Fanfiction based on Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series

Rated M for Mature

Down & Across

By HMonster4 and TheHeartOfLife

Summary: 20 down: feeling deep affection or passion for; 17 across: to believe, desire, or

trust. A daily fix of summertime fluff about a small town boy, a big city girl, and what

happens when they give into the simple things in life.

~*~

Chapter 1.

It was 7:00 am, and the sun rose slowly over the Atlantic Ocean, a wash of soft pinks and
purples against the dawning hazy blue. Fluffy puffs of clouds dotted the horizon, an homage
to summers past and the childish longing for cotton candy, running through the sprinklers or
popsicles.

Emmett glanced down at his dive watch, the heavy silver band glinting in the early morning
light. As much as he would've liked to get in just one more ride, there were things that need to
be accomplished. It was high season at Folly Beach, and the tourists would be lining up to
rent boogie boards, buy baseball hats, and load up on sun screen. This small town of three
thousand could easily double or triple in size based on the weather forecast, and he'd learned
to take advantage of that, using his business acumen to stock the merchandise that would
move the fastest at the highest margin. He might not like the way the summer people changed
the dynamic, but Emmett loved what they did for business. He ran through a mental to-do list
as he tugged at the long corded pull of his wet suit; the zipper gave easily, splitting the
Neoprene open down the length of his back. The humid morning air hit his skin, warming the
cool water that trickled down his exposed skin. South Carolina was warm in early June, but
the Atlantic Ocean carried a chill, making it too cold for extensive exposure without a wetsuit.

"Catch you tomorrow, Money Man?" one of the other locals called out as Emmett carried his
board up the hill to the parking lot.

"Like you need to ask," Emmett said, waving in an offhand manner. This was a tight-knit little
group, and they looked out for each other, but their rules were informal. Inquiries would never
go deeper than a see you tomorrow, but the intent was there. This little knot of local surfers
were like a dysfunctional family, coming and going as they pleased, slaves only to the
crashing surf and the need to ride the waves. It reminded him of his large, raucous family;
they might not always flat out tell you what they thought, but they made sure in their own way
that you knew you were important.

Toweling off, Emmett quickly shed his wet suit, replacing the warm protective skin with his
summer uniform of baggy khaki cargo shorts, a white t-shirt and running shoes he kept
stashed in the back of his truck. Breakfast, a quick shower at the shop, then a day appeasing
the ravaging hordes; such was his life these days, a far cry from the one he'd set out to lead.
One that, while at times felt repetitive, he wouldn't give up for millions of dollars.

With his board stashed safely in the back of the Defender, he climbed into the front seat and
fired up the engine, revving it a few times before letting it ease into an idle. This car was his
baby, a holdover from the days when he was flush with cash and high on life. He'd ridden a
different type of wave, cresting with the Street and cashing out just months before the bottom
fell out of the market. While he enjoyed helping others find their dreams, big cities and fast
living weren't for him, and he felt himself longing for simpler things. A good wave, dinner
with his family, the way the gulls cried out before swooping down to snap up a late afternoon
snack. Boston had its own distinct sounds and smells, but it had never felt like home, no
matter how hard he tried. After launching a small company that revolutionized voice over
internet technology, Emmett had tendered his resignation. He thanked the head of the firm for
the experience, and wished him the best. A few of the partners tried to convince him to stay,
but Emmett knew his heart would never be in it. Maybe he'd known that all along. He took the
money he'd made along the way, invested in the companies he'd helped cultivate and launch

into the stratosphere, to build his own kingdom. Instead of buying a nice loft close to Fenway,
he bought a comfortable little cottage just blocks from the beach. Then he signed the lease on
a prime piece of retail space on the main street of Folly Beach, and filled it with surf boards,
clothing, and other beach paraphernalia. He didn't need much more.

At least that is what he managed to convince himself.

He could feel the sun, strong and warm against his neck as he drove, the wind drying his hair
as it whipped through the open cab of the truck. This was all part of his Saturday morning
ritual. Surf; stop at the diner for breakfast; then grab a quick shower before opening. His
colleagues in Boston would have shaken their heads, shocked that 'Em McCarty,' Mr. Golden
Touch, would be happy with this mundane life of repetition and habit. They had all missed
that he thrived on certainty. He was a creature of habit, and predictability suited him just fine.

The parking lot at the diner was already crowded, full of expensive European sedans and
convertibles with out of state plates. He parked next to a bright red BMW convertible,
laughing at the way his vintage Defender towered over the tiny car. Substituting for a small
dick, he thought as he glanced down into the front seat. A tube of lipstick, a bottle of
sunscreen, and a map of South Carolina were wedged into the center console. A pussy
whipped one, at that.

A chorus of hellos rang out as he made his way into the small, fifties style diner. It hadn't
changed much since his childhood with the same monochromatic color scheme and simple
menu. The Newtons had maintained it up until their retirement, when their son, Mike, took it
over. The town of Folly Beach half expected that it would be overhauled or closed down all
together, but Mike had surprised everyone, giving the diner a face lift and investing in a liquor
license. Now it was one of the town's mainstays, a place where the locals dominated, even in
the summer time.

"Hey good looking," Mike's wife, Jessica, called from behind the counter. "The usual?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Emmett shot back. This was part of the ritual, the predictable
that he loved so well. Jess would flirt with him and make him a cup of coffee (cream, no
sugar) while the line chef pulled together his breakfast; a lightly toasted with cream cheese
and an egg white omelet with Swiss cheese and mushrooms. It would tide him over until the
shop closed at five. He would then go home and make dinner, reading and playing with the
dog or watching TV until it was time to go to sleep only to repeat the pattern the next day.

Emmett sat down on a bar stool, sipping his coffee as he waited patiently for his food. The
diner was full, which was to be expected for a Saturday morning during high season. Families
eating pancakes, their children antsy, demanding their parents to hurry up. They wanted to be
down by the water, chasing waves and building sandcastles, not held captive into bright red
vinyl booths as cars loaded down with other children passed them by. Younger couples
wedged into the same side of small benches, their heads pressed close together as they
exchanged words meant for them and them alone. It had been a long time since he sat with
anyone like that; shutting out the world to get lost in the simplicity of a smile or the way the
light revealed subtle little freckles across the bridge of the nose. Emmett glanced away,
refusing to be pulled under. His life was good, satisfying. No use getting caught up in what…

…if.

A lone woman sat in the far booth, her golden blonde head bent down over what appeared to
be a newspaper. "Hey Jess," he said quietly. "Who's that?"

Jessica Newton, Mike's wife and Emmett's long time friend, followed his gaze. The blonde
woman had angled her body a bit, and the sun caught her hair, turning it a blaze of white gold,
like wheat in the summer sun as she stared intently down at a crossword puzzle. One
immaculately painted nail scrolled down the list of clues, hesitating for a moment before
scooping up the pen and filling in the squares. The red lacquer complimented the subtle
golden hue of the woman's skin and her simple light blue sundress. It wasn't a tacky red; it
was classic, subtle, like screen sirens from another time.

"I don't know," Jessica said, topping off Emmett's coffee. "Never seen her before."

Emmett watched the woman as she continued to work on her crossword puzzle, fascinated as
she neatly filled in each row. She was pretty. No, she was more than that, she was stunning,
but it was her intent focus on the crossword puzzle and the manner in which she went about
filling in each square that fascinated him. Before he could second guess himself, Emmett
found himself in motion, moving towards her with his coffee cup clutched in his hand.

"That's pretty ballsy," he said, staring down at the blonde head. Up close, the strands of soft
yellow mixed with coppery red and platinum, giving the golden waves even greater depth and
warmth. He fought the urge to reach out and touch a lock, wondering if it would feel warm,
like the sand in the late afternoon. But before he could lose himself in silly ruminations, the
woman glanced up, her eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Excuse me?" Her answer was not rude, but it didn't match the expression on her face.
Bringing the bitch, his cousin Alice would have said. It didn't scare Emmett off though; he'd
broken down tougher customers, both in his professional and personal life.

"Doing the crossword in ink. That's pretty ballsy," he said, flashing her a grin. The grin, a
friend in Boston had called it. The one that typically rendered women speechless, convinced
potential investors to pony up even more cash, and charmed every child that walked into his
surf shop.

The thing was, Emmett knew he was good looking. At thirty four, he was tall and lean, his
body fit from surfing and long runs with his dog. Women never turned him down, he just
didn't go out of his way to pursue anymore. But for some unexplainable reason, he was
compelled to seek out this woman. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was curiosity, he didn't
quite know, and didn't spend too long delving down into the 'wonder whys.' It wasn't in his
nature to second guess, he just did.

The woman surveyed him, her expression never changing. Emmett couldn't resist but smile a
little bigger, entertained by her perseverance. Most women would have gone weak in the
knees to find him standing over their table, flashing a smile with dimples deeper than the sea
of tranquility. He hadn't met a woman yet that could resist him.

Until now, it would seem.

"It's a warm up for tomorrow," she said, looking back down at her newspaper. The way she
responded rang as a dismissal, but he didn't hesitate long enough to let it register.

"What's tomorrow?"

The woman dropped her pen, looking up at him with an exasperated huff, her expression of
disdain deepening into a scowl. "I know you might not get out much, Moondoggie, but
tomorrow is Sunday. The New York Times Crossword puzzle. I do it. In ink." She articulated
the words, as if trying to infer superiority with her clear diction. She'd looked him over, and
made assumptions based his tatty t-shirt and cargo shorts.

It was a challenge, the one thing that Emmett McCarty never backed down from. He glanced
down at the newspaper spread out on the table, quickly skimming down the list of unmarked
clues. Fifteen. Perfect. "Bwana."

"What?"

"Fifteen across. What do you call the leader of a safari? A bwana." He turned, returning to the
counter to retrieve the sack Jess had prepared for him. The blonde woman didn't say a word.

He didn't expect her to. He knew he'd made an impression.

Chapter 2.

Rosalie still wasn't used to waking up to the smell of the ocean. Her nose was better
acquainted with car exhaust, food wafting out of restaurants and other more acrid scents that
she'd always tried not to think too hard about. She wasn't used to the stillness of the air either.
There was no steady hum of voices, no taxicabs honking maniacally. When she'd woken up
for the past week in her new home, there had only been silence, broken occasionally by the
gentle purr of a car passing by or a gull crying outside her open window.

It was so quiet. Maybe too quiet. It gave her too much time to think, and that was the last
thing she wanted to do.

She'd felt the beginnings of her unraveling months ago. There was really no reason for it. She
had everything she thought she'd always wanted –a sky-rocketing career at a prestigious
advertising firm, a gorgeous apartment in New York City and an equally gorgeous man that
was well on his way to becoming her husband. She had expensive clothes and well-to-do
friends, a social life that other Manhattanites would gladly commit a Class A felony for. She'd
calmly collected these things over the years, mentally ticking them off a list of need to
acquires as she went along. She told herself that they made her complete, that these
superficial bricks somehow filled the void in her chest.

Yet for every brick she lay, the wider the hole grew. She had the beautiful apartment, yes, but
it was usually empty when she dragged herself home late at night after a fifteen hour
workday. She had the guy, the darling of his Wall Street firm, but he was more turned on by
his own ambition than he was by her. The friends, the clothes, even the city itself – it all felt
empty.

She felt empty.

Slowly, so very slowly, the bricks began to crumble and weigh her down. It was small things
at first, things she wouldn't have noticed had she not felt her mind and heart begin to shift. It
was Royce blowing off dinner without calling, leaving her sitting alone at Nobu. It was the
awkward silence that descended when her friends (or more accurately, Royce's friends) had
realized that she rented her apartment rather than owned. It was the city lights glimmering
outside her window, though the expanse of buildings and people beyond and below her
seemed dark to her ever-opening eyes.

One night, she'd been curled up on one side of the bed while the other remained empty and
cold, and she'd tried to remember the last time she'd been really happy. She'd closed her eyes
and thought of wide expanses of sand, a lit-up pier that extended into the ocean. She
remembered summer after summer of beach and barbeques, of family and friends and, when
she got older, local boys that would take her to parties. She clearly recalled her family's beach
home in South Carolina and for a few minutes, she felt lighter.

She wanted that feeling again and knew with a certainty she hadn't felt since she'd moved
from Rochester to New York City to attend Columbia as a wide-eyed 18-year-old, that she
would not find it here in this empty apartment or in her windowed 34th floor office. She
would certainly not find it in the absent arms of the man she knew she didn't love anymore.

Could she rediscover it in the place she'd last left it?

She'd calmly called it off with Royce, who was upset not because of the deep connection
they'd forged (because they hadn't) but because of how it would look. Her break-up with him
had made it easy to disconnect with her friends; they didn't call after that, uninterested in a
"Rosalie" without the "and Royce." She'd given her notice at work and with her landlord, 30
days'-worth for both. She kissed her old life goodbye, burying it without fanfare, and as she
drove away in her BMW, she didn't look twice at the city skyline disappearing behind her.

She drove the nearly 800 miles to Folly Beach accompanied by James Taylor, Joe Cocker and
all of the other musicians that Royce rolled his eyes at. She sang 'Carolina in my Mind' the
fourteen times she played it. She indulged in fast food for the first time in four years and
drank a Coke sans Diet. The hole in her chest was still there, but there was nothing blocking
it, no weight bearing down on her. She felt free for the first time in years.

A week later, though, she was starting to wonder what the hell she'd done. Her parents were
none too pleased by her decision to start fresh at thirty-two, throwing away what they saw as
the foundation for the life they'd always planned for her, the one she'd always planned for
herself. They'd begged, pleaded and then threatened, only acquiescing and sending her the
keys to the beach house they'd never had the heart to sell when it became clear she wasn't
changing her mind. What on earth will you do there? they'd asked. What could possibly be
there that you can't find where you are now, with what you have now?

She hadn't been able to answer their questions then. She wasn't any closer to answering them
now. She'd been here seven long, lazy days, and she was no closer to figuring out the truth
herself.

Folly Beach. It seemed a little ironic now, the name of this town. It was small and quaint,
though it was bloated with families vacationing for the summer. It was the antithesis of her
old life and while she appreciated that, it was also proving difficult to get used to. The slow-
paced life wasn't something she'd ever thought she'd want and yet here she was, taking her
crossword puzzle to the local greasy spoon for an entire breakfast that cost as much as a single
espresso had in New York.

She settled herself into a booth next to the window, ordered her food and got to work. She'd
always loved crossword puzzles. There was an answer to be found in each clue, even if a little
digging was required. It was tangible, measurable and the payoff of all of those completed
squares was strangely rewarding. She'd done them with her dad as a kid here at this diner. It
seemed like a good tradition to carry on in her new life.

She vaguely heard the greetings as a customer stepped through the door, but didn't turn
around, instead lightly dragging her finger down the list of clues. She stopped at fifteen across
for the third time. The answer was tugging at the edge of her brain, but it wouldn't come to
her.

A smooth, deep male voice invaded her ears over the sound of the other patrons and her head
tilted toward the sound involuntarily.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" the voice said. She curled her lip up at the crass phrase.
Definitely a local.

A few minutes passed and then Rosalie felt his presence just behind her before she heard his
voice above her. She turned in her seat to look up at him. He was tall, so tall that she had to
crane her neck a bit, and her eyes made a path up his body quickly. She took everything in –
the tanned, muscular calves peeking out of faded and fraying khaki shorts, the white t-shirt
with a surfboard stretched against a broad chest, and finally up to his face, chiseled and
golden with a Colgate smile and bright blue eyes.

She couldn't deny that he was gorgeous, though she usually thought of gorgeous men in
different terms. Crisp Armani suits and perfectly styled hair were more her fare. His clothes
were simple, probably cheap, and his hair was shaggy, a naturally rich chestnut her friend
Siobhan had paid $400 every eight weeks to attain.

She knew what he wanted as soon as he opened his mouth to speak. He wanted what nearly
every straight man, single or otherwise, had wanted in New York: her face to show off, her
body to indulge in. She hadn't given any of them the time of day and they'd been successful
and educated. Why did this local surfer think he'd get lucky by swaggering up to her apropos
of nothing and commenting on her pen usage?

Intelligence obviously wasn't his strong suit, but superior indifference was Rosalie's forte. She
oozed it now, enunciating in a clipped tone.

"I do it. In ink," her mouth said, though her tone clearly stated, "Dream on."

His eyes, blue and green like the crystal clear waters in Fiji, darted down to her crossword
puzzle and his lips stretched into a smile that disarmed and distracted her.

"Bwana," he replied.

Her voice was crisp, short. "What?"

"Fifteen across. What do you call the leader of a safari? A bwana."

He turned on his heel, grin still firmly in place and framed by deep dimples. Rosalie thought
she saw a flash of ink on the inside of his bicep, but he was gone before she could get a good
look.

She forced herself not to turn in her seat and watch him walk away, but her traitorous eyes
zoomed in on him as he passed by the window. His body was long, solid and muscular, the
back of his strong neck tanner than the rest of him, from what she could see. She watched him
lithely hop into the car next to hers, an older model Land Rover with a surfboard sticking out
the back. As he drove away, she snapped back to attention, realizing that the end of her pen
had somehow made its way to her mouth and was stuck firmly between her teeth.

She let out a sharp breath and shifted in the booth, ignoring the way her heart beat wildly.
Clenching her jaw and her pen, she calmly finished her crossword puzzle. She filled in all but
five of the boxes with the blue ink. And then she threw the not-quite-completed puzzle in the
trash on her way out.

Chapter 3.

Distractions were not something familiar in Emmett's life. Diversions, yes. Temporary
dalliances… well, Emmett was mature enough to admit that he had them, and they always
ended amicably. But distractions? He had about as much time for them as he did for
diversions. None.

