“Uh, I don’t think so.” Grace looked sad. “But, hey, I know I’m not as talented as Emory, but I can help a little. We can also stop by the library and see if they have any books about drawing and painting. That could be fun, right?”
Grace smiled, giving in. “Yeah. We could see what they have.”
Emory. It had been a full week since they’d parted ways at the Banning Street house. She’d wondered if Emory would call, hoping secretly that she would. She thought about calling herself but didn’t quite know what she’d say. Hi, Emory, have you thought about that kiss as much as I have? Sarah rolled her eyes at herself. Emory was a gorgeous, successful woman who was quite comfortable with her sexuality. Sarah, and the moment they’d shared, was probably a fleeting blip on her radar and one it was clear she’d regretted as soon as it was over. She probably hadn’t thought about Sarah since. No, it was better to push the memory of Emory aside and focus on the here and now. Emory surely wasn’t dwelling on it; why should she?
The situation did beg her to ask some difficult questions of herself, however. It was time she took a good hard look in the mirror. She was attracted to Emory; she knew that much. But did that mean she was gay? She wasn’t denying the possibility, but she’d never noticed an attraction to women before. But then again, when she thought about it, she’d never actually noticed an overwhelming attraction to men either. She could definitely tell you if she found a man good-looking, as she did James, but did that mean she was attracted to him? Sarah was beginning to understand that there might be an important difference. She liked James. He checked all the boxes. But he didn’t make her stomach flip-flop the way Emory did. She’d postponed her next date with James, feigning exhaustion, until she could understand things better. It seemed only fair.
Despite whatever had happened between them personally, Emory had given her the extra shove she needed to take Immaculate Home to the next level. She would be stupid not to take Emory up on her offer to help. It was up to her to make the best life for herself and for Grace. No one was going to do it for her.
*
“Trevor, did you confirm lunch with Veronica from Penino and Partners at one?” Emory stopped next to her assistant’s desk.
“Yes, she confirmed an hour ago, and you’re all set for your three o’clock with the developers after that. They have new art they want to run by you, and legal wants to touch base at four forty-five about the new language in the proprietary agreements.”
“Damn it, I don’t have time for legal today. I’m going to be here until midnight tonight as is. See if you can make some time for them tomorrow morning or ask Lucy to meet with them if she has a break in her schedule.”
“Will do.”
“Also, Trev, make sure the Nashville office is back online. They were having uplink issues with their satellites, and Chicago had to transmit all their releases. If they’re not back, let me know so I can rip someone in IT.”
It was all Emory could do to not slam the door to her office. Things were beyond hectic and didn’t show any sign of letting up. The “to address” pile on her desk was only growing, and she’d like to punch herself in the face for volunteering to be on the committee for the Women’s Health Initiative fundraising dinner. It would have been so much easier to just write a check. She dropped into her executive chair and swiveled around to face her monitor. Lots of new e-mails had flooded her inbox in the short time she’d stepped away from her desk, and after a few well-placed curse words, she decided it was best to just dive in.
She scanned the list of bold subject lines with a sigh. She deleted many without reading them, filed others into the appropriate action folders, and typed short and to the point responses to the questions being asked of her internally. The last e-mail snagged her undivided attention, however, and when she read it, the world slowed down for her as if on cue.
Dear Ms. Owen,
Attached is the company profile you requested. Immaculate Home would very much like to take you up on your offer and put out a press release about our (fingers crossed) expansion. Just as soon as I get the go-ahead from management, I’d like to discuss the details of the release with you.
Best Regards,
Sarah Matamoros
Emory stared at the screen, her thoughts now free of the work chaos and stress she’d felt just moments earlier. Instead, they were right back in the entryway of her mother’s house where she’d last seen Sarah. Correction, kissed Sarah. Sarah, whose enjoyment in the simplest of things was so utterly disarming. Sarah, who saw past all of Emory’s bullshit bravado to just…her. Sarah, who had the most kissable lips she’d ever encountered.
This was dangerous territory. She was attracted to Sarah. Of course she was, but it wouldn’t be wise to let anything come of that attraction. Sarah was warm, wholesome, and sweet—pretty much everything she wasn’t. Anything further would just be a bad idea.
But she had to admit that she was proud of Sarah for following through and taking the much-needed step forward, despite the boundaries she’d stepped over the last time she’d seen her. Emory was confident she could get that little company some attention, maybe even a feature story in some of the smaller papers. She would handle this client personally. She owed her one.
*
It was after nine p.m. and Sarah settled onto the sofa, exhausted and content from a day at the zoo with Grace. It was the end of their week together, and Sarah would be going back to work at Immaculate Home the following Monday. She’d just tucked Grace into bed, and it wasn’t five minutes before she heard the rhythmic, even breathing indicating she was already fast asleep. She gave Grace one last look as she lay in the glow of her Harry Potter nightlight. As it should be, she thought, smiling to herself as she made her way to the living room.
The week had been an active one, and Sarah sent a silent thank-you to the heavens for Grace’s continued good health. They’d only had to cut the day short once, and Sarah had been proud of Grace for speaking up about her fatigue. It had been eight weeks since the initial diagnosis, and Sarah was finally starting to trust Grace and the doctors. With careful attention, things were going to be okay. They really were.
She grabbed the remote from her coffee table and set out to find a decent movie on TV to veg out to. She was jazzed to run into one of her favorite movies of all time, You’ve Got Mail. She snuggled up on the couch, eager to settle in to all the film’s goodness. But the activity of the day had definitely taken its toll, as twenty minutes later, her eyelids felt like they were weighted down with tiny sandbags and she struggled to keep them open. Just as she gave up the fight, surrendering to the onslaught of slumber, a distinct buzzing sound awakened her from across the room.
“Damn it, Carmen,” she muttered irritably as she crossed the room, searching through the overflowing bag for her stupid phone. “This better be good.” She glanced down at the phone’s readout, blinking several time to find her focus.
“Taken the plunge and talked to the boss yet?” the text message read.
What was she talking about—the boss? She carried the phone back with her to the sofa, racking her brain for understanding. It was as she began to type back her confused and somewhat annoyed response that the sender’s name snagged her attention. Emory Owen. She stood and walked the length of her small living room, immediately awake. Her heart rate accelerated at the thought of talking to Emory again, and she was grinning at the phone as she typed.