Chapter 7
It was an entire month before Peter saw her again. For weeks after the accident, Emille avoided him. Maybe it wasn't him, per se. But Peter took it personally. He'd gone to the apartment to see her, but Emille had skipped town that first weekend.
Fine. She'd said she had plans. And he knew that every now and again she went home to visit her family.
It wasn't until she failed to show up for dinner the following Wednesday night that Peter had decided something was up. Every time he called her, the phone went to voicemail. Finally, she'd picked up the phone the Saturday night before he had expected her to return to their normal fishing schedule. As if she was talking to a stranger, Emille had coolly informed him that she would be "too busy to recreate" with him in the near future.
Who the hell says stuff like that? 'Too busy to recreate' my…
He hadn't seen or heard from her since. She wasn't even coming in for dinner on Wednesdays. Emille was an important part of his life, and suddenly she was acting like she'd lost all common sense the night of the fall.
Frustrated, Peter decided to mail her shoe to her. That would get a reaction out of her.
Emille immediately responded by mailing him the rent check.
That hurt. The house she lived in was one of a few that he managed personally. Emille had always paid her rent the last Wednesday of every month - in person. Peter paid the lawn care company to look after the grounds, but he usually took care of any problems with the building itself. Emille hadn't complained about any issues with the building, so he couldn't very well barge into her home. And he couldn't complain about the fact that she'd mailed him the check after he'd initiated it all by mailing her shoe in the first place.
Whatever was going on with her, it was time for it to end.
Peter didn't know what he'd been expecting. All he knew was that when he did manage to hunt her down, he'd been deflated. He hadn't even known he'd had expectations that could be disappointed.
He was sitting on her front porch when she pulled into the driveway. Emille sat in the car for a good five minutes, just staring at him through the tinted windshield. He maintain his relaxed pose on her front steps as he stared right back. The Mexican standoff would have been amusing if they weren't both deathly serious. Finally, she climbed out of the car and pulled an overnight bag from the backseat.
His quick gaze took in everything. From the tired drag of her feet across the concrete walkway, to the slump in her shoulders, and the limp lidded look she was giving him. She looked different. Exhausted, certainly. But there was something else there that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
She was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He was seeing her knees. Maybe that was it. For years, Emille's idea of shorts was capris. Idly, he noted that her legs were nicely toned. Except for that one detail, she really looked like hell.
"How long have you been sitting here?" Emille asked as she drew closer.
"Long enough," he said, standing to follow her inside.
She tossed her purse into a magazine rack beside the door and kept moving. "Grab me a mineral water, will you?"
Peter went into the kitchen and took a couple of bottles from the refrigerator. He sighed heavily when he saw what was inside the fridge. Or wasn’t. As far as he was concerned, an empty refrigerator was a tragedy. Emille had sandwich fixings, a takeaway container from a seafood chain restaurant, one from a Chinese place, and half of a rotting lettuce. The rest of the space was taken up with water, mineral water, and tonic water, and a well aged bottle of tequila sitting in the vegetable chiller. She was a great cook, but years ago - when he'd first told her about wanting to switch careers - Emille had mentioned that while growing up her family had eaten out almost every night. He guessed the habit stuck.
He startled when her voice asked, "Why are you standing there staring into my fridge?"
A wry smile twisted his lips as he turned to face her. "You've got to do better than this, Em."
Her gaze darted to the refrigerator and back to his face. "What do you care?" she asked defensively. "As long as I continue to spend my money at The Mark you don’t need to worry about my eating habits."
His brows bounced automatically before he resumed a neutral expression. Somehow, he'd managed to get himself on thin ice. "Is that what you really think?" he asked quietly.
She rolled her eyes and took her beverage from his hands. Her dining at The Mark wasn't about the money and they both knew it. It was about friendship. Jack and Peter were her friends, so the restaurant had become her favorite dining establishment. It was the one place in this city where she could go and be sure that she'd bump into other friends. Every now and again, Jack's sister Claudia and her best friend Marcia showed up and they'd share a table. When David had business in Austin, he'd make arrangements for Wednesday, because he knew Emille would be there. And whenever Ryce was in town, there was always a dinner at the Mark with her and all the guys. The fact that the food was great was a bonus, but Emille rarely ate off the menu because Peter always had something special planned for her. Half the time, he didn't even charge her for her meals. Her accusation was unfair, but Emille wasn't about to recant it.
Peter was relentless. His eyes narrowed on her. "Answer me, Em. Tell me again why I care about you?"
She couldn't stand that look. The way he gave her his full attention when she wanted anything but. It made her nervous. What did she do when she was nervous? Laugh things away.
"Look, Peter," she said with a wide, happy smile. "You're not obligated to care about me, so chillax on the stress. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
It wasn't his place to keep pestering her. He didn't want to pester her in the first place, but… The truth was, Peter didn't know why he'd come over this afternoon. He took a sip of his water.
There was an awkward silence as she seemed to be waiting for him to say something to her. He came up with zip. That kiss was already affecting their relationship and if he didn't address it, it would become an issue. Because of it, there was tension between them. He hadn't even been able to greet her in the usual fashion.
"Em," Peter said.
"Actually," she overrode him. "I have a favor to ask you."
A favor? She wants something from me? He relaxed because it wasn't every day she asked for favors. 'What can I do for you?" Nervously, she licked her lips. Inadvertently, she launched Peter's thoughts back to the kiss. Why was he thinking so much about something so innocent?
"With Crossfit… is there any way to start small?"
He frowned. She was looking at him as if she expected him to lash out at any moment. "Yeah," he said slowly. "It's just exercise. You start at whatever fitness level you're at."
"I can't even do five jumping jacks." Not if she wanted to avoid her breasts smacking her in the face.
Peter was ready for this. It had taken him years to realize how he'd messed up in his initial efforts to get Emille active. She'd needed to be in the right frame of mind to approach weight loss. And he'd needed to start at her level instead of trying to drag her along on his. He had regretted his ignorance ever since. Back then, Emille had been unable to walk a half-hour mile. But, he'd dragged her along on a five mile hiking trip because it had seemed an easy trip to him. Until he'd involved himself in her fitness, Emille hadn't been afraid of exercising.
"I have a friend at the gym," he said. "She's a trainer. Why don't I give you her number? She'll have a better understanding of what you need." He wrote Portia's phone number on a pad on the refrigerator.
"Another favor?" she asked hesitantly.
He didn't like this tentative thing she had going. One of the reasons he liked being around Emille was because she was always the one bold enough to say what was on her mind. She was the life of the party. The outgoing, verbose person that people gravitated to because of her sunny soul.
"Anything," he promised.
"You know that extra membership you have?"
"At t
he gym?" he asked. When she nodded, he said, "It's yours." It probably was hers. He could have given it to any number of people over the years, but a part of him had held on to it just in case Emille ever showed any interest in joining a gym.
"Thank you," she said on a rushed breath. "What do I need to do to activate it?"
He was already writing on the pad again. "There's my membership number. Give it to Portia when you meet with her, and she'll see to it that you're squared away."
"Thanks you," she said, taking the pad from him.
Peter covered her hand. "I've got to get going," he said. He had a date tonight, but for some reason he didn't want to tell her about it. He wouldn't have thought twice about giving her the details about Katie before, but he was now realizing that Emille wasn’t one of the guys. She was something else entirely, and that made him want to treat her differently. Only, he didn’t know how. "Call Portia. She's not your typical trainer. She knows how to get you where you want to go because she's taken the same road."