Anyone who visited Folly Beach and wandered into Emmett's surf shop most likely expected
him to be a laid back stoner, a grown up Spicolli, Bill or Ted. His shaggy dark hair, peppered
with glints of coppery red from all his time in the ocean, dark tan, and uniform of goofy t-
shirts and cargo shorts did nothing to allay that stereotype. The tourists that flocked to this
town tried to play the angle, thinking him too dumb to know or too laid-back to care.

They were all wrong.

Sometimes, Emmett would play along, letting his affable, easy-going nature shine through.
The offending patron would back pedal, mollified into better behavior because he was such a
nice guy. Other times, if he felt like someone deserved it, or if the patron in question was
trying to manipulate the situation, he'd turn on the fast talk, the big business attitude, and
internally laugh as the arrogant tourist scrambled to regroup. People didn't expect the brain or
the disarming charm, both of which Emmett used to his fullest advantage. He'd learned
firsthand in Boston that a baby face and southern accent killed credibility, and he'd turned it
into a game, exploiting people's predispositions to make a point. Thousand dollar suits and
silk ties or shorts and faded t-shirts, the game was played the same way, and he could never
forget that.

Emmett poured blood, sweat and proverbial tears into his shop, going out of his way bring in
top-notch equipment impossible to find on the East Coast. He'd developed business contacts
in Hawaii and Australia, negotiating small batch deals with marquis equipment suppliers,
making him a hit with tourists and locals alike. He was currently in the process of expanding,
opening a second, much larger property on Sullivan's Island and expanding online. What had
started as a plan for a single store at home was slowly growing into his own little kingdom.
He felt helpless to stop it, the instinct to cultivate and build part of his nature.

"Always the entrepreneur," his cousin, Esme, had teased him. "Not that I should be surprised
the way you always insisted on being the banker when we played Monopoly. You're like King
Midas, you know that?"

Emmett didn't want to be King Midas, having found the fairy tale disturbing as a child. He'd
been there, done that, building companies up and selling them off in the high flying world of
Venture Capital. He was happy to build a solid base, open a few shops, and live out his life
selling boards and surfing in his spare time. He had everything he could ever need. He didn't
need to wish for more, and run the risk of turning everything into gold, but ending up alone.

But this week - this week was different. Emmett found himself distracted, unable to focus on
the tasks at hand. Instead of focusing on the blueprints and inventory lists that were spread out
on the counter in front of him, he found himself thinking about crossword puzzles done in
blue ink.

"You're a fucking pussy," he mumbled, shaking his head in a feeble attempt to purge the
memory. He couldn't understand what it was about the blonde from the diner that he found so
incredibly fascinating. She'd been a total bitch, staring him down like he was some common
yokel, which he would readily admit only egged him on. Normally, he would have walked
away, but instead he'd decided to put her in her place, cracking out some errant bit of useless
knowledge to show the blonde that she didn't know everything. With his parting shot, she
should have been purged from his mind; she would have been, but he made the mistake of
glancing up at the diner before backing out of the lot, and he caught her looking. The bitch
face was gone, and her big blue eyes were wide, sparkling with curiosity, intelligence and
something else. Pure mischief. In a heartbeat she went from some arrogant bitch to a woman
he wanted to know more about. Most people would say it was the way she looked, all Barbie
doll curves and manufactured beauty, but Emmett would say it was the look. That glint in her
eye that said she wanted to give him a wedgie and then tell him he was being a persnickety
curmudgeon or some other pretentious put down. He'd seen it before. It was the same wicked
sparkle that Esme would get before putting her husband Carlisle in his place, or the look his
cousin Alice would get before she gave him a wet willy. It was passion.

"Somebody's distracted," Esme had teased when she dropped by the shop on Friday night. She
was helping with the design and merchandising of the new store, and had taken to stopping by
unannounced with status updates and pictures. She'd placed a stack of photos on top of the
blueprints; shots of wall mural in its half completed state and the giant wooden shelves that
would hold surfboards for easy access. When Emmett didn't jump on the pictures, he'd opened
himself up for commentary. Is that what I've become, all business? Emmett wondered.

"Not distracted, just a lot going on," Emmett muttered, hoping not to draw attention to his
obviously odd behavior.

"Bullshit," she said sweetly. "You are usually all over me for details. Not that I am
complaining, it's nice to see you 'Chillin out dude,'" she over enunciated on the dude, drawing
it out just like Sean Penn had in Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

"Es, you're family and I love you, but God you are annoying," He cuffed her shoulder gently.
Esme knew him too well though, and would not be deferred.

"No, I'm just one of the few that calls your bluffs, big man." She leaned against the opposite
side of the counter, tracing the edge of one of the blueprints. "What's on your mind?"

"What isn't these days?"

"Don't go all introverted and philosophical on me, it's not your style. What's eating at you,
Bear that is bordering on being grizzly? Normally you'd be all over me asking questions." She
pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up as she annunciated his nickname, revealing the small bright
blue bear tattoo on his upper bicep. "I can make you dance you know…Mississippi River, so
big and wide, blonde haired woman on the other-"

"Es, stop," Emmett shook her off. He wasn't sure what had flustered him more, his cousin's
attention and teasing or her strangely appropriate choice in Grateful Dead songs. There was
no way in hell he was going to admit a fledgling fixation with a summer chick who had a chip
on her shoulder. Not to Esme, not to Alice, not to anyone. Not even to himself. "I just have a
lot on my mind. Doesn't mean I'm not sitting on top of the world…" he sang back to her.

"Fine, you play that way," she said with a wink. "But you know, if you stay in this funk, I'm
bringing out the big guns. And by the way, your singing stinks." She always threatened him
with 'the big guns,' her arsenal of divorced clients happily spending their alimony checks
while on the lookout for husband number two (or three). Emmett knew she was only joking,
but there were times where he wondered if that would end up being his only option.

They bantered for a while longer, talking about the store as well as other projects Esme had
taken on. She'd established quite a name for herself in the area, and more and more of the
rental companies were asking her to consult on their high-end house redesigns up and down
the Carolina coast. One of the older beach houses at the south end of the island had been
reopened after years of disuse, a big old wooden monstrosity, and Esme had been called in to
consult on bringing the kitchen and living area into the 21st century. Emmett knew he should
focus on the pictures his cousin had spread out on the counter in front of him, but he couldn't
get his mind off the cold blonde at the diner, and how much he wanted to know the woman
that lurked below that cold façade.

Pussy. Emmett chided himself. You are curious about the challenge. Get your head out of
your ass.

It rained the next morning, a hard, pelting gale that made it impossible to surf. Emmett toyed
with staying in bed, maybe catching up one of the multiple books stacked on the nightstand,
but after a few pages he threw the book to the side, unable to concentrate. The shop would be
slow, all the day trippers scared away by the weather; it would allow him to take his time and
catch up on sleep. Instead he found himself climbing out of bed and throwing on his typical
uniform and a baseball hat to hide the bed head. Ashley Avenue was empty as he drove south
to the diner, the streets free of parked cars and brightly dressed pedestrians.

The rain pelted him as Emmett ran from his car to the front door, cold drops striking his neck
and sliding down beneath the collar of his T-shirt. There was no rush today. He could take his
time, eat here, and enjoy some time catching up with friends.

And maybe the crossword puzzle girl would be back in the far booth, chewing on the end of a
Micro Sharpie as the world spun on around her.

Chapter 4.

The rain came down in sheets outside Rosalie's bedroom window. She stood in front of the
closet for a long time, barefoot with her hands on her hips, trying to decide what to wear to
breakfast, the precipitation lending a soothing, steady beat as it pelted against the glass.

She tried to talk herself into believing her indecision was because of the weather – hot
andrainy was impossible to dress properly for – but she knew that wasn't entirely true. She
was dressing for something else, too. Or rather, someone else.

She'd thought about her interaction with the guy in the diner randomly throughout the past
week. As it turned out, being unemployed gave her a lot of time to think. Well, mostly
unemployed. Siobhan had called early in the week with an opportunity for Rosalie to do some
brand development consulting for a start-up business that one of Siobhan's friends in New
York ran. It was only fifteen hours a week, which was a little ironic considering her schedule
used to entail working the same number of hours in a day, but it gave her a sense of purpose.
It also gave her the knowledge that she could still be fulfilled professionally to some extent, at
least until she figured out what she was going to do on a more permanent level.

She was able to sufficiently distract herself while she was working, curled up in the
overstuffed leather chair in the office, pen stuck between her teeth while she typed away on
her laptop. She forced herself to focus while she read or cooked, or when she went for runs
along the beach. But still he crept into her mind against her will. She'd think of the way he
held himself, with confidence, the genuine kind that was so unlike the manufactured version
she was used to with Royce and his friends. She'd think of his smile, brilliantly white against
his tan face or how his eyes had narrowed in challenge when she'd dismissed him. The fact
that he was invading her thoughts despite her best efforts to keep him out annoyed her to no
end.

Moondoggie, she'd called him. She almost laughed, thinking of the countless times she'd
watched Gidget growing up. Her parents had even taken to calling her that for a while,
although they'd never let her near a surfboard, claiming it was too dangerous. She secretly
wondered, though, if they were afraid she'd hit her face with the board and ruin what she
knew they were most proud of their daughter for.

She wondered distractedly if his board had ever gotten the best of him, if he had any scars,
visible or otherwise…

With a sharp sigh, she grabbed a pair of jeans and a tank top, shaking her head impatiently to
get rid of the thought. The clothes were simpler than what she was used to – she'd always
dressed up to leave the apartment in New York, regardless of her activity – but she doubted
anyone would notice or care here. Apparently cargo shorts and t-shirts were the height of
fashion. A mental image of him and those muscular legs rushed through her mind unbidden.

"For god's sake, Rosalie," she snapped out loud, her voice echoing around the quiet room.

Her phone started ringing as she pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail and she groaned
when she saw the caller-ID flash across the screen.

"Hi, Mom," she sighed, making her way down the hall toward the foyer. Her feet slapped
against the bleached hardwood floor.

"Did you call Esme Cullen like I asked you to?"

"Yes. She's coming over the Monday after next to take a look at the house and give some
preliminary suggestions." Rosalie had called her yesterday to set up an appointment and had
been instantly put at ease by the sound of Esme's voice. She'd been fairly isolated since she'd
moved down here and though it had been self-imposed, the thought of having human
interaction was starting to sound better and better, even if it was under paid circumstances and
business related.

"Well, just so you know, I'd really prefer granite to marble for the kitchen countertops. The
lines are so much cleaner…"

Rosalie flipped a mental switch, tuning her mother out. She loved this house as it was, with its
simple and upscale white furniture and pale wood detailing, but her mother seemed suddenly
hell-bent on updating the place. Rosalie had come to the conclusion that when her mother had
called her and asked her if she would initiate conversation with Esme Cullen, she was not so
subtly giving her daughter a project. She didn't understand the concept of just being. She was
all about doing, a trait Rosalie had obviously inherited given that she'd accepted work so soon
after coming here to unwind from her old life that had been filled with it.

By the time she pulled into the diner's small parking lot, her mother had only just run out of
steam. Rosalie frowned as she disconnected the call, searching for a parking spot close to the
front door. The nearest was on the other side of a rusted-out VW that was more boat than van
and she pulled in reluctantly, then took out her earpiece and tossed it into the cup holder. She
turned off the ignition, steeling herself to make a mad dash from her car to the front door. It
was still pouring outside and she'd distractedly shoved her feet into sandals instead of
sneakers or galoshes while her mom was mulling over whether she really wanted to upgrade
to stainless steel appliances given their penchant for showing fingerprints.

She grabbed her wallet and the folded-up crossword section of the newspaper and then threw
herself out of the car, dashing toward the door. The fat raindrops hit her bare shoulders and
slid down her arms, soaking her skin almost instantaneously.

"Shit," she hissed out, ducking inside. There was no bell to announce her entrance, just the
wet squeak of her sandals against the worn linoleum.

She paused, unsure. The woman behind the counter shot her a reassuring smile and extended
her arm toward the dining area. "Go ahead and seat yourself."

Rosalie nodded and made her way back to the same booth she sat in last Saturday, her eyes
searching for a broad set of shoulders. Besides a few families, a couple sandwiched together
in a corner booth and an old man bent over a huge stack of pancakes, there were no other
patrons.

The woman – Jessica, her nametag read – took her order, and then she was alone. The rain
pelted against the window as she set to work. She started with fifteen across this time, filling

it in quickly. She felt immediately better, like she had somehow rectified what had happened
last Saturday, and one corner of her mouth pulled up with satisfaction.

"How'd the Sunday crossword go, I Do it in Ink?"

Rosalie looked up in surprise and there he was, Moondoggie in the flesh. He was looking
down at her, his eyes darting from her shoulder to her face. His hands were stuffed into those
cargo shorts, his hair coming out from under a well-worn baseball hat in annoyingly adorable
tufts. He was also wearing what she now guessed to be his signature easy grin. It was
probably meant to be charming, but it only made her uncomfortable.

"Finished it in record time," she said dryly, looking back down at her crossword so her eyes
wouldn't linger on his face.

"You time yourself?" He sounded amused and she looked back up at him quickly, her eyes
narrowed. Was he making fun of her?

"No," she stated before considering his question. "Well, not officially. I do like to see how
fast I can finish."

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking from her face to the crossword in front of her and then
back again. "Sounds like a rollicking good time."

"Rollicking?" she repeated, her voice suffused with sarcasm.

"Surprised I know a word with more than two syllables?" he shot back, tilting his head
innocently. His eyes were even more vibrant than she remembered, lit up underneath the
fluorescent lights and against the flat grayness that was seeping in from outside. They were
fixed on her face now, challenging her to say something. Her lips parted but no sound came
out. She felt pinned against the vinyl seat under his gaze. His mouth twitched and he tapped
his fingers on the edge of the table. "Enjoy that crossword. Don't get too wild over here."

Her retort stuck in her throat watching him walk back toward the front of the restaurant. He
folded his long, muscular body into a stool at the counter, leaned forward and said something
to Jessica that made her laugh and shake her head.

"Smart ass," Rosalie finally managed to breathe out, facing forward again. She was certainly
surprised about the smart part being true. He was still a local slacker as far as she could tell,
but maybe there was something else to him too. God knew what conclusions he'd drawn about
her. She tried to banish that thought from her brain immediately. She knew she didn't make
good first impressions unless she was trying hard, and she hadn't tried at all with him. She
hadn't wanted to and yet the thought of him thinking badly of her left her feeling strangely
unsettled.

She could feel him all the way across the room, so she turned her entire body toward the
window, her left hand cradling her face. She didn't trust herself not to indulge in one last look.

Chapter 5.

She was infuriating.

He should have just walked away, called it a day and gone back to life as he knew it. Why
was he wasting his time on a woman who clearly had no interest in his constant attempts at
conversation?

A woman with pretty indigo eyes who had enough courage and intellect to do crossword
puzzles in ink, without ever scratching out an answer. A woman who didn't buckle under the
strength of his smile or easy going nature. A woman, who he realized after getting a glance of
broad, bare shoulders, was the antithesis of the skinny glamazon that he equated with her
attitude. For most guys, it would have become a challenge to break her down, but Emmett had
grown tired of those ages ago. Very simply, the woman fascinated him; her beautiful, guarded
façade masking a feisty, playful nature she didn't want the world to see. It wasn't how she
looked, but how she acted, the little things she did when she thought he wasn't paying
attention. They made him want to keep trying. And, well, if she continued to wear tank tops,
that wouldn't be a bad thing either, he admitted to himself.

Some guys liked tits. Others liked a nice ass. Emmett, he had a thing for shoulders. Part of it
was the physical allure, the way the musculature and bone structure worked together, and the
knowledge of what one well placed kiss or random touch could do. But it was psychological
too. A woman with broad shoulders, standing straight and confident, was a magnificent sight
to behold. That was Blondie in spades.

Three Saturdays in a row, three feeble attempts at starting a conversation. Emmett tried
everything. Charm, smile, flexing his intellect; he even wore a polo shirt in a half hearted
attempt to shed the surfer boy image. Every effort was met with the same cool indifference.
She had to know he was making an effort, and she was making it abundantly clear she could
care less.

He should have given up. He would have after try number two, had he not caught her
watching him from the rain soaked window. That's what got to him, those quick little peeks
when she thought he was otherwise occupied. It was always the same, that mischievous little
glint in her eyes, which made Emmett want to check and see if his fly was open or if he had a
hole in the back of his shorts. When she thought no one was looking, the hardness fell away,
smoothing the jagged edges and blurring them into something open and almost childlike. The
little line that formed between her brows would fade, and her brilliant blue eyes would sparkle
with good humor. Chutzpah, the little old lady from his favorite bagel store in Boston would
have called it. That's who he wanted to know. Not the bitch on wheels, but the playful girl
underneath. The one who swung her leg back and forth as her sandal dangled perilously close
to toppling to the floor. Just when it was about to fall, she'd bounce her foot, sliding it back up
into place, just to repeat the game all over again.

It was like she was dancing right up to the edge, testing to see just how far she could take it,
before pulling back, constantly baiting and then just missing being burnt. The puzzle, the
sandal, him…they were all the same to her, a challenge, something to conquer.

That's when he had to admit the truth. It was more than the little tease of spirit that lurked
underneath. She stood up to him. She didn't give in like every other woman, happy to morph

into whatever he might want them to be. This woman stood her ground, and didn't let him
intimidate or dazzle her, and he craved that. She could be an equal, maybe even a partner…

That realization, coupled with the continued indifference and stolen glances, began to irritate
Emmett as much as they had motivated him before. He knew she was interested, or at least
curious. If she wasn't, she would have flat out shut him down, and then ignored him once he
walked away. So why the attitude? And why should he care or make an effort? She was a
summer person. In another eight weeks, she'd pack up and go back to wherever home was.
There was no good ending to this, therefore why keep trying? Let her go back to wherever it
was she called home. He would still be sitting on top of the world. Better off not to long for a
woman who might or might not be waiting on the other side.

