When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

23. Emmy

Chapter 23

Emmy

W aking is a lazy endeavor, my eyes fluttering open, morning light filtering through the curtains, everything touched in gold. A finger pressed to my lips, touching the place his lips met mine, a smile spreading across my face as memories of last night flood back.

Patrick . A warm, fluttery sensation tingles through my chest.

For a few blissful minutes, I just lie there, checking in with my body, savoring the slightly raw feeling between my legs, the heat still pulsing there, the pleasant ache in my muscles. The secret of our night together makes me feel like I could burst.

It’s a happiness that’s almost foreign, a giddiness. Patrick was different—so different from Travis or any of my past boyfriends. With Travis and the others, everything always felt rushed, like they were ticking boxes on some unseen checklist, racing to their own finish line.

Last night with Patrick was nothing like that. He alternated between tender, attentive, and ragged desperation, like he couldn’t get his fill of me, wild and wanting as he devoured every part of my body.

My awareness shifts to outside the room. Patrick is showering and the water shuts off. He’s whistling a cheerful tune, and I throw back the covers and step out of bed, the floor cool under my feet.

We pass one another in the hallway. He’s naked except for the ruby red towel wrapped around his waist, his broadness, the hardness of his torso, gleaming with droplets of water that cling. The set of his wide shoulders taper down to well-chiseled abs, that perfect v shape, each muscle defined and accentuated by the hall light.

Our eyes lock, and after a quick glance around to make sure we’re alone, his greedy mouth captures mine in a swift, passionate kiss, him pressing me against the wall, the bulk of his muscle holding me in place. Dark wet hair falling over his face, seeking hands that wrap around me, bringing me to life. It’s brief but electric, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispers, breath hot on my cheek, hand skimming the front of my thighs, a finger sliding up under my pajama shorts, tracing the edge of the lace between my legs, teasing.

“Morning,” I reply, using all my willpower not to drag him into the shower with me.

He winks and walks away, leaving me to stare after him before I step into the shower, the secret promises between us lingering, the way we seemed to fit so perfectly together making me want him all over again. In this moment, I could almost believe that we’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing, that something that feels this right couldn’t possibly be wrong.

Showering quickly, the water refreshing me and washing away the salt on my skin, the scent of him. Stepping out and drying off, I dress, already smelling something delicious wafting from the kitchen.

Patrick is at the stove, still whistling and making pancakes with a practiced ease, while Granny Sloane sits at the table, reading the morning paper. The sight of Patrick, so happy and domestic, makes my stomach flip.

Nora arrives while he’s still cooking, her blond curly hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, a stack of mail in her hands. She takes one look at Patrick and raises an eyebrow. “What’s put you in such a good mood?”

Granny Sloane glances up from her paper. “Yes, Patrick, you seem unusually chipper this morning.”

Patrick’s whistle dies on his lips, but he turns to them, still smiling, his eyes flickering briefly to me before he answers. “Just a good morning, I guess. We got most of the sandbagging done along the waterfront. I’m feeling confident about this hurricane.”

Nora narrows her eyes playfully. “Uh-huh. Sure. I’ve never seen you this happy at breakfast. You are not a morning person.”

I try to hide my smile, focusing on setting the table while Patrick serves out the pancakes.

“Any updates on the hurricane?” Nora asks as she douses her plate with syrup before passing the bottle to Patrick.

“It’s expected to make landfall over Cape May.” Patrick pours syrup over his own stack. “It’ll weaken as it moves across the land, but the big threat is going to be flooding and storm surges. I think we’ve prepared ourselves pretty well, though. The mayor is happy with our progress.”

I can’t not watch him as he talks, the way his muscles flex under his shirt as he moves, his thick dark hair tousled, falling over his eyes, making me want to reach across the table and brush it off his face. The way his voice carries a reassuring calm despite the looming danger.

He’s always in control, always ready to handle whatever comes his way. It’s both comforting and disconcerting, especially when I think about what a hot mess I am most of the time.

As everyone digs into breakfast, Patrick reaches over and grabs his mail from the counter, envelopes tearing. A frown forms as he reads a letter, his mood shifting almost instantly. The ease and warmth in his eyes disappears, and he scrapes his plate clean without looking at any of us.

“Excuse me.”

“Everything okay?” Nora asks midchew, her eyes on her brother.

“All good.” He stands, the set of his jaw hard, the mail in one hand as he heads for his room. The door closes behind him with a definitive thud, and the cheerful atmosphere from moments ago feels like a distant memory, my chest tightening a little.

“Good to see he’s back to his old self,” Nora says. “I was starting to worry he was on drugs or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” Granny Sloane says in a low voice. “Patrick would never do anything half as fun as trying drugs.”

Nora snorts as she stifles her laugh, and I’m smiling too—I can’t take his bad mood personally. It’s not like I’m his girlfriend or anything. We both have plenty of other things to focus on.

Whatever’s bothering Patrick, he’ll handle it. And I need to focus on the job I’ve been hired to do. The hurricane will hit tomorrow and there’s still plenty of work left, including making sure Granny Sloane and her home are as ready as they can be, even if my heart—or maybe just my hormones—are pulling me in a different direction.

After breakfast, I help Granny Sloane with her exercises. We work through the routine slowly, her grumbling only half-hearted. She’s stubborn, but I know she appreciates the help, even if she won’t admit it outright.

“You’re doing great!” I smile encouragingly as she finishes a set of leg lifts.

She gives me a begrudging look. “Well, you don’t really give me much choice in the matter.”

The front door slams and we exchange a glance. Patrick must have just left.

Once we’re done, we head back to the kitchen to check on the food and water supplies, Granny Sloane with her walker. Nora is still there, finishing up the last of her coffee.

“Emmy, do you have time to nip into town and help reinforce the sandbags around the gallery?” she asks as I check the pantry. “We could use an extra pair of hands.”

Granny Sloane waves me off before I can even ask. “I’m fine here, Emmy. You should go and help. We’re all going to be trapped here together while the hurricane hits, so a bit of space now is a good idea so we don’t drive each other up the wall.”

The pantry is well stocked and there’s plenty of water, and Granny Sloane has extra of all of her medication—no doubt Patrick’s doing. Hesitating for a moment, but Granny Sloane’s insistence makes the decision easy.

“Okay, I’ll go. Just let me grab something first.”

In my room, I kneel down in front of the cupboard and pull out the gift I picked up yesterday in town, hoping Granny Sloane will accept it. Back in the kitchen, I stop beside Granny Sloane and set it on the table in front of her.

“What’s this?” She raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a cell phone. It’s just a basic model, but it’s important that you can reach emergency services, or even me if I’m helping around town, especially if you’re home alone or during the hurricane and you can’t get to your landline.”

Granny Sloane’s expression softens slightly, but she shakes her head. “I don’t need one of these gadgets.”

“Please, just keep it with you. You don’t have to use it all the time, but it’s important for emergencies.”

She looks at the cell in its box for a moment before finally relenting. “Fine, but I won’t be sending SnapChats or joining any of those awful swiping dating apps.”

Nora and I both laugh. “That’s okay. Just having it with you is enough. I already charged it for you, so it’s ready to go. It just needs a sim card. I’ve already saved all the important phone numbers for you.”

Granny Sloane gives a thin-lipped smile, which is practically equivalent to a grin for her, and she opens the box before I help her put in the sim card. She reaches out and squeezes my hand, a silent thanks, before I leave with Nora.