When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

10. Emmy

Chapter 10

Emmy

S liding into the passenger seat of Patrick’s car, the small space brings us uncomfortably close. The interior is neat and clean, and he glances at his watch, his jaw flexing slightly, no doubt impatient to get this over with.

“I don’t want to do this any more than you do,” I tell him quietly, meeting his gaze squarely. Those eyes. They’re paler than I remembered them being last night, a light denim blue, stark against his tanned skin and dark hair.

He nods, his sharp jawline and defined cheekbones catching the light, casting shadows over his strong features, over the butterfly strip across the small laceration from where I hit him. Even though his car is modest, he sits confidently, carrying himself with an ease that suggests he couldn’t give a damn about what anyone thinks of him, let alone what he drives.

I swallow, my mouth dry. “I’m here to do my job,” I add. “And I’ll stay out of your way.”

He gives another curt nod, his expression softening just a bit. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just... busy. Look, I know our first introduction didn’t go very well, and I need to say sorry. Seeing you this morning helping Granny Sloane—it’s pretty clear she needs you. It’s hard for me to accept that, but I’m working on it.”

A subtle scent lingers around him, an alluring mix of citrus and wood, while underneath it, there’s a hint of sweat and musk, a strong, masculine smell that has my heart racing just a little. “Thanks for saying that. I appreciate it.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Every feature seems perfectly crafted, giving him an almost unreal appearance, and I quickly glance out the window, afraid of what my gaze might give away. Silence fills the inside of the car and I seriously consider offering to walk again, maybe give us both an easy out, but before I can speak, he surprises me. Again.

“I really am happy to take you.”

A glance in his direction—there’s nothing but sincerity on his handsome face. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Thank you.”

The engine comes to life and as he releases the hand brake, his hand accidentally brushes against the outside of my thigh, sending a surge of heat through me, startling in its intensity.

“So, what happened to your car?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his gaze briefly raking over me.

Swallowing hard, trying to pretend his presence has no impact on me whatsoever. “It broke down just as I got to town. It’s at Jimmy’s now. Mike, who works there, was super nice about helping me. He brought me to your mother’s place and even offered to work out a payment plan.”

“Mike’s a good guy. He’s one of my closest friends,” he replies. “We volunteer in a disaster relief group together and went to school together.”

“Disaster relief group?”

He keeps his eyes on the pretty street ahead, lined with neat gardens and old trees that hang over the center of the road, providing a canopy of yellow and gold .

“It’s just a group of friends who help wherever needed. There are others who volunteer, too, but there’s a core group of six of us.”

His shields have gone up again, and it’s clear this isn’t a topic he wants to spend much time on. Thankfully, we arrive on Main Street, the conversation coming to a natural end, and he finds a parking spot close to where Betty broke down. As we get out of the car, the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries wafts out onto the street.

“This is my favorite place to get coffee in town.” He holds the door open for me to the Sweet Current Bakery. “The owners, Tom and Alex, are really nice guys.”

Walking past him into the cozy warmth of the bakery, my shoulder brushes the firm expanse of his chest. I’m hyper aware of him behind me as we walk to the display cases filled with rows of cookies, tarts, cakes and other sweet treats, while behind the counter stand two men, chatting with customers.

We wait in line and one of the guys, handsome with a close cropped afro and a wide smile, looks up and smiles broadly when he sees us.

“Patrick my man! It’s been too long.”

“This is Tom Harrison.” A genuine smile transforms Patrick’s face. “And his husband, Alex Greene. They own Sweet Current.”

“Who is this gorgeous woman you’ve brought to see us?” Alex asks, already turning to the coffee machine. “And what is she drinking?”

“Emmy Brooks,” I reply, grinning. I like the two of them instantly. “And I’ll take a matcha latte if it’s available. With oat milk. And one of those strawberry tarts. Make it two. I bet Granny Sloane would love one, too.”

“Good choice,” replies Alex. He’s blond and slighter than Tom, but with clean-cut appeal and a welcoming smile.

Patrick and I find a small table against the wall of the busy bakery, tucked away from the main flow of customers but still within the warm, inviting atmosphere. As we sit, glances are thrown our way, no doubt curious about the new face with Patrick, but it’s easy to block them out.

Patrick has my full attention. His knee presses against my leg under the table, a point of contact he makes no effort to shift, the warmth and solidness of him heightening the already charged atmosphere between us. I don’t think it’s all in my head, especially when Patrick glances at my mouth, his gaze lingering for just a second too long.

We fall into surprisingly easy banter and Patrick’s wit surprises me, his humor sharp and a little self-deprecating. There’s also a brokenness inside him that I recognize, a touch of vulnerability that makes me want to get to know him, to see if we really are the same.

I ask him about the disaster relief group, despite his previous reluctance, and he tells me the group is called the Valiant Hearts. After a bit of prodding, he tells a story about a friend of his named Ethan, the same one his little brother went to work with that morning.

The misadventure involved a pretty waitress who needed rescuing during a flood, and a naked streak by Ethan who got sidetracked until the floodwaters rose too high and the rest of the boys had to pull the two of them to safety. He has me laughing harder than I have in a long time.

“Sounds like you’re always in the thick of it.”

“Only when I’m not being a notorious intruder in my own home,” he shoots back, a hint of a smile on his soft mouth. “So you’re going to enter the Harbor’s Edge Pageant? My money is on you for the win.”

The cold is back, poison swirling through my blood, spreading down my limbs, pressure expanding inside my chest. “No, I definitely won’t be entering the pageant.”

“I’m not sure Nora will accept no for an answer.”

My lips press together—I’m struggling to come up with a reason that isn’t an outright lie—and his expression is concerned, but before he can press me, Alex arrives, carrying our drinks and pastries on a round black tray.