Emmett pulled into the diner on Saturday morning, taking in the expensive cars and people
waiting on brightly painted benches out front. There was her little red BMW, the top down,
hood glowing candy apple red in the bright summer sun. He'd been wrong to assume it
belonged to some nouveau riche man with a Napoleon complex, small penis and bad hair
plugs. Nothing in life was ever that simple.

Something about that little red car, perfectly clean and pristine, set him off. Maybe it was the
New York license plate with Lady Liberty, arm extended in a righteous declaration of where
home really was. Maybe it was the running shoes in the backseat, dirty and well worn. They
were incongruous with their owner and her car, always so immaculately put together. Where
was the sweaty girl, tendrils of golden hair sticking to her face, her cheeks rosy from
exertion? That was what he wanted to see, not some perfect Barbie façade, her glacial
expression protecting something real locked deep within.

It was with that spark of anger smoldering in the back of his mind that he entered the dinner
the Saturday before the Fourth of July. Just like always, the minute he cleared the door,
Emmett looked in the direction of her booth. It was hers; he didn't think he would ever be able
to see it as anyone else's.

But she wasn't there.

Instead, a raucous family of five filled the corner booth, laughing and giggling, their hands
sticky with maple syrup and strawberry jelly. Emmett didn't know why, but it merely fueled
his anger more. His life had never felt empty before. He had his family, his friends. If he
wanted company, he had a list of women a mile long, all of whom would drop everything and
come running. But suddenly, it wasn't enough, and it was her fault for making him realize that
something might actually be missing. He didn't know her. He tried, he wanted to, and she kept
shutting him down. This was all her fault, and he was tired of being out of sorts because she
was too much of a bitch to handle small talk or casual conversation.

Turning toward the counter, he shut out the disappointment and irritation that seared through
him. One woman couldn't change his life; this was something deeper, something about him,
something that he needed to figure out and get under control.

"Hey Big Guy," Jessica greeted him. "Coming or going today?"

Emmett thought about the booth, occupied by a family full of laughter. He thought about
those running shoes in the backseat, and wonder what really existed underneath the fortress
walls. This needed to stop.

"Going, Jess. I'm going," he answered quietly.

She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows arching slightly. He'd known Jess Stanley
Newton all of his life, and this was her patented 'I call bullshit' stare. He wasn't in the mood
for it today. Especially not from the person who had exactly what Emmett realized he craved
so badly.

"Don't start with me, Tinsel Teeth. I am so not up for your dabbling today. I don't know why
Mikey puts up with it from you."

"Fine Crater Face. You take your food and go sulk. I know how you are when you get a bug
up your ass." She pushed an insulated mug in his direction before turning to refill the cups of
other patrons at the counter. "Hey Rosalie, you good? Would you like some more?"

"That would be nice, thank you, Jess."

They'd only exchanged maximum of a hundred words, but he'd know that proper, polished
voice anywhere. And now he had a name. Rosalie. It suited her, beautiful and formal and
cultured, but with a simple derivation, it could be shortened into Rose or Rosie, becoming
simple and playful like those stolen glances. Instead of soothing the anger that had been
smoldering deep inside of him, her name and his ability to morph it to match her two sides
was like a shot of bourbon tossed carelessly on top of an open flame, sending the blaze sky
high with white-hot fury.

Her head was down, the ever-present pen hovering over the newspaper. Her blonde hair was
draped over her shoulder; the gold waves a marked contrast to the brilliant turquoise blue of
her t-shirt. An image crystallized in his head, and he was in motion before he could second
guess himself. Around the U-shaped bend in the counter to the far corner, where
she…Rosalie, sat staring down at the paper, her perfectly manicured nails drumming on the
counter.

"Utopia," he said. It came out clipped, almost like a bark.

She glanced up, too surprised to affect the appropriate neutral expression. It almost stopped
him in his tracks, those wide eyes, full of curiosity and just the tiniest bit of attitude. But a
squeal of laughter from behind him tossed another shot of bourbon on the fire, sending the
flame flaring sky high again. Damn her for shining a light on the holes. Damn her for making
him second guess the life he'd created for himself. Damn her for showing glimpses of
something he wanted to see, but then refusing to let him anywhere close. She obviously
thought she knew him, but she didn't know a god damn thing.

"I did the crossword this morning before I hit the beach. Twenty across. Famous seventeenth
century literary work that inspired a children's cartoon. Sir Thomas More's Utopia. Since you
are wearing bright blue, I guess that would make you Smurfette. Enjoy the attention of being
the beautiful blonde everyone wants. It gets lonely when everyone wants you but no one
needs you."

He turned, and moved quickly towards the door. "Kill my order, Jess. I changed my mind. I
need to get to work."

It wasn't until the door slammed shut behind him that the flame ebbed out. Alcohol burns
bright for just a fleeting moment, and then it's gone, leaving behind charred remains and
deceptive memories of warmth that was not borne of comfort but of distress.

When the heat was gone, even in the humidity of the South Carolina summer, it left Emmett
feeling cold and alone, with nothing of substance to chase it away.

Chapter 6.

The first wine bottle sat empty on the counter top. Rosalie and Esme were diligently working
through the second, sitting across from one another at the island in the kitchen, their laughter
echoing through the otherwise quiet house. The kitchen window was open and Rosalie could
hear the quiet roar of the ocean not far away. The salt was strong in the air tonight and she felt
calm and content for the first time in two days.

She was still thinking about Moondoggie and what he'd said to her on Saturday. She'd stared
after him, mouth agape, watching his rigid body squeeze through the front door. His car had
come to life with a roar and then he was gone, leaving a deafening silence and kicked-up dust
in his wake. The shriek of a child behind her had snapped her out of it and she'd turned to
Jessica in disbelief.

"What just happened?"

Jessica's wide eyes had darted from the door back to her. She pulled a pen from behind her ear
and shrugged, looking almost as shell-shocked as Rosalie felt. "I don't know, he's…I don't
know."

She'd looked down at the crossword puzzle for a long time, his words ringing in her ears.
Then, with a shaking hand, she'd written in those seven letters.

Utopia.

That word had sparked something deep inside of her. She'd worked so hard to create her own
utopia in New York. She'd built everything up so carefully, collected every component that
she thought made up the perfect life – the job, the clothes, the friends and the relationship.
She'd left all of those things behind so easily, though, had just walked away. What did that
mean? Had her idea of happiness been wrong all along? And what had possessed her to
follow the possibility of another kind of happiness, the kind she hadn't felt since she was a
child, all the way down to South Carolina? She wasn't sure utopia existed at all anymore, in
any form. The thought that she could be chasing an impossible wish scared her, and the fact
that it was some stranger, some local slacker who'd stirred that thought infuriated her.

Who was this man to question her? To make her question herself?

That thought fanned the spark, turning it into something white-hot and molten. It moved
slowly through her veins and coagulated underneath her skin, setting her quietly on fire.

Rosalie didn't give a shit what anyone thought about her. They would all draw their own
conclusions anyway based on the way she looked or the car she drove or how she dressed.
The men at her office had treated her with derision, had called her a bitch behind her back
because she didn't take their bullshit. She knew they'd laughed at her when her resignation
was announced, saying she couldn't handle the pressure of what was essentially an all boys'
club.

She hadn't cared then, being so blatantly misrepresented. So why did she care so much now?
The idea that he thought she reveled in the attention given to her by men, that she was some
sort of ice queen that got off on turning men down, forced a veil of red in front of her eyes.

She couldn't forget what he'd said to her, though. It gets lonely when everyone wants you but
no one needs you. Those words echoed in her mind, twisted in her chest uncomfortably, rose
above the anger and indignation.

He doesn't know me, she'd repeated to herself over and over again. But her words hadn't
drowned his out.

She'd been wanted for the majority of her life. It was simple fact, something she wasn't afraid
to admit to herself or others. It wasn't an ego stroke, merely something she'd been aware of
since the boys at her school had stopped thinking girls carried the fatal disease commonly
known as cooties. Had she ever been needed, though? She couldn't remember Royce ever
needing her beyond the superficial or obvious – a hand to hold at parties, a face and body (and
mind, when it benefited his purpose) to show off, a partner who'd at one point shared the same
beliefs and goals as he had, who was as focused on achieving those goals as he was. Their
relationship had been based on practicality, had been bordering on downright clinical. It had
nothing to do with need. Hell, it barely had anything to do with want.

No, need was passion and fire. It was a deeply rooted, fundamental desire. Rosalie knew,
though it pained her to admit Moondoggie was right, that the particular type of need she
thought of, the type that she somehow knew he was talking about, had never been directed at
her.

She spent the rest of the weekend cleaning in preparation for her appointment with Esme on
Monday. She'd furiously attacked the grout in the shower upstairs. God knew why; it wasn't
like Esme would be using it. Still, it made her feel better. She reveled in the sting of her arm
muscles. She felt like she was scrubbing him and his assumptions of who she was away.

When Esme arrived Monday afternoon, Rosalie walked her through the house, focusing on
the living room and kitchen, which her mother was most concerned about updating. Esme had
taken notes and given suggestions off the cuff. Her smile was warm and encouraging and
she'd pulled Rosalie out of her shell before she knew what was happening. She felt like an old
friend, like a true one, and she found herself inviting her to stay for dinner and a glass of
wine. They'd done more talking than eating, and even more drinking than talking, and Rosalie
couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so relaxed.

Their conversation invariably meandered to the subject of men. Rosalie had deflected Esme's
initial questions, insisting that she wanted to hear about her husband Carlisle instead. Esme
had indulged her for a while, but raised an eyebrow at her now, her tone business-like. "So."

"So?"

"Come on, give up the goods, Rosalie," Esme cajoled. "Has anyone caught your eye down
here?"

"Yes," she said automatically and then backtracked. "No. I'm not sure."

Esme smiled against her wine glass. "That sounds about right."

"It's just…this guy is not my type at all. He's gorgeous, don't get me wrong," she sighed the
last part out, leaning heavily against the counter. Esme grinned, looking both amused and

intrigued. "Really gorgeous. But he's…" she trailed off, struggling to find a reason why she
couldn't, or maybe wouldn't, like him. There were so many thoughts on the tip of her tongue:
he's not ambitious enough and he's not educated enough and he's not successful enough. But
she really didn't know if any of this was fact or merely conclusions she'd drawn about him
because of his easy demeanor, casual clothes and the surf board sticking out of his SUV. She
didn't know much about him at all and the realization that she'd molded him into something
that he might not be after all secretly shamed her. Wasn't that what she was so angry at him
for doing?

It was possible she was right about him. Maybe he was just some beach bum trying to get into
her pants. But maybe he wasn't. She hadn't even given him a chance to show her who he was.

"He keeps giving me answers to my crossword puzzles," she blurted out finally. She wanted
to find a reason to be right about him, a reason that she wasn't possibly made up in her head,
and that was what she came up with?

Esme's face creased with confusion, her head tilted. And then she threw back her head and let
loose a peal of laughter. It was infectious, full-bodied and delighted, nothing like the polite
and restrained laughter of the people she'd acquainted herself with in New York, and she
found herself laughing, too. She laughed until tears sprang to her eyes and she was doubled
over the island.

"It's infuriating!" she moaned around giggles. She couldn't remember the last time she'd
laughed so hard. "Actually, he'sinfuriating."

Esme reached across the island, her eyes still sparkling from laughter, and they were an
especially bright blue-green. They looked so similar to his and she groaned to herself. Was
she looking for signs of him everywhere now? If so, she was in more trouble than she thought.

"They all are, sweetie," Esme said, squeezing her hand. "But if that's the worst of your
grievances, you're in good shape."

"No, it's not the worst of mine," Rosalie sighed, her laughter tapering off as she thought of
their last meeting and what he'd said, the things he'd assumed about her. She felt a flash of
anger. "And it's definitely not the worst of his."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't exactly invited conversation with him. He's tried a few times and I know I've
been…cold. Anyway, we got into it on Saturday at the diner. Or he got into it with me." She
waved her hand, pretending to be unaffected, though a confusing maelstrom of emotions
coursed through her. "So that's that. End of story."

"It doesn't have to be," Esme said. "Next time you see him, strike up a conversation. Show
him this side of you."

Rosalie pursed her lips and shrugged. "I don't know, maybe I'll just leave it be. Like I said,
he's not my type and I'm fairly certain I'm not his. Plus, I don't even know how long I'm going
to be here. I don't really want to start down that road."

"Ever heard of a little something called a fling?" Esme asked playfully.

"No flings," Rosalie said, shaking her head vigorously. "Especially not with this guy."

Esme held up her hands in supplication, seeming to sense that she wouldn't get any further on
the subject and Rosalie took a gulp of wine, feeling suddenly restless.

If she was being truthful with herself, which she wasn't sure she wanted to be when it came to
this man, she didn't know what to make of him. She would think she had him figured out and
then he'd go left when she'd anticipate him going right. All she did know was that he sparked
a scarily passionate and increasingly out of control response in her and that she hated.

"Well, men aside, I must say that I think this," Esme gestured between the two of them, "is the
start of a beautiful relationship."

"I agree," Rosalie replied, lightly touching her wine glass to Esme's.

"And if things with the crossword puzzle terrorist don't work out, I've got a very available and
hunky cousin who would gladly take you out on a date."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and laughed, steering the conversation in a new direction. But the glint
in Esme's eyes told her the subject was far from dead and buried.

Chapter 7.

The bad mood started on Saturday morning and lasted all week.

Emmett snapped at the guys who worked for him at the shop. He was short-tempered with
flaky customers who couldn't make their mind up about which board to buy or what SPF
sunscreen would let in just the right amount of sun. He even barked at his cousins when they
dropped by to take him to lunch.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Alice demanded. Unlike Esme, Alice never put up with
Emmett's attitude, which was ironic, given that he easily had her by a foot and a half. Maybe
that disparity is what gave her courage to call his bluff where no one else did. Esme always let
his snark roll off her back before redirecting the conversation. Not Alice.

Emmett stuck his backside out, a sarcastic smile lighting up his handsome face, "No one.
Have at it though, you're small enough to fit."

"Fuck you, Superman."

"Fuck you back, Mighty Mouse."

He'd meant to use the nickname as a cheap shot to put Alice in her place. Instead, it reminded
him of the woman from the diner, Rosalie, calling him Moondoggie. Damn it, why couldn't he
get this damn woman out of his head?

"Look, tiny but mighty annoying, I appreciate the effort, but I am really not in the mood." He
glanced down at his watch. "I need to clear my head. I'm going to go out for a bit and see if
the surf can pound some common sense back into me."

"That assumes you had it in the first place," Alice teased. They could go at each other like this
for hours, the ribbing and teasing underpinning a deep sense of affection and loyalty. It was
the joy of belonging to a large Scotch-Irish clan. McCarty, Brandon, Platt, it didn't matter.
They could argue, and then ten minutes later be in tears of laughter. Live large, fight hard and
laugh louder, his grandmother had said. Anything else is half assing it.

"Want us to bring you something back?" Esme asked, ever the peace maker in the brood.

"No, I'm good. I'll pick up something when I'm done."

As soon as they were gone, Emmett grabbed his keys from the office and barked off a short
round of instructions to the guys in the back. Normally, he wouldn't leave the shop mid day,
and it was likely to be a mad house down at the Washout, but he needed to do something or
else he was going to implode.

Two hours and one hell of a beating later, Emmett leaned against his car, water logged and
exhausted. High tide was always a workout; the waves coming in fast and furious, forcing him
to work hard to master his new board, a long board he'd picked up from one of the small
companies he contracted with out of Hawaii. Emmett pounded into the surf, letting the waves
tug him under a few times before kicking his way back up to the surface, the salty water
stinging his eyes. With the leash wrapped securely around his ankle, his board would be

bobbing on the water nearby, waiting for him to reclaim it and dive back into another wave.
For two hours he had tortured himself, focusing on the waves. It was the first time in a week
he felt truly free of the beautiful blonde and the completely illogical anger he felt.

It wasn't anger at her though, of that he was sure. It was anger at the situation, and at himself
for suddenly feeling inferior.

"Dude, you were a fiend out there!" Mike Newton called from down the beach. Emmett
watched as his old friend walked slowly towards him, board stashed safely under his arm.
They'd been coming here since they were kids, racing boogie boards and skim boarding
across the wet sand before graduating to big waves and bigger adventure. Emmett could
remember the exact spot Mike had broken a brand new Maui & Sons board, not even two
days old, where Mike had proposed to Jessica; where they'd all sat and drank after prom,
watching the sun come up. This place was all of theirs, and yet today it felt alien and
incomplete. "What the hell are you doing out here so late in the day? I thought that shop
owned your sorry ass?"

Emmett ran his hand through his hair, ruffling his dark curls, longer than they'd been since
college, to shake out the excess saltwater. "Come on, Mikey. You know me better than that. I
left Boston because I didn't want to be owned by a job."

"And yet you let that prime piece of retail real estate own your ass," Mike countered.

"Like you can talk? You are the only diner owner I know who took his Series Seven. Do you
still day trade? Should I tell your wife?"

"Yeah, well, Mr. Wharton MBA, not everyone can go make their fortune at such a young age
and check out to live 'the dream.'" Mike teased him often about his early successes. Everyone
in Folly Beach had been proud of Emmett, the local boy, golden and brilliant, who had gone
on to make good. They were prouder still, and probably overly protective, when he came gave
up that life to come back to the island and sprinkle what they considered his magic over their
little town. He was their golden boy, the one who tried and did, and he appreciated their
loyalty, even though there were times where he worried could never live up to their hopes.
"Do you ever miss it? The high flying life?"

