

“That I’m a dumbass for staying with him.”

“Not in the slightest.”

She lets out a humorless laugh as she polishes off her sugar cone. “You should. I do.”

“Hey.” My quick word gets her attention. “I need you to stop beating yourself up. You were in love. You thought you were getting the life you wanted. You were going to get married. He hurt you and treated you badly. That’s on him. He’s an asshole. Don’t let his actions make you feel bad about yourself.”

Her chin falls, but I need her to hear one more thing. I take my fingers and tip it up, locking in with her beautiful blue eyes that I could easily stare at for hours and never get tired of.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that? ”

“I know you still need to process what he’s done. And you can do that. Be mad at him and be mad at the world. Grieve how you need to. But I need you to quit looking at this like it’s something you lost and instead start seeing all the things you’ve gained.”

I see the moment my words hit her right where I wanted them to. Something shifts in her eyes. Maybe it’s hope? A glimmer of positivity? Whatever it is, it makes my heart swell that I did that for her.

“I like that,” she says. “If we had a drink, I’d toast to the glass being half full.”

“We’ll save it for the next one.”

I slowly drop my fingers away, but miss the touch of her skin the second I do. I might not be touching her, but I’m still locked in her orbit. The moonlight is hitting her in the perfect way. There are a million stars in the sky, yet somehow Stella is shining the brightest.

I want to kiss her. Fuck, I want to kiss her more than I want my next breath. And by the look on her face, she wants it too. I know we’re both feeling the pull between us. I thought I felt it before, but chalked it up to circumstances. The only problem is you can only have so many circumstances before you realize it’s more than that.

It’s something. Something big.

Something that scares the hell out of me.