Prejudice Meets Pride (8 page)

With a sigh, Emma tossed the letter into the garbage and headed for the back door. She found Sam sitting on the top steps, watching the girls play.

“Hey girl,” Emma said, dropping down next to her.

“How did the interview go?” Sam asked, looking hopeful.

“Not that great,” Emma admitted. “I was way under qualified and couldn’t come close to pretending that I wasn’t. Speaking of which, have you ever heard of a program called Accent or Axis or something like that?”

“You mean Access?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Emma frowned. She couldn’t even remember the stupid name. “I guess that’s a pretty important program to know for the position. And I don’t know it.”

An expression of sympathy crossed Sam’s face. It was a look Emma was getting really sick of seeing on other people’s faces when they looked at her.

“Maybe we can find a YouTube video on it, and you can learn how to use the program that way?”

Emma waved her off. “You’re sweet, but no. I think I need to start looking for a different kind of job.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find something soon.”

“You’re too good to me,” Emma said with a wan smile, looking closer at the grass and dried, scattered grass blades on the concrete. “Did the lawn get mowed?”

Sam nodded, then laughed. “Kevin told me not to tell you. He said you’d never notice.”

Emma held back a groan. More than anything, she wanted to yell at him again and tell him to stop. But how could she do that when she was the one who’d told him he could? Although it would be nice not to worry about how her lawn would get cut, it drove her crazy that she couldn’t pay Kevin back. Or Becky, for all the dinners she’d brought over. Or Sam, for all the babysitting. This was getting out of control. Emma needed to find a job.

“I really wish I could pay you, Sam.” It was killing her that she couldn’t, but Sam couldn’t exactly take a credit card.

“I love watching them. It doesn’t feel like work at all. Someday I’ll let you repay me by giving me art lessons. Kajsa showed me some of the pictures you’ve painted. You’re amazing.”

Hope flared in Emma’s eyes. Finally, something she could do for someone else. “Sam, I’d love to give you lessons if you’re really interested. Tell you what, after you get settled into school next week and know what your schedule will be like, let’s talk and find a time that works.”

A broad smile spread across Sam’s face. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Emma.”

“Thank you, Sam.” The thought of giving back felt good. Really good. Emma hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that feeling lately and couldn’t wait to get started. The girls could even sit in on them as well. It would be fun. Definitely something to look forward to.

Sam said something about dinner before waving goodbye to the girls, but Emma was too lost in her thoughts to do more than wave back. She was already thinking about the lessons. They’d start off with some simple sketches, work up to charcoals and eventually pastels and water color. And when Sam was ready, Emma could even introduce her to oils. Idea after idea filled Emma’s mind as the girls pushed each other on an old swing hanging from a large elm tree.

Maybe it was time to get started on that fairy room for them. The boxes she’d shipped from Connecticut had finally arrived, and Emma had a bunch of leftover paint samples from a project she’d done in the summer. Maybe it would be enough for the room.

Emma stood and walked toward the girls. Adelynn was swinging while Kajsa pushed from behind. “Mind if I give it a try?” she asked Kajsa.

“Yay!” they both chimed, before arguing about whose turn it was to swing. When they finally ironed out a system—five minutes for Kajsa and five for Adelynn—they spent the next hour enjoying the warm, late afternoon air and the shade of the enormous tree. It was a magical time—one that made Emma feel as though life was good again. She didn’t want it to end.

A high-pitched shrill sounded from the house, and Emma spun around to see smoke billowing out of the open kitchen door. Her jaw dropped, not wanting to believe what she saw. Was her house on fire? Please no. It couldn’t be. Not on top of everything else.

When the incessant beeping of what sounded like a car alarm didn’t subside, Kevin left his marinated chicken on the counter and walked outside to investigate. The noise was coming from inside Emma’s house. What the—

The side gate flew open, banging against the fence that separated their yards, and Emma emerged, tugging Adelynn and Kajsa quickly along. Kevin rushed forward to meet them.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Emma looked at him with worried eyes. “I don’t know. There’s smoke coming from the kitchen. I think there might be a fire. Will you take the girls to Becky’s so I can find out what’s going on?”

Did she really think he’d let her walk inside a house that could be on fire? Kevin shook his head. “You take the girls. I’ll go find out.”

“But—”

“Emma, this is not a discussion. Go. Now.” The words came out sharp, but Kevin didn’t have time for an argument. He needed her to keep her mouth shut for once and accept his help without a fight.

Emma paused a moment then nodded. “C’mon girls, let’s go see Sam and Aunt Becky.”

For a moment, Kevin felt a pang of jealousy that Becky was now Aunt Becky, Samantha was Sam, and he was still the difficult and obnoxious next door neighbor that her little girls didn’t know at all. He pushed the feeling aside and headed toward the front door.

Tentatively, he touched the handle, ready to call the fire department if it felt hot. But it was cool to the touch, so he turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly. The front room was foggy with smoke, and a burnt smell permeated the air. But he felt no heat. Kevin waved the smoke away from his face, trying not to breathe it in as he made his way toward the kitchen, picking his way past toys and markers and scattered pictures. It didn’t take long to discover the source. The oven was set at 450 degrees, and inside was something that appeared to be a totally charred casserole. He quickly shut it off.