For as long as they'd known each other, Mike had aspired to be more. He'd lived vicariously
through Emmett, listening with fascination as Emmett explained how angel investments and
initial public offerings worked, or describing the latest wave of business proposals that had
come across his desk. In return, Emmett had basked in the reflected glow of Mike's joys. His
marriage, his kids with Jess, the diner. They'd gone down very different paths, and had
experienced their own types of success. If only there was a way to splice a little bit of what
one had to pass on to the other, they might have cobbled together a truly blissful existence.
Instead, they shared their victories, respecting the other's need, and happily filling voids the
way that only old friends cold do.

"No," Emmett said as he yanked on the zipper cord, splitting the Neoprene suit open so he
could struggle out of the tight black skin. "Toss me that towel, would you?" Mike lobbed a
mass of bright orange terry cloth in his direction, and Emmett wrapped it around his waist,
expertly tugging the wetsuit completely off without giving the other people on the beach a
free show. "It was cool, helping people launch their dreams, but they were never mine, you

know? The shop is mine; Folly Beach, my family, that all plays into it. Boston was a great
way to learn, but this is where I belong, Mikey."

"There is a difference from belonging somewhere and wanting to be there. Yeah, I belong
here at Folly Beach too, but I want to be here even more," Mike corrected him.

Emmett reached into the back of the truck, grabbing a pair of shorts off the seat. He slipped
them on under the towel, then yanked it loose, using a dry end to scrub at his hair before
pulling on a t-shirt and baseball cap. He was mentally and physically exhausted, and the
pounding waves had done him some good. Not as much as what appeared to be an innocuous
conversation with an old buddy.

"Thanks man," he clapped Mike on the shoulder.

"For what?"

"For helping me get my head on straight." Emmett pulled open the door of his Defender, and
slipped the keys in the ignition. "I was wound up over something I shouldn't have been.
Thanks for the perspective."

"What can I say," Mike said with a shake of his head, "Better lucky than good?"

"Something like that." Emmett fired up the truck, and slowly backed out, avoiding two little
boys, their hands loaded down with shells, pieces of sea glass, and driftwood.

Back at the shop, the little things that had been irritating him slowly faded away. The crowd
had died off, all focused on getting ice cream, beers or other late day treats. He sent the guys
home, and straightened up the racks of boards, replaying the discussion with Mike. It was
stupid to let this girl get to him. What was the best that could happen? They spend a few
weeks together, have sex, maybe start to get to know each other and then what? She would go
back to New York, and her life up there. She had her place in the world, and it wasn't the
same as his. Emmett belonged here. This was his home.

Better to cut his losses now and focus on the things that mattered. The things that made him
who he was.

The street was thick with pedestrians, happily lost in their summer escapes as Emmett locked
the front door. He hiked his messenger bag up on his shoulder, tapping the thick roll of floor
plans against his leg as he dodged bodies to make his way back to his car. Home, dinner,
maybe a beer, and some work with the pup curled up next to him, snoring contentedly.
Emmett's head was back in the game now, and things would be just the way they were before.
Maybe he'd even call Esme and have her hook him up on a few dates, get his head back in the
game. It wasn't a long term commitment; it was just fun, right?

As Emmett approached the Defender, a flutter of something white, ruffling in the breeze,
caught his eye; a piece of paper had been wedged under the wiper blade. Probably a
promotional flyer for some store sale or party, meant to pull on the people 'from off.' Emmett
hated the waste, and grabbed the flyer out from under his blade, ready to crumple it up and
toss it in the back of the car until he could chuck it in the recycling bin at home. He would
have, had the black geometric pattern not caught his eye. It was a cross word puzzle; a simple

set of boxes, generated on what appeared to be computer paper. There were no clues, but the
squares were all filled in.

With blue Ink.

Nine words running horizontal and vertical, splicing together to form a simple message.

I was cruel at breakfast

Please come back

Smurfette

Emmett stared at the paper for a long time. He didn't know what to do or make of the
message. And he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Chapter 8.

Rosalie laced her beat-up sneakers and stood, pausing in front of the floor-length mirror to
check her reflection. Her eyes ran from the top of her head, smooth ponytail in place, and
down her pristine running clothes. When she reached her shoes, the thoughtful twist of her
mouth stretched up into a grin. Her New Balances had so many miles and memories and it felt
like a small victory to be wearing them again. Everything in New York had been new, the
latest and the most expensive. She'd played the game, caught up in acquiring. But she hadn't
been able to throw the shoes away. Instead, she'd hidden them in a shoebox and stuffed them
toward the back of her closet, just waiting to bring them back out again.

She kept a steady pace down to the beach, the sun beating down on her. James Taylor crooned
in her ears as she took in the scenery around her. The beach stretched endlessly to her left, all
sparkling water, smooth sand and bright beach towels. To her right were modest beach homes,
crouched low and brightly painted. Towels and wet suits hung over the low walls. The wet
suits reminded her of the one person she'd tried so hard not to think about the past week. It
was fruitless, though. He kept washing back into her mind like a wave slowly eroding at the
sand beneath it.

She'd been going to the diner every morning since their standoff on Saturday, both hoping to
see him and not wanting to. He was never there. Every time the door opened, Rosalie would
look up, pen paused over her crossword puzzle. Her heart would stop, expecting to see his
tall, muscular body framed by the door, his shaggy hair reflecting chestnut and red against the
sun. And every time the door opened, it wasn't him. Jessica didn't say anything, but she felt
her curious gaze out of the corner of her eye. She knew she was being completely obvious,
but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She was too keyed up, anticipating and dreading and
wanting and not. The push and pull of her emotions was exhausting.

Esme had drawn up a proposal and emailed it to her the other day, along with a promise for
dinner and drinks soon. Rosalie had forwarded it to her mother, holding her phone expectantly
in her hand. It rang not five minutes after the email hurtled through cyber-space.

"Hi, Mom."

"Rosalie, I just got the proposal," her mother had replied, sounding rushed. No doubt she was
heading off somewhere with her girlfriends. She was the quintessential lady who lunched.
"This work is going to take until the end of the summer. Are you really going to be there that
long, darling?"

She said "darling," but the tone of her voice clearly read "you silly, foolish girl."

She hadn't thought to give herself a timeframe here. She was making enough money with her
freelance work to tide her over until she was ready to think about her next steps and a more
permanent job, but she hadn't thought about whether those next steps included her staying in
Folly Beach or not. She'd just wanted to get away for a while, to clear her head. And while
she knew the renovations Esme had suggested didn't require Rosalie to stay, the completion of
the house seemed like a good deadline to give herself. When the renovations were done, she'd
think about her future, what – and where – that entailed. Her tone had a ring of finality when
she told her mother, "Yes, I am."

She ran easily for a while longer, enjoying the feeling of her muscles straining and stretching.
She'd worked out religiously in New York and her body had shown the effort in sinewy
muscle, no fat to be found anywhere. When she'd quit her job and started making plans to
move to Folly Beach, her routine had waned and she'd gotten softer, a little more curvaceous.
She didn't mind the change, but she enjoyed the endorphins and the subtle burn in her limbs.
She enjoyed the fresh smell of the ocean mixed with the heady scent of jasmine climbing up
nearby mailboxes even more.

There was a parking lot up ahead and she made a pit stop at the bathroom. As she was
washing her hands, she did a quick face check in the hazy mirror. She was flushed from
exertion and the heat, little flyaway hairs sticking to her damp forehead. She pushed them
back with her wrist impatiently and grabbed a few scratchy paper towels, drying her hands as
she walked out.

She was dabbing at her forehead as she turned the corner of the brick building, but there may
as well have been a wall right in front of her when she did because what she saw in front of
her stopped her short.

Moondoggie was standing not ten feet in front of her, his surfboard propped up against the
side of his Defender. His hair was dripping wet and he had his back turned to her. The broad
span of his shoulders was encased in clingy Neoprene and she let her eyes follow the lines of
his body down his torso to where it tapered in slightly to meet lean hips and an absolutely
glorious –

Rosalie stumbled back around the corner suddenly, pressing her body against the wall and her
hand against her mouth. She'd almost been caught gawking by the blond guy walking up the
sand. She inched back toward the corner, craning her neck so that she could hear their
conversation better. It was difficult over the roar of the waves nearby, but she caught snippets.

"…Mr. Wharton MBA, not everyone…make their fortune at such a young age and check out
to live the dream… miss it? The high flying life?"

Wharton? Rosalie closed her eyes, letting her head and spine lightly hit the bricks behind her.
She felt a blanket of mortification settle over her. In that one sentence his friend had uttered,
he'd completely turned her assumptions of this man on its head.

And she thought he was the idiot?

"Toss me that towel, would you?"

She scrambled up at his voice and that request, sticking her head around the corner as
unobtrusively as possible.

He was shedding the top half of his wet suit and she watched, mouth agape and eyes wide, as
the muscles in his back rippled with the effort of pulling it down. A towel was wrapped
loosely around his hips and she let her eyes roam freely, taking in the subtle dip going down
the middle of his back, accented at the bottom by two small dimples. Rivulets of water were
running lazily down his back from the base of his hair. One snaked gently down that dip,
disappearing beneath the towel. He was all golden skin, sinuous muscle and tendon and she
couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight of him.

"It was cool, helping people launch their dreams, but they were never mine, you know?" he
said. Rosalie held her breath, feeling like a Peeping Tom for just standing there and staring at
him. She was frozen, though, her fingers clutching the wall to keep her standing. "The shop is
mine; Folly Beach, my family, that all plays into it. Boston was a great way to learn, but this
is where I belong, Mikey."

He sounded so sure, so confident in his choice to leave what sounded like a lucrative and
high-powered career. He'd risked it all and followed his dream down here much like she had
chased hers, though she had no idea what that dream was. They were alike in that way, it
seemed. She wondered in what other ways they were alike. The curiosity tugged at her,
burned inside of her, eroding at the defensive wall she'd so carefully built around herself.

So much of what she'd assumed about him was wrong. She hadn't even tried to see anything
other than what she thought him to be and she had to wonder what her motives were for that.
Was she really that blind, her defenses that deeply ingrained? Or was it that he scared her, that
in only a handful of interactions, he'd unearthed emotions that she hadn't felt for so long? She
couldn't imagine what he'd do to her if she actually let him in.

He reached into his car, turning slightly, his hand gripping the towel around his waist, and she
ducked back against the protection of the wall, letting it hide her. She knew she needed to
walk away before he saw her there, obviously eavesdropping on a conversation she wasn't
supposed to hear. She just had to get her knees to stop shaking, had to get the pounding of her
heart under control.

She also needed clarity about this situation. She needed a third party opinion on how the hell
she was going to untangle this mess. And she realized as soon as she thought it that she did
want to untangle it.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself off the wall and took the long way around the building,
getting quickly back onto the trail. She didn't turn her iPod on, just listened to the beat of her
feet on the sidewalk, letting her heart match its rhythm. With each step she took, the need to
purge what she'd just heard grew stronger. She didn't slow down as she reached her front
door, launching herself inside. She sprinted into the kitchen, not even bothering to kick off her
sandy shoes, and picked up her phone, quickly dialing a number.

"Esme?" she gasped into the phone as soon as she answered.

Esme's voice was immediately concerned. "Rosalie? Are you okay?"

"Crossword puzzle terrorist," she wheezed out, waving her hand in the air manically as she
tried to catch her breath. "He – he…"

"He…" Esme trailed off, drawing out the word, "terrorized another one of your crosswords?"

"No, he was at the beach and I heard him talking to his friend and he said something about
Wharton and he – wetsuit – and –"

"Wharton?" Esme interrupted. "Wait, rewind. Tell me what happened from the beginning. But
first catch your breath so I can hear this before you die on me."

Rosalie took a deep breath and then another, collapsing against the island. She pressed her
cheek against the cool marble and waited until her breathing and heart slowed to a more
normal, human rate before she began telling Esme what had transpired. She'd barely gotten to
tell her about the wetsuit when Esme interrupted her again.

"Wait, where did you say you were?" she asked, her voice piqued.

"Some place called the Washout," Rosalie replied, trying and failing not to remember what
his bare back had looked like, how his muscles had flexed and contracted underneath sun-
kissed skin. "Esme, I thought he was just some dumb stoner, and then I overhear his friend
talking about Wharton and Boston and –"

Esme started laughing. No, not laughing – gasping. She went silent, she was laughing so hard
and Rosalie pulled the phone away from her ear, mouth agape, listening to her new friend
completely lose her mind.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" she asked finally, unable to hold her tongue any
longer.

"Oh…my god…Emmett," Esme rasped, the name setting her off on a fresh round of
uncontrollable laughter.

"What?" she snapped, straightening up. "My name is Rosalie."

"No, Emmett," Esme repeated loudly. "Rosalie, the crossword puzzle terrorist is my cousin."

Her blood ran cold and she felt for a stool behind her before sitting down hard.

"He's your cousin? The cousin?" she stuttered out. "Hunky and available cousin?"

"You got it," Esme replied, sounding highly amused and a little smug. "And you must be
what's got his panties in a twist. I knew something was going on with him. He's been acting
weird for weeks, all keyed up and -"

"He's your cousin?" Rosalie repeated. Emmett, she thought. The name fit him well and she felt
a thrill go up her spine saying his name, even silently.

"Yes, Rosalie, he's my cousin," Esme said in a deliberate tone that people usually reserved for
small children and animals. "And honey, he's anything but dumb."

"Yes, thank you, I gathered that," Rosalie snapped, resting her forehead on her arms. "Ugh,
what am I going to do?"

"Relax, this is fixable. Emmett is very straightforward. He's complex but not complicated.
You just need to finesse him a little bit, let him see that you're not who he thinks you are.
Show him the real you, Rosalie, and I promise he'll come around."

Rosalie didn't know what that meant exactly, or in what ways she wanted Emmett to "come
around." What she did know was that she owed him an apology. But how?

As she continued to listen to Esme talk about Emmett, her eyes drifted to the paper folded up
on the counter not far away. The crossword sat on top, all the boxes filled out and solved.
Something clicked and she grabbed it, her heart picking up speed.

The message was already formulating in her mind. She just had to hope he'd read it and more
importantly, that he'd forgive her.

Chapter 9.

Emmett propped the crossword puzzle message up against a picture frame on his desk. At
different points throughout the following days, he found himself staring at the words, trying to
decipher what they meant, and more appropriately, why he wasn't acting on it.

He'd had his choice of women when he lived in Boston, indiscriminately dating here and
there, but never finding a woman that might be more than a passing thing. In the two years
Emmett had been home, he'd been more conservative in his romantic pursuits. The small pool
of women on Folly Beach he wasn't related to were like sisters, girls he'd grown up with.
They might have pursued him in high school, or they might be little sisters of friends he'd
hung out with. Each girl came with a distinct memory; braces, knobby knees, walls of bangs
or bad dye jobs. After a few aborted attempts, Emmett gave up on the few local girls that held
any appeal. Most of the women his age in Folly Beach were married anyway. The younger
ones were off seeking their adventures in the world. Sure, there was always the older crowd,
one of Esme's clients who would be happy to sink their talons into a fresh piece of meat, but
Emmett avoided those women like the plague. He was not a play thing for some cougar, and
found himself checking anyone of questionable age for that distinctive round vaccination.
Mike had named the polio vaccination scar the cougar badge after a night spent tossing back
beers and watching women come on to Emmett, and the name had stuck.

Last summer, Emmett had taken up with a girl from off, who'd rented a house at the north end
of the island. He'd tried to treat it for what it was, a fling, no promise of anything longer than
some fun. But by the end of summer, things had turned from frivolous to the hope for
something more, and they both promised to try and make the long distance thing work. The
girl went back to Baltimore, and within a month, she'd faded to nothing more than a vague
memory. Long distance simply didn't work, especially not when Emmett had responsibilities
here that prevented him from spending weekends in the cities he'd once fled. No, Emmett
didn't need a stranger. He needed someone who lived here, who would stay here and help him
live out this dream he'd built in the place he loved, maybe even growing to love the area as
much as he did. It created a veritable impasse most women could never get by, not just the
geographic undesirability, but the expectation too; Emmett wanted a partner, an equal, and
he'd yet to meet someone that could fill that very tall order.

Until now.

Maybe that was why he didn't go to the diner the morning after he found the crossword puzzle
he'd found under the wiper bade. If he'd asked for Mike's input, or called his old friend Jasper,
he would have been told 'act now, think later.' Of course, Mike's inclination would have been
to 'tap that ass,' where as Jasper would have been more laissez faire, encouraging him to just
go with the flow, all while Alice squealed and demanded that her husband feed her details in
the background. Either way, it didn't solve the fundamental problem.

Rosalie was a summer girl and he was a local boy. The equation did not compute.

"Someone ought to make a TV show about this shit," he chided himself. "Americana's version
of Romeo and Juliet. Divided by latitude and attitude, not parents or clan rivalries."

Emmett fought his instincts for three days, all the while making up excuses to drive by the
diner each morning. Her car was always there, candy apple red, shining like the toy he

coveted but was afraid to ask for. The parking lot might has well have been the goddamn
Mississippi River, knocking him off the top of the world while the girl waited on the other
side.

On Saturday morning, Emmett didn't go surfing. Instead, he sat on the front porch of his
comfortable little bungalow, a coffee mug cradled in his hands as he watched the sun rise
slowly over the Atlantic Ocean. Gauzy pink clouds streaked the horizon, turning the sky
salmon, then orange where the soft morning light refracted off the water. The clouds wouldn't
be there forever, but they sure did make the morning a beautiful sight. Kind of like a girl
hunched over a crossword puzzle, a pen clenched between her teeth.