He looks at Patrick with a serious expression. “Did you see the weather warning this morning? There’s a hurricane forming, projected to hit the east coast in a few days. Rumor is that the mayor will release an update tomorrow, but people are expecting an evacuation.”

Patrick swears under his breath, and glances at his watch, brow furrowing. “Thanks. I hadn’t caught that yet.”

“No problem. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Have a good day, both of you.”

Patrick turns to me, apologetic. “I’m really sorry, but I need to cut this short. I have to make some calls, get some things in motion before I head to work.” His tone is genuinely regretful, and it tugs at something inside me.

I nod, trying to mask my disappointment with a smile. “It’s okay, I understand. Duty calls, right?”

The air between us has shifted. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head, the worry in the lines that have appeared on his brow.

“Let me drive you home, at least,” he offers.

His knee is still pressed against my leg. Some physical distance between us is probably a good idea. “I’ll walk. It’s not far, and I still need to finish my matcha.”

Patrick nods, draining the last of his coffee. “I’ll see you later, then. No fry pans, okay?”

And then he’s gone.

I eat the rest of my strawberry tart and sip my matcha, my thoughts racing about Patrick and how I’m going to manage my attraction to him. Because it can’t go anywhere. Not now and not ever.

My best friend Marissa is back in Philadelphia, and a sudden urge to call her hits me. But there’s been some distance between us since everything that happened with Travis and Maddy, and even as I pull my phone out, I hesitate.

She’s friends with both of them, too, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that she’s siding with them. That me running away from Philadelphia has been spun somehow as an admission of guilt or complicity in the whole thing. She didn’t come to see me before I left for Harbor’s Edge, and she hasn’t checked in with me at all since I broke the news about Maddy and Travis.

Alex returns to take my empty plate and pauses beside the table. “It’s so good to see Patrick out on a date. He really does work too hard.”

“Oh,” I reply quickly, putting my phone away. “We’re not on a date. I’m working for his family.”

He gives me a knowing smile that makes me squirm in my seat like I’m back in high school and someone just told me Chad Portone is going to ask me to the prom. Suddenly, I’m scrambling for something else to say.

“So, you said a hurricane is on its way? Would we get hit here ? There are barrier islands, right? Do they offer any protection?” I think of the narrow strip of islands on the other side of Little Egg Harbor.

“That’s right, there are barrier islands, but if the hurricane makes landfall near us, we could be in for a pretty rough time of it. Do you remember Hurricane Sandy?”

The images of flooded streets and torn roofs from the news are still vivid in my mind. “Yes, I remember seeing the destruction on TV. It was awful.”

He shakes his head, his eyes reflecting a personal connection to the memories. “It was bad here. Lots of flooding, homes damaged,” he explains, lowering his voice. “This area took a real hit. There are going to be a lot of big emotions about this. Especially with the Founder’s Day Festival just around the corner.”

His words bring a gravity to the situation that I hadn’t fully grasped before. The playful, almost flirty atmosphere between Patrick and me fades into the background, replaced by the potential disaster looming over this charming coastal town.

My plan to call Marissa and talk about Patrick suddenly seems trivial, even foolish. And what would I even say to her? Anything I said about Patrick would go straight to Maddy and maybe even my mother, and then I’d just be accused of stirring up more trouble. He’s Ruby’s son, Granny Sloan’s grandson…

I stand, pulling myself together as I reach for my purse. “Can I have the check, Alex? And I’ll take the other strawberry tart to go for Granny Sloane.”

Alex waves me off with a smile as he produces a paper bag from his apron, before tipping the tart gently into the bag. “No need. Patrick took care of the check already.”

Surprised, and a little touched, I thank him and walk through the bakery, the paper bag clutched in one hand, feeling fresh stares as I thread my way around tables. Before I get to the door, a woman stands from her table, stepping into my path. She’s with three other ladies, all in their fifties and sixties, and they stare at me.

The woman blocking my path doesn’t move, instead extending her hand when I get close enough. Her gray-streaked blond hair is offset by colorful, dangly earrings, and her eyes—keen and probing—fix on me intently.

We shake, her grip surprisingly strong. “Hello, dear. I’m Dorothy McLellan, but everyone calls me Dot. I couldn’t help but notice you’re new around here. How do you know Patrick O’Connor?” Her tone is casual, but the undercurrent of curiosity is unmistakable.

The other three ladies lean in slightly as I release Dot’s hand. “Oh, I’m Emmy Brooks. I’m working with Patrick’s family.”

Dot’s eyes light up, and she nods enthusiastically, her earrings swinging. “Welcome! How long will you be staying with us? Are you from one of the towns around here?” The questions spill out, one after the other .

“No, I’m not from around here,” I reply, shifting the bag in my hands and offering another smile. “And I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.” I glance at the door, hoping my polite smile is enough to excuse me without seeming rude.

Dot nods understandingly. “Well, Emmy, welcome to Harbor’s Edge. We’re a small town, but there’s always something happening. Don’t be a stranger!”

She pulls me into a surprising hug, her strong rose perfume overwhelming, her busty chest pressed against me, before finally stepping aside. It’s a relief to get outside, even though Dot was sweet and welcoming.

Walking along the busy boardwalk, my thoughts return to the news Alex delivered alongside our hot drinks. To my right, the harbor stretches out, the water shimmering, sparkling like tiny diamonds float on its surface. Its beauty hides a threat that could soon turn the peaceful scene into one of those haunting images from the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy.

My thoughts drift to Patrick and the seriousness with which he took the news—his responsibilities here are more than I’d realized. The cool breeze off the water feels ominous, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling suddenly very small and very alone in the face of what might be coming.