Who in their right mind would cook a casserole at that kind of heat? Had Emma never cooked before? He began opening windows, feeling grateful once again that she’d turned down his impromptu job offer. If she couldn’t remember she’d put a casserole in the oven, or hadn’t bothered with a timer, how would she possibly handle insurance claims? It would have been a nightmare.

Where was the girls’ father anyway? Emma wasn’t cut out to be a single mother. She’d never admit it, but she needed looking after. But maybe that’s why the father had left. Emma was so stubborn and prideful that she’d probably driven him away. She reminded Kevin of a child who had come into his office once with a nasty abscess. Even though the boy was in pain, and Kevin could make that pain go away, nothing Kevin could do or say would get that child to open his mouth. They finally had to call in an anesthesiologist to put him under.

“Oh wow, it smells horrible in here,” Emma said from the doorway, her nose wrinkled. “What happened?”

Kevin quickly opened the last window before pulling her back outside and away from the smoke. “Did you forget you put a casserole in the oven? At least, I think it was a casserole. And you should cook them at 350, not 450.”

“There was a casserole in my oven?” Emma frowned in confusion.

“You seriously don’t remember putting it there?” Kevin had a hard time believing that. No one could be that forgetful.

Emma glared. “I don’t remember putting it there, because I didn’t put it there.” Wrinkles appeared between her eyes before her expression cleared. “Oh, Sam must have done it. That’s probably what she was talking about when she left. I wasn’t paying attention. But I’m not sure why she would set the temperature so high. It must have been an accident. She’s incredibly responsible.”

The difference in their reactions wasn’t lost on Kevin. Where he’d been quick to cast judgment, Emma had chalked it up to an accident. Why hadn’t he done the same? Kevin understood what it was like to get distracted and do something without thinking, but instead of feeling empathy, he’d made the assumption that she was a scatter-brained, inexperienced cook who didn’t know the difference between a fire and an overdone meal. Kevin suddenly felt the need to make it up to her, or, at least, prove to himself that he’d broken away from the family mold and tried not to judge people. If only Emma didn’t make it so hard.

“What happened?” Becky’s voice called from across the street as she rushed toward them, arriving out of breath seconds later. “Is it a fire?”

Emma tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Did you make me another casserole, Beck?”

“Oh no, did it burn?”

Emma nodded. “I’m so sorry. Sam mentioned something about dinner, but I wasn’t paying attention and let the girls distract me. I had no idea it was in there.” Kevin noted that she hadn’t mentioned the too-high temperature, which he found admirable.

Becky laughed and waved the apology off. “No worries. There’s more where that came from. Why don’t you and the girls eat with us tonight? I made plenty.”

“No,” Emma was quick to say. “We couldn’t.”

“Actually,” he said, “I’ve got some chicken marinating and ready to throw on the grill. Why don’t you bring the girls to my house for a change?” Kevin almost winced. Why did he have to go and say that? Nicole was coming to dinner. Now he’d have to call and cancel.

“That’s a great idea,” said Becky. “Trust me when I say that you’d rather have Kevin’s cooking. He could have been a gourmet chef in a former life. And you’re going to want to let the house air out for a while.”

A panicked look appeared in Emma’s eyes. “You are both way too good to me, but really, I don’t want to impose. We’ll just go grab a pizza or something.”

“No imposition at all,” Kevin said. Except for the fact that he’d have to call Nicole and reschedule. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. It would be good to know how Nicole would react to a last minute cancellation, especially considering he got held up at the office every once in awhile. “You did say I could make you dinner whenever I wanted, right?” he added.

Emma still didn’t look convinced. “We can always—”

“Good grief, you’re stubborn,” Becky said in her teasing way. “Why don’t you just say thanks and let this handsome man cook you dinner? Go on, now. I’ll bring the girls over in a second.”

Resignation crossed Emma’s expression, and her shoulders dropped in defeat. “No, I’ll get them. And thank you, Kevin. That sounds wonderful. Can I bring anything?”

“No!” Kevin and Becky both said at the same time, making Emma smile. It lit up her features, and she’d never appeared more beautiful. But it wasn’t just her smile. Her dark hair that was usually pulled back into some form of ponytail had been let loose and now surrounded her face in waves. Gone was her usual jeans and t-shirt, and instead she wore fitted black slacks and a blue, button-down top that made her eyes look bluer than usual. Wow. She looked confident, smart, and even put-together. She looked… different.

“Fine, you both win. I’ll be right over, Kevin. And thanks again.” Her eyebrows came together when she caught him staring.

He forced his mind back to the present. “No problem.”

Emma left with Becky, and Kevin couldn’t help but admire the way her hair and hips swished in unison. He sort of felt like he was being hypnotized.
Swish, swish, swish
. But then Emma stopped on the porch and turned back, snapping him out of it. Her brows drew together once more, and Kevin lifted a hand to wave before walking away.

What had just happened? Kevin was no longer a teenager whose head could be turned by just anyone. Sure, he was drawn to beauty, same as the next guy, but he was also drawn to confidence, intelligence, and that extra little something that set apart the few from the masses. Emma might be beautiful and look like she had that extra little something—especially today—but underneath, she was more baggage than anything else. Kevin knew better than to let his head turn her way, especially when someone like Nicole was in the picture.

“Whatcha doin’?” Kajsa’s little blue eyes blinked up at Kevin from under the rim of a tan cowgirl hat while he stood in front of the grill, turning the chicken.