It reminded him of all the encouragement from Esme, from Alice and Jasper, from his friends
here and up north too. Stop looking for perfect, Emmett, live in the moment and trust where it
will take you. You'll find you can find something perfect in the strangest places.

It was with that thought that he pulled on his Red Sox baseball cap, a holdover from his days
in Boston, and climbed in the car. He couldn't stay away any longer. He wasn't sure what he
expected to find; all he knew was that curiosity would kill him in the end. There was
something beautiful and intriguing about his mystery woman and it might be fleeting, but he
knew he didn't want to miss a chance at perfection if it really was out there. He'd already lost
three days, if not more, trying to figure his shit out. It very well could be too late.

"Hey, Big Guy," Jessica called as the door to the dinner slammed shut behind him. "I missed
seeing your silly mug around these parts. Sullivan's Island keeping you busy?"

Emmett glanced surreptitiously at the far corner, half hoping, but not expecting to see that
familiar corona of corn silk hair ensconced in the far booth. Instead, an older couple occupied
her booth, their bright beach attire garish against the classic red vinyl of the benches. His gaze
immediately swept to the counter, where she had taken roost the last time he was here. No
golden head. He shouldn't be surprised, her car hadn't been in the lot. It didn't quash the knot
of disappointment that built in his chest.

She wasn't here.

"Yeah, Jess," Emmett said, sitting down on a stool at the U-bend of the counter, heavy with
resignation. "What the hell was I thinking another shop smack dab in the middle of high
season?"

"You always were an underachiever. The usual?"

Emmett glanced around the diner, taking one last look at the crowd. All these people had
uprooted their lives for a few days of sun and adventure. They went outside the norm to
experience something new, to live a little bit. Once upon a time he'd been like them, craving
adventure and new experiences. He'd lost a bit of that along the way, along with his
perspective on what he needed in life. Maybe that was his lesson in all this, to relax and take
things easy, maybe even live a little. "You know what, Jess, no. I think I'm in the mood for
something different today. You know what I like; surprise me."

Jessica nodded, pouring him a cup of coffee. "Change is good, Em. Change is most definitely
good."

Before he could say anything in response, she'd moved on, leaving him alone with his rolled
up copy of Business Week and a heart full of what felt perilously close to regret. He slowly
spread out the magazine, bending the spine to force the pages to lay flat. It gave him
somewhere to focus; if not he'd be staring at the far corner and wondering where she'd gone.

"I hope you aren't planning on killing flies with that," a soft voice called from behind him.
"That rag is so boring, it would classify as cruel and unusual punishment."

Emmett looked up just as she plopped down on the open stool to his left. Rosalie's hair was
pulled back in a ponytail, her cheeks rosy and the corners of her mouth curling up into an
easy, affable smile. It had been impossible not to notice how pretty she was before, but today
something was different. She seemed lighter, more carefree. The loose tendrils of blonde hair
that framed her face made her appear younger and more relaxed.

She was absolutely glorious.

And then he noticed the small beads of perspiration that dotted her forehead, just below her
hairline; the lightweight t-shirt, slightly damp with sweat. Emmett quickly glanced away,
unnerved and oddly uncomfortable at her close proximity and the sudden difference in her
appearance. Where was the put together woman he'd seen in weeks past, the one with the cold
and indifferent exterior? He had prepared himself for that, not this…this…

She reached up, waving hi to Jess before pushing a strand of hair away from her face. It
caused her t-shirt to ride up, revealing just the slightest hint of a tanned abdomen. Not only
was she here, she was totally approachable, and when she caught him glancing at the sliver of
exposed stomach, she smiled even bigger, and it threw him into a complete tailspin.

Emmett grabbed his coffee, burying his face in the cup to hide his cheeks, which were
flaming red in embarrassment. He drank deeply, too focused on the woman sitting next to him
to remember that his coffee would be hot. The liquid scalded Emmett's tongue and throat, and
the pain caused him to choke and cough, tears welling in his eyes as his face grew even
redder. The woman, Rosalie, reacted immediately, slamming him hard on the back with her
flattened hand, as if trying to dislodge something stuck in his wind pipe.

"Easy there, tiger. Coffee is meant to be enjoyed, bad beer is meant to be shot-gunned," she
cooed to him. Instead of calming him down, Emmett only coughed harder, completely
disarmed by her attempt at levity. She seemed so normal, so open, and he had no clue what
the hell to do.

"Hey, Emmett, you okay?' Jessica asked from across the counter. She quickly poured him a
glass of water, and slid it down the long stretch of Formica. He caught it and took a long
drink, his face burning from the lack of oxygen and utter humiliation.

He didn't realize until after he'd drained the glass of water and managed to catch his breath
that the whacks on his back had subsided, replaced by slow even circles as Rosalie rubbed his
back. That's when the panic started to build, an overwhelming sense of 'abort abort' bubbling
to the surface. His reaction to this woman was too extreme and completely out of control. She
would pull him under and then she'd be gone. He'd be left here, picking up the pieces as he
watched his friends and family thrive and grow. It would make the empty space that much
larger.

"Order up!" the short order cook called as he slid a brown bag through the prep window.
Jessica quickly grabbed it and passed the bag across the counter to Emmett. "Lox and cream
cheese on a bagel, lightly toasted, and some yogurt. Gotta keep you healthy, pretty boy."

He grabbed the bag and mumbled a hasty goodbye, high-tailing it out the door as quickly as
he could. Emmett registered the woman speaking to him, but he plowed ahead, focused on the
door and regaining control.

In his thirty-four years of life, no woman had ever sent Emmett into a panic or rendered him
speechless. Yet here was this complete stranger, who fascinated him and beguiled him, and
when she finally approached him, the one thing he'd wanted, he bolted like he had at age ten
when Jasper's older sister Tanya had come out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel.

It wasn't until after he was in the Defender, on the way to the shop, that the woman's words
finally registered.

I loved lox. It's one of the hard things about moving away, you miss your friends, and you
miss the food. Good thing I know I can get at least one of them here.

Emmett leaned his head against the steering wheel, his eyes closed as he played it over again.
After the third time, he softly hit his head against the steering wheel. All his assumptions had
been wrong, and he'd made such an ass of himself, how would he ever get her to take him
seriously now?

Chapter 10.

Jessica was laughing hysterically.

Rosalie stared at her with the same expression she'd just stared at Emmett with when he fled
the diner seconds ago. It was a look of utter bewilderment. Was it possible that the people in
this town were crazy? Perhaps there was something about the lazy pace of life here that drove
them slowly insane. That was the only explanation for what had just happened.

After she'd stuck the apology note underneath Emmett's windshield wiper, hands shaking and
knees quaking, she'd gone to the diner every morning, hoping he'd show but half expecting
him not to. She knew a few words cleverly placed on a crossword puzzle wouldn't make up
for the way she'd treated him but she'd hoped it would at least represent an olive branch, a
chance for her to say she was sorry in person.

The days passed by and Rosalie realized that maybe he simply wasn't interested in hearing
what she had to say. She was used to getting her way, had never had to work hard when it
came to men. She'd always been chased and that she suddenly found herself as the chaser was
new and strange, a little scary. That Emmett apparently didn't want to be caught threw her
even further off-kilter, but then he had that affect on her regardless.

Every morning she watched the front door, waiting for him to pass through it. Every morning,
it seemed that every resident and visitor of Folly Beach passed through those doors but him.
In any other situation, she would write him off or get angry, but she only felt disappointment
and a dwindling sense of hope. She thought once or twice about going to his shop, but that felt
perilously close to begging and Rosalie Hale didn't beg. If he didn't want to accept her
apology, she'd have to swallow that bitter pill and move on.

This morning she'd thrown on her running clothes, laced up her old, trusty sneakers and took
off toward the diner, hoping to burn off the energy trapped inside her body from not seeing
him all week and desperately wanting to.

How had he gotten so far under her skin in such a short period of time? Regardless of the
conversation she'd stumbled upon the other day, there was something about him, something
inherent and almost elemental that spoke to her. The harder she tried to fight it, the further she
got pulled down. And so she decided with the warm air rushing over her damp skin and the
crisp smell of salt in the air, that she wouldn't fight it anymore. If, by some miracle, he
decided to see her and accept her apology, she would let it happen. If he didn't, which seemed
like the most likely possibility, she'd let that happen, too. She was tired of being in absolute
control, not that she had any in this situation anyway.

It was with that thought that Rosalie breezed into the diner and immediately skidded to a halt.
If she'd been a cartoon, a dust cloud would have formed at her feet.

Emmett was sitting at the counter. And in the most ridiculous of ways, it made sense. He
never did what she expected of him. If she thought he'd show, he didn't. When she came to
terms with the fact that he wouldn't, he appeared like some sort of gorgeous mirage, wearing a
soft gray t-shirt and worn Red Sox hat.

She hadn't been able to stop the smile that spread across her face when his head turned, his
eyes sweeping over her. The flicker of hope that had all but gone out flared up low in her
belly, moving up through her lungs and spread across her cheeks. She'd probably looked
ridiculous grinning goofily at him, but she couldn't help it. He was here, tangible and right in
front of her.

And then it had gone so, so terribly wrong. He'd been agitated and jumpy, gulping at his
scalding coffee. He'd risked death by choking and a burnt tongue just to get away from her,
had flinched when she touched his back to help stop his deep coughs. He'd teased her with his
presence only to pull it back and then disappear again and now here she sat, deflated and
defeated, not to mention sweaty.

Rosalie looked down at his Business Week, dragging it over to her with her pinky, looking
back up at Jessica, who was still laughing and wiping at her eyes.

"That didn't go very well, did it?" she sighed, fraying the edges of the abandoned magazine
absently. She could still feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt on her hand and little
bolts of electricity pricked at her palm.

"I'm sorry, Rosalie, I don't mean to laugh, it's just…" Jessica trailed off, leaning her hip
against the counter. "I've never seen him get nervous like that."

"Are you sure it was nerves and not horror that I talked about shot-gunning beer?" she replied,
her cheeks going red at the memory. His edginess had transferred over to her and she'd found
herself saying whatever had come to mind first in an attempt to salvage the situation.

Jessica laughed. "I doubt it. I've seen Em do much worse. You, on the other hand, I can't
imagine doing something like that."

"It was a long time ago," Rosalie responded, looking down at the headlines on the front page
of the magazine. She thought of the summer boy who'd taught her the technique, how the
watery beer tasted going down her throat. It wasn't something she'd ever thought she'd do and
her parents would have been horrified to see her participating in those local parties with the
local kids. She'd felt relaxed, though, and not just because of the alcohol running through her
veins. For those moments, she didn't need to worry about her grades or expectations. She
hadn't been Rosalie Hale, daughter of one of the most affluent families in Rochester. She was
just Rose.

"Hey, Jess?"

"Hmm?" Jessica hummed, looking back at her as she filled another patron's coffee cup.

"Do you think there's any possible way to salvage this?" Rosalie asked. She didn't want to
give up, but she also didn't want to make a fool out of herself or look for the possibility of
something in a place it didn't exist.

"Are you kidding? I haven't seen him react to a girl like this since…" Jessica trailed off
thoughtfully, pursing her lips and staring off into the distance. "Maybe ever. I don't know
what's gotten into him, but I can't imagine that whatever happened between the two of you
isn't fixable."

"It's just your average case of assumptions and miscommunication," Rosalie murmured,
looking out the window. The parking space Emmett's Defender had vacated remained empty.

"That doesn't sound fatal by any means." Jessica paused, tapping her pen against the counter
top. "He's a great guy, Rosalie."

Rosalie nodded with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm realizing that I missed that."

"He's probably at his shop right now. The rush doesn't really start until about eleven."

Rosalie's gaze shifted back to Jessica, who was looking at her expectantly, her pen beating out
a staccato rhythm. Her body was tensed and coiled, ready to make a move when and if her
mind allowed it.

Was Jessica right? Was it possible that she still stood a chance at showing him that she wasn't
the ice queen he thought she was? Was there even the slimmest of chances that the picture
she'd inadvertently painted of herself could be wiped away, the slate proverbially cleaned?

She didn't know, but she wanted to find out, for reasons that weren't even fully clear to her.
She wanted to at least try.

She stood and threw down some cash, then rolled the magazine up and tapped the counter.
"I'm going to take his magazine back to him."

"Okay," Jessica replied with a knowing smile. "You do that. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Rosalie echoed, taking off out the door. Her legs carried her swiftly down the
street. She tried to keep it to a steady walk, but soon she found herself jogging swiftly, darting
past meandering tourists toward the surf shop. She would probably be sweaty by the time she
reached her destination, but she didn't care.

Emmett was standing behind the cash register when she got to the surf shop, smiling easily at
a woman and an acne-ridden teenage boy. But when his eyes wandered over to the door she
had just stepped through, the smile wavered.

"Uh…" he started, his hand stalling over a bottle of sunscreen.

She walked over to the register, setting his Business Week on the counter. "You forgot your
magazine."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression morphing from shock into something hovering between
perplexity and amusement. "You ran all the way over here to bring me my magazine?"

She could feel the woman's eyes on her face and the boy's somewhere vaguely lower. She
shot him a warning look before turning back to Emmett, who was frowning at him, too.

She hadn't wanted to do this with an audience, but he wasn't budging from behind the counter
and she wanted to get this out. She needed him to know she regretted how she'd treated him.

"No, I…you ran out of there before I could tell you that I owe you an apology," she replied,
her words rushing out of her mouth. "You were just trying to be friendly and I've been a bitch
–"

"Hey!" the woman interjected, placing her hands over her son's ears. He rolled his eyes in
Rosalie's direction. "Watch your language."

Rosalie huffed, her cheeks flushing with irritation under the woman's glare. "Lady, he's a
teenager. I'm sure he's heard it before."

The woman snorted and rolled her eyes, then focused her attention back on Emmett pointedly,
pushing the sunscreen bottle toward him.

"Listen, this probably isn't the best time for this conversation," Emmett said, looking down at
the bottle and the woman before finally settling his gaze back on her face. "I'm a little
slammed right now."

Rosalie couldn't help her heart from sinking slightly at what felt distinctly like a dismissal.
"Of course. I'll let you get back to work."

She turned on her heel, making her way quickly toward the door, toward her escape.

"Rosalie?"

She stopped in her tracks, a frisson of energy dancing up her spine at the sound of Emmett
saying her name. She turned quickly, her ponytail whipping against her cheek. "Yeah?"

"See you at the diner?" he asked and he wasn't smiling, but one corner of his mouth twitched
slightly, just enough for Rosalie to know that all hope wasn't lost. Not yet.

"Yes," she replied and she couldn't help the small smile that pulled at her lips. "See you at the
diner."

Chapter 11.

Emmett watched Rosalie turn and quickly walk out of the shop, her pony tail bobbing left and
right. He wanted to kick himself. Now isn't the best time for this conversation? God, he'd been
dying to talk to her for weeks, and when the opportunity presented itself twice in one day he
choked. Literally and figuratively.

The words, delivered in a moment of panic, had done their unintended damage. Rosalie's face
had transformed; the open, hopeful expression slowly fading into that closed, protective mask
she wore when strangers approached her. All the progress, all those attempts at trying to get
her to open up to him, and Emmett destroyed it in less than five seconds.

And so went this disjointed dance of theirs. One step forward, two steps back. Emmett needed
to fix this, and he needed to fix it now.

He'd called out after her, hoping desperately that he could repair the damage. It was a stupid
little comment, thrown out in desperation as the bossy woman and her snot-nosed kid waited
to pay for expensive sunscreen he doubted either of them would use. From the service area in
back, someone shouted after Emmett, asking where the box of grapefruit scented Sex Wax
had gone. It was followed by someone else chiming in with 'that's what she said.' The shop
was hopping and everyone needed him, but for the first time in as long as he could remember,
Emmett wanted none of it. Instead of success, he wanted to chase after the elusive woman
who had just walked out that door, and he had to figure out a way to get her back.

As soon as the transaction was complete and the snotty woman clear of the register, Emmett
vaulted over the counter, startling two teenage girls browsing the racks of bathing suits. They
bowed their heads together, giggling and looking up at Emmett with doe eyes and heavily
glossed lips. They were just girls, and on other days he would have played along, teasing them
and innocently flirting back. But not today. This time it was his turn to bat his eyelashes and
pray to god it worked.

"Back in a sec," he called out to the back of the store. An arm waved, acknowledging the boss
man's orders. Emmett could hear them in the back, debating whether Sex Wax or Sticky
Bumps gave the best grip on a board. Their discussion was raucous and light hearted, and a
group of tourists loitered around listening to their banter. It made Emmett realize what a good
crew he had; they were more than capable of holding down the fort for five minutes. Hell,
they could hold it down all day; he just needed to trust that. He was beginning to realize that
he needed to trust and let go of a lot of things.

Maybe Esme and Alice were right. Maybe he really didn't have all the answers.

Emmett's instincts, once razor sharp, were so far out of whack now that he was screwing up
things left and right, and he needed to stop trying to control things. This whole move back
home had been about loosening up and enjoying his life and his family. While he had home
and family, he'd lost the life part, and it took a feisty blonde with the worst timing ever to
make him realize just how damn big the hole had been.

In the summertime, Emmett kept the front door open, luring passersby in with the strains of
lighthearted music and laughter. Today he gripped the metal frame, leaning out into the bright
morning sun. She - he had to stop calling her she - Rosalie, hadn't made it very far. She stood

at the far corner, her hands on her hips, head tilted up to stare at the bright blue sky. He could
only see her in profile, which was not enough to reveal her expression and how she might be
feeling, so he did the only thing he could do.

He took a leap of faith.

"Rosalie," he called out. Her name was foreign on his tongue, a new word with strange
consonants and syllables, one that felt so incredibly good to say. It surprised him just how
good.

She turned slowly, her hands still planted firmly on her hips. When they made eye contact, his
lips curled upward into an involuntary, almost sheepish grin. After a moment's hesitation, she
returned his smile, and it lit up her face, revealing straight white teeth and the tiniest
indentation of a dimple on her right cheek. It was a good thing he had a strong hold on the
door, or Emmett would have fallen flat on his face under the strength of the one expression
he'd been trying to elicit out of her for almost a month.

"You know they have great burgers at the diner," he said, leaning out a bit further into the
street. "And their beers aren't bad either."

Someone brushed by him through the door, the fin of a surfboard clipping his calf, but
Emmett didn't pay attention to the sting or the scrape it would leave. He couldn't look away
from Rosalie; the curious way her head tilted as she considered his statement, or how she
caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, as if amused and holding back a comment. It
was probably good her face held his attention, because if he let himself take in the shirt, damp
from humidity and perspiration as it hugged her body, he would have been lost even more
than he already was. His reaction at the diner had been living proof of that.

It felt like he was caught in a rip tide, but instead of fighting it, he was letting go and allowing
the strength of the flow to take him wherever the hell it was he was supposed to go.
Surprisingly, the less he fought, the more the panic subsided. The nerves were still there, but
instead of unsettling him, they made him euphoric.

Rosalie stared back at him, releasing the tip of her tongue to chew thoughtfully on her lower
lip. Just when he thought she was going to shoot him down, her smile grew just a little bit
bigger, and the expression on her face incredibly similar to the look he wasn't supposed to
catch at their first meeting.

Mischievous.

"I am actually in a chicken wing type of mood. I like spicy," she over-enunciated the final
word, reminding him of an old Saturday Night Live skit with Phil Hartman hamming and
shouting 'Sassy!' at the camera. Emmett couldn't help but wonder (and to be honest, hope) she
meant more than just hot sauce. "Think you can handle it, Emmett?"

"I won't know until I try, will I?" He tried to play it cool, repressing the urge to fist pump
when she said his name. He was acting like a fucking idiot, a freshman feebly flirting with the
Prom Queen, but he really didn't care.

Rosalie slowly nodded as she started to walk backwards down the street, her smile, if
possible, growing even brighter. God, she's beautiful, Emmett thought. I am so out of my
league.

"Yeah well, I've only done breakfast there, so maybe it's time to diversify and try dinner."

"Diversification is good," he answered lamely. "You never know what you'll find that you
might like."

"Unexpected discoveries are the best ones, don't you think?" she answered coyly.

Emmett opened his mouth to respond, but he found himself at a loss for words. How could
this woman, a relative stranger, render him speechless with just a few well placed comments?
As if sensing his quandary, she laughed. It was throaty, deeper than he expected, and Emmett
immediately knew he'd want to make her do it again. Very soon.

Rosalie tipped her head to the side, nodding once more before actually winking at him. Then
she turned quickly and broke into a slow jog. Emmett held on to the door frame, watching in
fascination as people turned to watch her pass.

Turns out he wasn't the only one who was mesmerized by her.

There had been no firm commitment of time or date, just the subtle promise of a future
meeting. Emmett hoped that her inference had been as clear as he'd interpreted, that she meant
dinner today - tonight. He wanted the hours to fly, for it to be five so he could lock the door
and rush home to take a quick shower. He wanted to be standing in the middle of the diner,
with her waiting for him in the far booth, chin propped on her hand, crossword puzzle spread
out in front of her.

The rest of the day progressed at a snail's pace, the patrons that moved through the store all
needy or demanding in a way that frayed on Emmett's last nerve. The guys who worked for
him picked up on it, steering clear of their boss and his strangely volatile mood. By a quarter
'til five, traffic had all but dropped off, and Emmett decided to take all the advice he'd gotten
from his cousins and his friends to heart.

"Yo, Benny!" he called. A dark head popped up from behind the counter, Ben's eyes wide as
he waited for whatever his abnormally moody boss was going to dish out. "I'm heading out
early, you good to shut things down and lock up?"

"Yeah, it's cool," Ben answered nonchalantly. If he found Emmett's request out of the
ordinary – which it was – Ben didn't say anything. In the year that he'd worked for Emmett,
Ben had never been left to close up on his own, but he was level headed enough to know not
to make a big deal out of it. "I'll just finish up with the shipment that came in from Quiksilver,
and then I'll make sure everything is ship shape before I close up."

Emmett tossed him the keys, and was out the door before Ben could say another word. At
home he showered and made a half-hearted attempt to shave. He was too jittery, and when he
almost took a chunk out of his chin, he tossed the razor to the side and rinsed his face off,
hoping the cool water would calm him down. He'd already made a big enough ass of himself

today – a wad of Kleenex stuck to a bloody divot in his chin would probably only lend to his
impression as the bumbling village idiot.

While the shaving might have been thrown to the wayside, Emmett made a bit more effort
with his clothes, pulling on a decent pair of khaki shorts and a light weight plaid shirt, the tail
out and loose. They were holdovers from his time in Boston, the preppy armor of a business
man at a baseball game attempting to look relaxed. Only this time, it wasn't armor, it was
effort, something that he felt he owed this woman. He just couldn't put his finger on why.

The parking lot was only half full as he pulled into the diner just after five. While it did steady
business on Saturday nights, the dinner wasn't wall-to-wall people like breakfast could be
which, if things went well, meant he could sit and talk to Rosalie until Jess finally decided to
kick them out. The minute Emmett cleared the front door, he looked to the right. Just as he'd
hoped, Rosalie sat in the far corner, a pint glass and a basket of fries on the table in front of
her as she stared out the window.

How long has she been here? He wondered as he slowly walked across the room. She'd
showered, and her hair fell in soft waves against a single bare shoulder. That one bare
shoulder, coupled with a megawatt smile she let loose the minute she saw him was all it took
for the tree to fall in the woods. No one else might have been around to hear it, but that
doesn't mean it didn't happen.

Because when Emmett fell, he fell hard, and the crash was mighty.

Chapter 12.

Rosalie watched Emmett walk toward her. He was dressed casually as always, but she noticed
his shorts were pressed. He was wearing a plaid button-up instead of his usual t-shirt, the
sleeves rolled up his tanned forearms. His jaw line was a little scruffy, his hair damp around
his ears and she briefly thought about what it would be like to run her nose along his jaw until
she reached the spot where it curved up just below his ear, to feel the sensation of roughness
against her skin and to smell soap and warmth and sea on him.

Her heart beat hard in anticipation as he came to stand next to the other side of the booth, his
hands stuffed in his pockets. He wore a hesitant smile and dipped his chin down, his eyes
darting to the empty seat and then back to her.

"Is this seat taken?"

She gestured to it with one hand, wrapping her other around her glass of beer to give it
something to do. "It is now."

That smile widened and Rosalie grinned back at him, a little breathless. His legs were so long
that his knee brushed against hers under the table as he got settled. It was strange having him
so close and not feeling like she needed to push him away or run. It was both exhilarating and
terrifying to invite him in like this, to lower her defenses. It probably seemed like such a
small, insignificant thing to him, but it was a huge step for Rosalie. It was her acknowledging
that there was something here and that she wanted to explore whatever that something was.

"Where are the spicy wings?" Emmett asked, his tone teasing and light. His body gave him
away, though; she could feel his knee bobbing up and down quickly underneath the table,
watched as his fingers played absently with the corner of his napkin. He was nervous and that
made her feel more at ease. Maybe this wasn't insignificant to him after all.

"I thought I'd wait for you to order. The fries were just to tide me over until you got here."

Emmett's eyes locked with hers and his fingers stalled in their work fraying the edge of the
napkin. "Well, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"No, not too long," Rosalie responded, cheeks flushing, and though she knew he was talking
specifically about the food, she wasn't entirely sure she was.

He tilted his head slightly, a curious smile on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but his
eyes darted from her face up to Jessica, who was sauntering toward them, a notepad in hand.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," she said with a wide smile.

"Just stop right there," Emmett replied, holding up his hand. "I'm sure you've got a lot to say,
but do me a favor and zip it, okay?"

Jessica drew her fingers across her lips, miming a zipper, then tossed an invisible key behind
her with a flourish.

"Damn, if only that was really possible," Emmett sighed with a grin.

"You're a real charmer, Em," Jessica snorted, turning to Rosalie, her pen pointed at Emmett.
"If he's a smart ass like this to you, let me know and I'll make sure Chef spits in his food,
okay?"

"I think I can handle him," Rosalie said, her mouth twitching to try and hold back a smile. He
looked over at her, one side of his mouth drawing up further so that his grin went lopsided and
Jessica looked between the two of them, shaking her head slowly with a laugh. She took their
orders – an order of wings for her, messy fingers be damned, and a Philly cheese steak and a
beer for him – then sauntered off, chuckling to herself.

Rosalie looked back at Emmett, whose knee had started going again, and took a sip of beer to
fortify her nerves before she attempted an apology. She pulled at the neckline of her sweater
and noticed that his eyes zeroed in on the exposed skin of her shoulder. She smiled to herself,
remembering how Esme had casually mentioned Emmett's affinity for bare shoulders over the
phone earlier. Most guys would go for the obvious – breasts, behind, even legs – but
shoulders? It was such an unlikely choice and was just another example of the ways in which
he continued to surprise her.

"So I – "

"Are you –"

They both stopped, laughing, and said in unison, "Go ahead." Rosalie raised an eyebrow and
he mimicked her, his mouth framed by those deep dimples.

She drew in a deep breath, placing her hands flat on the table in front of her. "I'm sure I
caught you off-guard with my note the other day and then dropping by your shop earlier. I'm
sorry I've been so rude to you. You didn't deserve it and I feel terrible for treating you that
way. I don't really have a good excuse for it other than that I assumed..." she trailed off,
chewing at her bottom lip. "I assumed a lot of things about you, Emmett, and I'm sorry for
that."

He nodded slowly, scratching at his jaw. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry, too, for what I said to
you on Saturday. I obviously assumed things, too, and I was out of line."

"Well, you know what they say about assuming, right?" she replied, leaning forward and
resting her chin against the heel of her palm. She tried to take him in subtly, to notice the
small details she hadn't before, like the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose,
the small white scar that bordered his hairline, the way his eyes lit up, brilliant and warm
focused on her.

"That it makes an ass out of you?" Emmett ventured with a grin.

Rosalie snorted softly. "You forgot the 'and me' part there, buddy."

"So you're calling me an ass?" He pretended to look affronted, but she could plainly make out
the good-natured spark in his eyes. She secretly reveled in being the cause and the recipient of
that look.

"Hey, I'm calling myself one, too!" she replied. "That has to count for something."

He laughed and shook his head. "All right, as long as we're in it together."

"It looks like we are," Rosalie said with a smile. Emmett smiled, too, his eyes lingering on her
face. They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing at each other and grinning, before he
exhaled, leaning back in his seat.

"I think we should start over," he suggested.

She tilted her head, curious. "Start over?"

He extended his hand across the table. "Hi, I'm Emmett." Rosalie let out a laugh, shaking her
head. "Come on, don't leave me hanging."

With a roll of her eyes and a reluctant grin, she slipped her hand into his. His skin was warm
and a little calloused and his fingers wrapped around hers, enveloping her in his grip.
"Rosalie," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Rose," he replied. Her heart skipped a beat at the nickname. She hadn't
been called that in so long, but somehow it sounded right coming from him. It was scary how
right it sounded.

She leaned back slightly, increasing the space between them, but kept her hand in his. Her
smile turned playful. "You too, Moondoggie."

Emmett's mouth dropped open and he squeezed her hand before releasing it. "You just
completely ruined it."

"I didn't," she laughed. "I just think you should embrace the nickname."

His eyes sparkled with good humor as he shrugged. "Fine, Smurfette."

Rosalie wrinkled her nose. "I obviously got the short end of the nickname stick."

They were still teasing one another when Jessica brought their food and Emmett's beer. They
dug in immediately and Rosalie swept her hair behind her shoulders so it wouldn't get sauce
in it. She couldn't help her hum of appreciation in the first bite; she hadn't had wings in years
and these were sinfully delicious and greasy. When she looked back up, he was watching her,
a mysterious and thoughtful expression on his face. She raised a questioning eyebrow but he
just smiled and shook his head, going back to his sandwich.

They continued to talk and laugh in between bites of food. She asked more questions than she
answered, her curiosity about him only growing with each bit of information he fed her. The
more he told her, the more she wanted to know. She found herself fascinated, leaning forward,
her eyes wandering to his mouth more frequently with every sip of beer she took. Emmett
regaled her with stories of tourists and their odd requests and demands, his laughter mingling
with hers, and she noticed silently the way his face came alive when he talked about his work,
how passionate and in love with it he was. She couldn't help envying his enthusiasm. He
seemed to approach everything in life that way, with openness, a curiosity and enthusiasm
that she knew she'd had at one time, that she felt slowly building back up inside of her. She

couldn't help but wonder if it was her new home and the change of scenery that had caused
that change in her, or if it was something else entirely.

Or maybe someone else? A voice that sounded suspiciously like Esme's whispered in
Rosalie's ear.

Yes, things had certainly changed for her. And nothing highlighted that better than this man,
an unexpected presence in her new life, sitting across from her now.

Chapter 13.

"Oh, come on, just try it."

"Emmett, that is disgusting, there is no way-"

His eyebrows shot up, issuing a silent challenge that she couldn't resist. He may not have
known a lot about her yet, but Emmett recognized a natural competitor when he saw one, and
he played that to his advantage.

"Fine," Rose huffed, grabbing the fork from his hand before forcefully spearing the golden
brown mass on the plate.

"Swirl it in the raspberry sauce, trust me," Emmett instructed her before taking a sip of his
beer.

"Is that your attempt to be high brow? Raspberry compote with a deep fried Twinkie?"

"Don't knock it until you try it. And I'll have you know that I started you slow. I could have
gone for the deep fried snickers bar."

Rose's eyes narrowed as she carefully cut into the sponge cake, watching with horrified
amazement as steam rose gently into the air. After just a moment's hesitation, she swirled the
Twinkie in the dark red sauce, coating one side completely before lifting it to her mouth.

"I don't think I can do this," she blurted as the fork hovered just short of her mouth.

"Fine, then let me have it, you big chicken." Emmett reached across the table, grabbing her
wrist to tug her hand in his direction. He had the bite halfway in his mouth when she abruptly
pulled back, smearing raspberry sauce across his chin.

The awkward balance, established over a nervous truce, had eased into a comfortable give and
take as they each shared details about their lives. As one beer gave way to two which gave
way to three, Rose began to relax, laughing easily as she launched question after question in
his direction. Emmett had tried a few times to ask her about her job or her life in New York,
but she'd quickly sloughed it off with an off-handed "I'm taking a breather," or "I checked out
for the summer."

What she did let through was that she'd led a pretty uptight existence for the last couple of
years, climbing the corporate ladder and living the high-flying city life. It was only when she
spoke about her childhood vacations here on the island that she truly loosened up and let her
guard down. An off- handed comment about the crazy foods she'd gotten hooked on as a kid
(rocket pops and elephant ears) revealed that she had never eaten a deep fried Twinkie,
insisting in horror that there was no way she would ever try it.

And that is how Emmett ended up with raspberry compote smeared all over this chin and a
shit-eating grin on his face.

"No bogarting my dessert!" Rose shouted, quickly shoving the bite into her mouth. Her eyes
narrowed as she chewed, considering the taste and texture before quickly cutting another
sliver of the dessert.

"Oh. My. God," Emmett said in mock horror, his hand pressed to his mouth as if stifling a
gasp. "I can't believe you did that."

"Oh. My. God," she mimicked back, "This is amazing. And you have…" she grabbed her
napkin to wipe at the raspberry sauce on his chin, "an eating problem."

"The only eating problem I have is the fact that someone keeps stealing my food," he said,
grabbing the last bite of Twinkie from the plate and popping it in his mouth.

"Hey!"

"Hay is for horses, pigs don't eat it 'cause they don't know how," Emmett shot back, wiping at
his chin with the proffered napkin. "Besides, you are the one who said deep fried Twinkies
were gross."

"I did not! I said the concept was gross!" Rosalie ran her index finger through the raspberry
sauce on the plate, swirling her finger in the red jam and holding it aloft. Emmett saw it
coming, but couldn't move fast enough, and she smeared a long streak of raspberry down his
left cheek.

"That's mature, Ros-uh-lee."

"We're eating fried Twinkies. It's an oxymoron." Rose smiled, swirling her finger in the sauce
again before unleashing another assault. He was prepared this time, easily catching her wrist
and holding it in place.

"I prefer blueberries, but this works," Emmett said before popping her finger in his mouth to
suck gently on the tip. The mixture was sweet and salty at the same time, raspberry mixed
with the subtle tang of hot sauce. Emmett snapped to attention, quickly releasing Rose's wrist,
his heart racing a million miles an hour. What the fuck was he thinking? Yeah, it was a cute
little trick if you were familiar with a person, but this was…they were… Emmett quickly
grabbed the napkin and wiped at his chin, trying to play off his embarrassment.

Apparently he wasn't the only one, for Rose's cheeks were a brilliant crimson red, her eyes
wide with shock.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Last call you two, I'm kicking your sorry asses out," Jess interrupted, plunking down
Styrofoam cups in front of them. "Diet Coke for the road; now get the hell out of here so I can
go home to my perfect family."

Jess winked at Emmett surreptitiously, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Whether she had
caught what just transpired or simply had freakishly excellent timing was unknown, and at
this point, he didn't care. He grabbed onto the offering like a life line.

"Oh, you wound me," Emmett countered, mouthing a silent 'thank you' when he knew Rose
wasn't looking. "How many years have you known me, and I'm still not family?"

"I've known you since we were seven and I pushed you off the monkey bars in second grade,"
Jess answered quickly. "You called me toothpick. Then in junior high you called me tinsel
teeth. Why would I call you family?"

"Yeah, and you broke my arm!" Emmett countered, instinctively rubbing at his forearm. "I
had to miss a season of little league because of you!"

"Yeah well, I broke it in two places then, and I can probably do a hell of a lot more damage
now. So get the hell out of here before…" She grabbed a bar towel off the counter, and started
to twirl it, coiling the damp cotton to whip in his direction. Emmett jumped up out of the
booth just as she let the towel fly, the damp cloth extending and snapping with a loud thwack.
It missed his thigh by mere inches, and Emmett frowned at Jess, holding one finger up in
warning as Rosalie giggled. Jess merely laughed, grabbed the empty desert plate off the table
and called goodnight over her shoulder.

"Don't we need to pay?" Rose asked as she scooted out of the booth.

"No, I have a running tab here; they just ding me at the end of the month. Mikey knows I am
good for it." Emmett grabbed the drinks Jess had left for them, quickly taking a sip of one
before passing the other cup to Rose. "Night Tinsel Teeth!" He called out to the back of the
diner.

"Night Crater Face!" Jess shot back.

He quickly led Rose out of the diner as the lights flickering off behind them. A minute later
there was a metallic click and the slow fade of blue and white neon marked the end of another
day.

"She's very nice," Rose observed, filling what had suddenly become an awkward silence. "She
likes you a lot, even if she does call you Crater Face."

"Jess? She's like family. And my dimples were pretty epic as a seven year old. " Emmett
leaned against the side of the Defender, smiling broadly as he shoved his free hand into the
pocket of his shorts. "She married Mike, who is one of my oldest buddies, right after we
graduated from college. I thought they might move to the mainland, but they never did."

"But you did?" It was an observation, posed as a question.

"Yeah, I did. When you're young, you think you know everything. After I graduated from SC,
I worked at a tech start up in Raleigh for a few years before applying to grad school. With the
degree from Wharton and a tech background, the venture firms came a-knockin' and I ate up
everything they fed me." Emmett paused, taking a drink of his soda as he recalled his days up
north. "For a few years I bought into it all hook, line and sinker. I lived large, made other
people lots of money, and invested wisely. Then, one morning…" he broke off, glancing up at
the clear night sky, the stars twinkling like Christmas lights against a midnight blue backdrop.
"I can remember it like it was yesterday. I woke up, it was a rainy shitty Sunday morning, and
I realized that it really didn't mean a thing. All the money, all the accolades, it doesn't mean

crap when you wake up by yourself in a leased apartment with nothing to really call your
own."

He shook his head, amazed at how quickly the sensation of abject failure came roaring back.
In theory he had everything: the job, the car, the clothes. Yet, there was no laughter, no life.

All the things he'd been raised to believe were important were absent, and it merely reinforced
how alone he really was. "I ended up lying in bed for most of the morning, thinking things
through. I went in the next morning and gave notice, cancelled my lease, and sold off
everything in the apartment. I only kept three things."

"My guess is the Red Sox hat was one," Rose said quietly.

"Nah, I had that before." He banged his hand on the hood of the truck. "I kept this, my watch,
and my clothes. Fat lot of good suits do me down here, but I couldn't bring myself to toss
them. Everything else went in the fire sale. It helped fund the first year's inventory. Figure
there was something good that came out of the excess after all."

Rose was leaning against her car's door, one arm crossed over her body, the Styrofoam soda
cup braced against her thigh. In the dark, it was difficult to see her expression, and he
wondered what she thought of his little ramble. Did she think he was a loser? A drop out? Or
was she at the same place he'd been that rainy morning in Boston, staring out the window as
rivulets of rain ran down the window, wondering where the hell the sunshine and laughter had
gone?

"I'm glad you kept the truck," she said softly. "It suits you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, a bunch of reasons… it's not something you see every day," she answered quickly, never
making eye contact. "It's made to last forever, it's fun, and it can run just about everything else
off the road." She laughed, tipping her head to the side. The faint glow from the moon
outlined her features in shadow, making her appear otherworldly, almost intangible. Emmett
found himself squeezing his hands together. He wanted to touch her face, to prove that she
really was here, that she was real, but he held back.

"I'm not quite sure how to take that," he laughed. His palm burned as his nails dug into his
palm. He absolutely itched to touch her, but without permission, it felt premature.

"As a compliment."

Rose stepped forward, tossing her cup into a trashcan by the diner door. It banked off the rim,
dropping down to the bottom with a quiet thump. "Thank you for a nice night, Emmett. It's
the best undate date I've ever had."

"Who said anything about it being an undate?"

"I did. Fortunately you are going to ask me out on a real one soon, so they cancel each other
out." Rose reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it gently. "Assuming you can figure out
where to find me."

He shook his head, laughing at her dare. "I thought we were past games, Miss Rosalie."

"This isn't a game, you just like a challenge." She stared up at him, a cryptic, almost sphinx-
like smile, adding an air of mystery to the mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Thank you for
dinner. And for introducing me to the artery clogging joy of deep fried Twinkies."

"Thank you for being here," Emmett said back. He was caught in an embarrassing limbo, a
strange balance between wanting to sweep Rose off her feet and impress the hell out of her.
He knew that they were absolutely not the same thing, and could bring about two markedly
different outcomes.

In the end, he went for what he thought would mean the most to her. Emmett dropped his
head, pulling her hand up to his lips. He quickly brushed a kiss across the back of her
knuckles, smiling at the mingled scent of hot sauce and raspberries.

"Have a good night, Rose," he said, releasing her hand. "And trust me, I'll find you. I grew up
here, remember."

She stepped back, laughing lightly.

"I am banking on it, Moondoggie."

Chapter 14.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, hello to you, too," Rosalie laughed at Esme's greeting, cradling her phone between her
cheek and shoulder. She reached into the fridge, plucking out supplies for a late afternoon
snack, and set them next to the bowl and spoon she'd already lain out on the counter. The
renovations on the kitchen and living room would be officially starting tomorrow and she
wanted to use this precious counter space while she could.

"Hi," Esme replied pointedly. She could hear the smile in her voice. "I repeat, what are you
doing?"

Rosalie opened the container of Greek yogurt, spooning a healthy helping into the bowl. "I'm
making a snack."

"Which is?"

"Fruit and yogurt," she replied quickly, holding her spoon aloft and cocking her hip
indignantly. "Would you like to know what I'm wearing, too?"

Esme laughed as Rosalie popped a raspberry into her mouth. The tart taste of it reminded her
of the dessert she'd shared with Emmett during their undate the other night. She smiled to
herself, remembering his laugh and smile, the shock that had lit up his vibrant eyes when
she'd smeared raspberry sauce on his chin. That memory led to another and her stomach
clenched as she recalled how his mouth had felt around her finger, the tip of his tongue
swiping at the compote. They'd both been caught off-guard by the gesture and Rosalie was
certain her face had been on fire, though not from embarrassment. No, it was just that his
simple gesture had sent shockwaves of attraction through her entire body. She'd never been on
the receiving end of something so sensual and it had not only been unconscious – the panic in
his eyes when he realized what he was doing told her as much – it had lasted no more than
two seconds. How was it that he could set her so on fire with something so seemingly
innocent?

That wasn't the only thing that had shaken her, though. She was still reeling from the ways in
which his long road back to Folly Beach paralleled hers. He'd been caught up in the rat race,
too, had played the game and won, and then had realized the cost it came at – where was the
happiness, the sense of a deeper fulfillment? His revelation had been so scarily close to hers;
she'd been stunned into silence for a minute while she tried to digest it, tried to reconcile this
man standing next to her in the darkness, talking about shunning the superficial things that
most people would die for, with the slacker she'd thought he was when she first met him. The
more he revealed, the more she realized she didn't know. And she wanted to know so much
more.

She wanted to know everything.

"… daydreaming about? Earth to Rosalie, come in, Rosalie."

Rosalie started, broken out of her reverie by Esme's elevated voice. "Huh?"

"Oh, you have it so bad," Esme drawled. She'd already told Esme about the undate, but had
given very few details, simply saying she'd had a very nice time. She didn't know if Emmett
and Esme had talked about what was going on between them and the last thing she needed
was Esme accidentally slipping on just how bad she had it when she didn't even know what
Emmett's feelings were.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she sniffed haughtily.

Esme gave a teasing sigh. "Okay, play that game, that's fine. Listen, can you be ready to go in
an hour?"

Rosalie's brows pulled together in confusion. "Uh, ready to go where?"

"Don't worry about that part. Be ready at six o'clock, okay? I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? What –"

"Bye, Rose!" Esme trilled.

"Hey, why did you call me –" The phone disconnected and Rosalie pulled back, staring at the
flashing screen. "- Rose?"

Only one person down here had called her that, and it seemed a little too coincidental that that
person happened to be Esme's cousin. Had they talked about her? And if so, what had he
said? She had the sudden urge to dial Esme's number and force her into submission until she
spilled every last detail, but polished off her snack instead, her heart already beating in
anticipation of what would be waiting for her at six.

Despite her confusion at Esme's cloak and dagger routine, Rosalie was ready to go at six on
the dot. She had absolutely no clue what to wear, so she threw on a white cotton summer
dress, keeping her hair down and wavy. She gave a cursory glance at her reflection in the
mirror in the foyer as she passed it and stopped, surprised by the woman staring back at her. It
was her, but it wasn't. She'd managed to get a bit of a tan since moving down here and her
skin looked golden against the white fabric of her dress. Her expression was relaxed, her
cheeks and nose a little red from the sun. With her hair down, she looked so far removed from
the Rosalie that had arrived here a month ago.

There was a knock at the door and she looked at it curiously before crossing the foyer in three
quick steps. Her breath hitched in and then exhaled sharply out when she saw who was
standing on her doorstep.

Emmett.

"I…hi," Rosalie stuttered dumbly. She let her eyes wander over the length of his body, taking
in the polo shirt and shorts he was wearing. His hair was a little shaggy as always, but pushed
back from his clean-shaven face. Her heart stuttered.

"Hi," Emmett replied. Her eyes snapped up to his again and he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "I
told you I'd find you."

A smile spread across her face. "Well, well. Are you my surprise?"

"I am," he confirmed. "And color me surprised to find out that you're friends with my
meddling cousin."

"I am," Rosalie echoed his words teasingly. "I'm guessing she's the one who told you where to
find me?"

Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

Emmett's smile widened. "You're quick on the uptake, Smurfette."

"I try," she responded, leaning against the doorframe. He stepped a little closer and she could
smell his clean scent, could almost feel the heat from his skin. The air was balmy between
them, charged with electricity that seemed to grow each time she saw him. She wondered,
looking up at his handsome face, if he felt it, too.

Emmett let out a quiet breath, and then gestured toward the Defender parked in the driveway.
"So, you ready?"

"For?" she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

"Our date."

Rosalie wouldn't have been able to hide the radiant smile that those two words caused if she'd
wanted to. "Sure, let me just grab my purse." She stepped back into the foyer and snatched up
her bag and a lightweight cardigan, only barely managing to refrain from running back to
meet him at the door.

"Oh, before I forget, I brought you a present." She stopped short as Emmett reached into his
back pocket and handed her a package of blue Sharpie pens. His fingers brushed against hers
as she took them and she stared up at him, speechless. Silence stretched between them and he
scratched at his neck, a flush creeping over his cheeks. "I know they're not the traditional
flowers, but I thought it might be more useful than something that will die in a few –"

Rosalie stepped forward, placing her hand on his shoulder as she stood on her tiptoes to reach
him. Her lips brushed against smooth skin and when she pulled back, he was gazing down at
her, blinking in surprise. It was so quiet outside that she could hear the hitch in his breath,
could hear her blood pounding in her ears. "It's perfect," she said in a low voice. "Thank you."

"Damn, if that's what I get for pens, I can only imagine what the flowers would've gotten me,"
Emmett replied, clearing his throat.

She rolled her eyes with a laugh and let him lead her to his car, his hand spread across the
small of her back.

They drove through town toward a destination that Emmett wouldn't give up. The air moved
through Rosalie's hair and across the bare skin of her arms and neck and she closed her eyes
briefly, reveling in the sensation. The openness of his car made it difficult for conversation, so
they spent the quick drive in comfortable silence instead. Occasionally, she'd look over and

find him darting glances at her and she'd grin and then he would, too, and they'd both look
away.

They pulled into the parking lot of a small, cozy restaurant a few minutes later. The pier
stretched into the ocean not far away, lit up and crawling with people. Emmett helped her out
of the car, his hand finding the curve of her lower back again. She swallowed her
disappointment when the hostess led them to a table tucked in the corner of the restaurant and
his hand dropped back to his side.

They settled in to their seats and ordered two beers, chatting easily. Their waitress tried
valiantly to flirt with Emmett when she came back to deliver their drinks and take their dinner
order, and Rosalie teased him mercilessly about it after she left, her good humor in place only
because he'd shown no interest in the woman whatsoever.

"You know, you're not at all what I expected," Emmett said at the tail end of their flirty back-
and-forth.

Rosalie snorted delicately, not wanting to think about what his expectations had been. "God, I
hope not."

He laughed, his dimple flashing and he took a sip of beer before leaning back in his chair,
gazing at her thoughtfully. "You really debunk that whole saying that first impressions are
everything."

"Or second or third or…" she let herself trail off as his laughter, deep and smooth, washed
over her. She let her gaze move over his masculine features, thinking not for the first or
fiftieth time how gorgeous he was. "Well, for the record, you reinforced one for me."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Which one is that?"

Rosalie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her cheek in the palm of her hand.
He watched her, his expression soft and open, and she suddenly couldn't understand how she'd
ever thought he was a stupid guy that was trying to score her as a notch on his bed post like so
many of the other ones. He was the antithesis of that, the very definition of goodness and
warmth. She had never met someone so genuine. "You can't judge a book by its cover."

Emmett shifted in his seat until he was leaning forward, too. "We're both just full of surprises,
aren't we?"

She nodded, her mouth drawing up into a slow smile. "So, do you have more surprises in store
for me?"

He laughed and his dimples deepened. "If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise. I guess you'll
just have to stick around and see."

Rosalie sighed, pretending to be put out by the prospect, though her heart was beating heavily
at the thought of spending more time with him. Her eyes locked with his and she felt a subtle
electricity flickering between them. "I guess I will."

"Should we toast to it?" he asked, raising his beer. She picked hers up and their glasses
clinked together. "Here's to the unexpected," he murmured.

"Cheers," Rosalie replied. He grinned and so did she, their eyes locking as they both drank to
exactly that.

Chapter 15.

As they plowed through a pile of chilled shrimp, Emmett couldn't shake the feeling that this
wasn't right. After he'd managed to wrangle the information he'd needed out of Esme, she'd
recommended the perfect spot to take Rose for dinner. At the time, Emmett had been so
focused on finding out where she lived, he hadn't thought to push back. Plus Esme had been
so excited she went a bit overboard, telling him where to make reservations, what kind of
flowers to bring, even making suggestions as to what he should wear. She meant well, and she
did have great taste, so Emmett decided to go with the flow. But when he'd stopped off to buy
flowers, a display for school supplies in the local drug store has caught his eye, and he'd
rebelled, buying the pack of blue Sharpies in lieu of the Gerber daisies Esme had insisted
upon. His instincts hadn't been wrong with the pens; maybe they were right on about dinner
too.

It wasn't that the restaurant was bad, or that they weren't having a good time, because they
were. They'd ordered drinks and eased into comfortable conversation as they picked apart the
shrimp, but it just didn't feel right.

As the waitress came back to see if they were ready to order dinner, Emmett caught sight of a
little boy at the next table, poking at a hamburger. He had his head propped in his hand, a
glazed expression on his face as his parents jabbered on over his head. The little boy didn't
want to be cooped up in here; he wanted to be outside, wind in his hair as he played fetch with
his dog or caught fireflies.

As simple as that, there was the answer.

"Ang, can we get the check please?" Emmett asked, quickly pulling his wallet out of his back
pocket. He had to bite back a smile as he caught Rose watching Angie. She'd not missed the
way Angie flirted with him, something the girl had done ever since she hit puberty. Emmett
knew her parents, and could remember Angie when she was still in diapers. Nonetheless, it
gave him a little charge to know that Rose was sizing up the competition, even if it was just a
kid.

When Angie flashed him puppy dog eyes, Emmett turned on the smile, while gently knocking
Rose's foot under the table. "No worries on the service, kiddo. Change of plans is all." He
passed her a few folded bills, not paying attention to the amount. She was headed off to
college in the fall, and could use the money.

Standing, he extended his hand to Rose, whose brows had knotted together in confusion.
"Trust me, I just figured something out. I promise you won't be disappointed."

She placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her out of her chair. He didn't miss the
triumphant but sweet smile she flashed at Angie, and he had to resist a laugh as he led her out
of the restaurant to his car. Forty five minutes later, they sat in his backyard with cold beers as
music spilled from the house. The grill released gentle puffs of smoke as the aroma of meat,
onion and charcoal filled the air.

"I can't believe you named your dog -Dog," Rose teased as she scratched the mutt behind his
left ear. Dog had taken up permanent residence at her feet, not so subtly lying on his side.
Whenever she reached down to stroke his head, Dog would roll over, flashing his sandy gold

belly and big brown eyes, his bushy tail swishing back and forth in the grass as he plead for
more attention.

"I'm thinking of changing his name to Suck Up," Emmett said, shaking his head in mock
disgust. "He's usually a bit more subtle than that."

"Awww, ignore the big crab," Rose cooed to the dog, his tail thumping frenetically as she
rubbed his stomach. "He's just jealous he has to share the spotlight."

Emmett laughed, refusing to admit that he was, in fact, a little bit jealous. Dog had come
charging up to Rose the minute they'd opened the front door, their arms loaded down with
brown paper grocery bags. Emmett had held his breath, worried that he'd made the wrong
decision in bringing her here. What if she didn't like his house, or dogs, or hated the idea of
cooking out? It was just that the restaurant, while nice, reminded him of the way he'd used to
live. He wanted to do nice things for Rose, to impress her, but he also wanted to show her the
real him. That's why he'd decided to ditch the formality and cookout. This was about being
honest and letting someone in. The only way to do that was to let her see him, warts, bad
cooking and all.

Rose had wandered around his house, looking at pictures and scanning the books on the shelf,
laughing as she called out the titles that she had back at her house. She'd scrolled through his
iPod, declared his taste hopeless and dug hers out of her bag to nestle in the dock. Soon
enough, they were standing in the kitchen as strains of Jackson Browne filled the air. Instead
of sitting down at the table to watch, Rose dove right in, happily shucking ears of corn and
slicing tomatoes as Emmett made hamburgers. Their transition had been seamless, and he
found himself surprised at how comfortable it felt to have Rose here. Yes, there were still
awkward fits and starts in conversation, but it was like that with any new relationship.

It felt strange giving this a label. Relationships, dating, boyfriend and girlfriend, they were
such high school terms, pejorative concepts that fifteen year olds needed to define the scope
of a connection. Emmett was double that age yet he still found himself struggling with what to
call what was growing between the two of them or how to explain it. Esme had taken great
delight in his awkward requests for information, teasing him mercilessly, and even singing
Emmett and Rosalie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G before he told her to cut it out. To be
honest, he'd never gotten flustered like this around anyone else. Just Rose.

"So tell me," Rose called from her chair. "What prompted the change of venue?"

"Other than the disturbing shade of green you were turning?" Emmett teased. He was still a
little bit high from the knowledge that she was actually jealous, and he wanted to see how
Rose handled his teasing.

"Well, she knew how to work you, didn't she? Sixty bucks for what couldn't have been more
than a thirty dollar tab. You are a big cream puff, aren't you, Emmett?"

"I'm not a cream puff," he shot back, "I'm just a good guy."

"A good guy who is dead set on ruining that poor little girl for anyone else," Rose observed.
She was slowly rotating her beer bottle, the condensation forming concentric rings on the
wooden arm of the lawn chair. "You didn't answer my question, why the cut and run?"

Emmett laughed, accepting both the veiled compliment and the change of subject.
"Honestly?" he asked he gently flipped a burger. The grease hit the glowing red coals,
creating red flames which licked at the patties with a satisfying hiss. "There was a kid at the
next table bored of his mind. All I could think was 'poor dude, locked up in this place on a
beautiful night.' And then I realized the same could be said for us. We can go out to dinner
any time, but barbeque nights? Well, the good ones are few and far between. You have to take
advantage of that."

"So you are a 'live in the moment' type of guy?" Rose teased. Emmett glanced back over his
shoulder just in time to catch her swinging her leg lazily over the arm of the Adirondack
chair, her sandal flopping gently against her heel. All remnants of Little Miss Prim and Proper
had disappeared, replaced by a girl drinking beer out of a bottle, her sundress skirt hiked up
just high enough to allow her to sit in a way that was comfortable and reveal a bit of leg in the
process. This was Rose, not Rosalie, and he wanted to keep her that way.

"Not so much 'live in the moment,' more like 'enjoy the good things in life,' you know?"

"Like deep fried Twinkies?"

Emmett laughed, immediately recalling his completely unintentional come on during their
Twinkie exchange. He was also suddenly very glad that he was facing forward, so she
couldn't see the faint flush that crept across his cheeks at the memory. It wasn't just the
chemistry that flowed back and forth between them, mad and out of control; it was the look of
pure joy that overcome her disgust of the fried pastry. The knowledge that what she'd
assumed was so undesirable was actually an amazing experience. It was the realization, in
hind sight, that when he'd pulled her finger into his mouth to suck off the raspberry sauce,
she'd leaned forward a little bit, adjusting to get more comfortable, but not pulling away. She
felt it too, this bizarre convergence of intellectual and physical reactions that swirled around
them, making even the simple little things like their joking about Angie Weber ripe with
hidden potential.

He'd been so caught up in the memory that he didn't hear Rose approach until she was right
behind him, her hand resting on his back as she darted under an outstretched arm. Without her
sandals on, she was the perfect height, her head easily coming to rest on his shoulder. Emmett
smoothly shifted the spatula to his other hand so he could drape his arm loosely around her
shoulders. When she didn't pull away, he leaned over to press a light kiss into her hair.

"Twinkies are just the beginning, babe. Just wait and see what I have in store for you next."

"It better be a big juicy burger," Rose hip checked him before slipping out from under his
arm. "Because I'm starving."

Emmett smiled, gently flipping the burgers one last time. He'd made the right decision
bringing Rose here. She'd let down her guard just a little bit more, joking and laughing as she
let just a tiny bit more of her true self shine through. While Rose still wasn't ready to spill it
all, she'd let herself unwind in other, more telling ways. Little jokes and jabs, subtle
innuendos, unsolicited little touches or gestures. The ice queen was gone, and in her place was
a fascinating woman with the start of a nice tan, doing her best to keep him off balance, but at
the same time completely turned around by the simple gift of her favorite crossword pens.

There were riddles, things hidden deep inside that she wasn't ready to reveal yet, but Emmett
was getting there, and the more he saw, the more he wanted to know. Let the riptide pull him
out as she wrapped him around her finger, teasing him and trying to embarrass him as only
she could do. His reactions made her laugh, and even though she played it off, she hadn't
pulled away when he'd kissed her hair or when he teased her about Angie Weber.

Half the fun of going on an adventure was the trip, his Uncle Liam liked to say. From the way
this had started out, Emmett couldn't wait to see what came next.

Chapter 16.

Rosalie had Emmett's hands sandwiched in between hers as she tried to control her laughter.
The coals from the barbeque had long since chilled and Dog was asleep at her feet, snuffling
and whining every few seconds, probably dreaming of chasing hamburgers.

"What the hell are you trying to make me do?" Emmett exclaimed, his broad shoulders
hunched toward her. They were facing each other in lawn chairs, knees pressed together like
puzzle pieces, hers and his and hers and his, skin to warm skin. They were so close, bathed in
the soft glow from his patio light, identical smiles stretched across their faces, and Rosalie
raised an eyebrow at him in challenge.

"Are you ready for this?"

"I don't think I was ready last time," he laughed. She ran her thumb along his hand and his eye
darted down to the movement, his smile softening before he looked up at her again.

She'd had three beers and it took all of the willpower she had in her slightly inebriated state
not to let her fingers wander up his arm and neck, to brush along his jaw line and cradle his
face. She'd been thinking about kissing him for hours, brought to distraction when he licked
ketchup from the corner of his mouth or when he was talking about his Sullivan's Island store.
She'd never been so fascinated by a man's lips, but she'd found herself staring at them like
they held the answer to solving world peace.

"On the count of three," Rosalie said, finally forcing herself to cease the movement of her
thumb against his skin. She took a deep breath in preparation, staring intently at him, and he
did, too, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. "One, two…" she started moving
her hands as she recited the familiar words. "The space goes down, down baby, down down
the roller coaster, sweet, sweet baby, I wanna –"

"I can't keep up with you!" Emmett bellowed as Rosalie slapped at his hands, dissolving into
laughter again. This was her third attempt at trying to teach him the childhood rhyme and the
hand gestures that went with it and he was no closer to getting it than he had been the first
time.

"You're slow!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Emmett reached over, tapping her chin lightly with his finger. "You're buzzed."

"No, I'm not," she shot back, sitting up straight and affecting a haughty tone. "Rosalie Hale
doesn't get buzzed."

"Well, Rose Hale sure does," he said, his voice laden with amusement.

"Rose does a lot of things Rosalie doesn't do." She tried to keep her voice light like his, but it
came out sounding both full of innuendo and a little ominous.

"Really?" he drawled, his grin turning both curious and wicked. "Like what?"

She found herself struggling between continuing on the path of flirty banter and innuendo and
letting the defensive walls down even further. She liked where they were at now, sitting in his
backyard and facing one another, their conversation warm and comfortable. She liked the
laughter and levity, the lingering gazes and subtle touches. At the same time, she reminded
herself that he'd shared so much of his past with her, had given her insight into what his
journey from Boston back home had done to him. He'd also shown more than a passing
curiosity at what her life pre-Folly Beach had been like, and she was well aware that she'd
been evasive and dodgy, turning the conversation back to him when he asked questions about
her life in New York. At first it had been simply that she didn't know him, so she certainly
wasn't going to lay out her life's story to him. But he'd revealed some of the more personal
aspects of his life, and a part of her, the same part that had decided to stick the apology note
underneath his windshield wiper and order wings on their undate, wanted to reciprocate.

She wondered, too, what he would think of her life pre-Folly Beach. Would he understand her
motivation for seeking out this new life given that he'd done the same thing? She hoped he
would, that he would understand that Rose and Rosalie were the same person, that she was
both the woman who ate chicken wings and deep fried Twinkies, who laughed loudly and
flirted playfully, and the woman he'd met all those Saturdays ago who was reserved and
cautious, who had left everything she knew to follow the idea of a new kind of happiness.

Could he accept both versions of her? Would he wantto?

"Like sitting in Emmett McCarty's backyard, teaching him how to play a silly childhood
game. Like consuming 3,000 calories in one sitting and wearing her hair down, literally and
figuratively." She leaned back in her chair; her knees still flush with his. He propped his
elbows on them, looking thoughtfully at her.

"Do you miss it?"

"No," she said with a sharp sigh, almost frustrated. "Not at all. And I'm mad at myself for
wasting these past couple years being secretly unhappy. I'm mad that I did nothing about it
because I thought I needed to keep up appearances, to be that woman and have those things,
you know? I mean, I loved my job for a while. I loved being empowered to make business
decisions. I loved being in control and making my own money. But at some point it all
became so unfulfilling to me. The friends, the nice clothes and expensive restaurants, the
relationship –"

Rosalie stopped short, stumbling over the last word. She'd been so caught up in her
monologue that she'd almost forgotten who she was talking to.

"The relationship?" he prodded.

She hesitated, unsure whether she should continue, whether she should peel back this layer of
herself to show him or not. "Royce," she said finally. "He was the guy I dated in New York."

"Was it serious?"

"If you consider six years serious," she said. It had been serious in the technical sense. They'd
shared a life together, and though she'd understood even while she was with him that their
romance wasn't epic by any stretch of the imagination, she hadn't realized just how empty it

had been until she knew what it was like to really connect with someone, to laugh and have
her heart race at a simple touch, to feel the electricity of what could be.

Emmett balked at the number, leaning back in his chair. "Wow, that's uh…that's a long time."

"Yeah, about five and a half years too long."

"Why's that?" he asked, his brows drawing together.

"I think we really liked the idea of one another. He was great on paper – the pedigree, the
looks, the job. I thought about breaking it off with him so many times, but we were pretty
deeply entrenched in one another's lives, and for every shitty thing he did, every time he'd
stand me up or not come home or interrupt me when I was talking, he'd make it up with gifts
and flowers and…" Rosalie trailed off, waving her hand vaguely in the air. "I don't know,
words. But the words never led to actions. I knew that wasn't what love was, and I kept asking
myself why I was wasting my time with someone who didn't even really know me after all
those years. Do you know he never even knew how I took my coffee? Six years and he had no
idea if I took it black or with cream. It was small things like that, but they kept growing. At
one point I got tired of it. I just got tired of all of it."

"And that's how you ended up here," he mused, his eyes dancing over her face. His expression
was serious and she couldn't help wondering if she'd been hasty in revealing so much of
herself to him. They'd known each other for such a short time and here she was, airing all of
her dirty laundry.

"Yeah," she sighed, then leaned her head back with a groan. "Oh god, isn't this rule number
one of dating? Don't bring up past relationships?"

Emmett's eyes widened teasingly. "Oh, are we dating?"

She flushed and snorted; all bluster and bristle to cover up her slip. "We're on a date, aren't
we?" She gathered up what was left of her liquid courage, leveling a smirk at him. "And if
you're very lucky, I'll let you take me on another one."

"If I'm lucky, huh?" he replied, grinning. She let out a silent sigh of relief that the lightness
had returned to their conversation.

"Yes, I'm a great catch."

Emmett snorted. "Maybe upon fifth impression."

Her mouth dropped open in indignation and she stuck out her foot to kick his leg. He caught it
easily, his hand wrapping around her ankle, and his smile went straight to her heart and lungs
and stomach, sending them all into frenetic action. "I've got you now."

"Oh no," she gasped, feigning distress as her heart raced against her ribs. "Whatever will I
do?"

"Hmm," he replied thoughtfully, tilting his head. "I guess I'll have to keep you."

Her heart stopped and then started up again and she let her eyes wander over his face, down
his muscular, tanned arms, to where his thumb was tracing her anklebone. She looked back up
at him. "I can live with that."

They went quiet, their eyes locked. Crickets chirped in the background and Dog let out a
particularly loud snore, but it felt like they were alone in this moment, like the world was
silent and waiting patiently for one of them to make their next move.

Emmett let go of her ankle and stood. Her hands went to the arms of her chair, her gaze
following him as he leaned over her. His breath stirred her hair, caressed her cheek, and as he
brought his face eye level with hers, she found herself falling, lost in the brilliant blue of his
eyes.

"Can I take you somewhere?" he murmured, his gaze traveling from her eyes down her nose
and then to her lips.

He waited for her answer and when she could find her voice, her lips formed just one word.

"Anywhere."

Chapter 17.

There is an old joke that Emmett's crabby uncle Alistair liked to tell.

How do porcupines have sex?

Uncle Ali would grin lasciviously, wait a beat, and then deliver the punch line.

Very carefully.

That's how Emmett felt listening to Rose describe her life in New York. He was cautious not
to reveal anything that might make cause her to clam up or leave out details, but it didn't
really seem to matter. There was no guile in her description of the romantic entanglement
she'd found herself in, nor was there an overt attempt to disguise what it had been or how
recently it had ended. A few months free after such a long involvement screamed of rebound,
and Emmett had been prepared to start backpedaling, going into self-preservation mode, and
then she'd said the magic words.

…rule number one of dating…

Rose had tried to play it off, all swagger and attitude, but he saw right through it. There was
no mistaking the brilliant smile, the way her eyes opened just a tiny bit wider as he told her
she was a keeper. She was sitting in his backyard, his dog curled up at her feet, acting as if
this were the most natural, comfortable thing in the world.

That's why he decided to go for it.

Grabbing her hand, Emmett led her out the car where he opened the door and waited silently
for Rose to climb in. The view would be better with the sunrise, but the point would be made
all the same. If his bet paid off, maybe there would another opportunity. But this one,
well…this was the best hand to play, the contrast of what was and what could be, and how
different wasn't bad, it was merely different.

Rose didn't ask questions as Emmett maneuvered north through town, past the large beach
houses that lined Ashley Avenue. When they passed into the forested area at the far end of the
island, the palmetto and pine trees filling the space instead of elaborate houses, Emmett
reached over to grab her hand. He wanted to hold on to her and not let go, and it made him
feel equal parts excited, scared shitless and a total pansy. How could one woman make him
revert him to a fifteen year old, shy and bumbling one minute, in hormonal overdrive the
next?

"Where are we going?" Rose shouted as they reached the end of the road. He could barely
hear her over the roar of the surf as is crashed against the beach.

Without warning, Emmett let go of her hand to grip the steering wheel as he made a sharp
turn, bumping over the grass and down onto the soft sand.

"Emmett!" Rose squealed, grabbing onto the frame as the truck bounced over bumps and
divots. Her laughter was high and unconstrained, and he could imagine her as a child, running

away from the waves giggling as they lapped at her feet. He wished there was a way to lock
that sound in his memory forever, perfect and preserved, never to age or fade away.

He drove to the tip of the island, stopping just short of the water. The Defender scared gulls
into flight, their cries of annoyance weaving into the warm summer night. "This is where we
are going," he said, staring off into the distance. The sky was a deep rich amethyst higher up,
darkening to a dark midnight blue as it slipped gently into the dark water of the Atlantic, a
seamless convergence of two very different entities with perfect harmony. A soft beam of
light from the light house in the channel was the only man made element to break the
otherwise timeless perfection of the beach, the ray of light arcing out across the night sky like
a sentinel, showing travelers the way home.

"This is the end of the world, Rose. Or at least the end of mine."

Emmett climbed out of the truck and walked around to the front of the car, his hand resting on
the warm metal of the hood to watch the giant beacon rotate at the top of the lighthouse. It
swept over the mainland before dragging out to sea, highlighting the divide between the
mainland and Folly's Island.

"Why do I have a feeling that there is no end of the world with you?" Rose called from the
front seat. She leaned out the passenger side window, her arms draped over the edge so that
she could press her palms flat against the door. "You strike me as the type that has the world
spread out before you, Emmett. Anything you want, anywhere you go, and it's yours."

Emmett gently tapped the Defender's hood once before slowly making his way around to the
passenger side, turning her remark over in his head. Once close enough, he grabbed Rose's
right hand, turning it up to trace the fine lines etched in her palm. "Maybe once upon a time."
He ran his index finger across the deep line just below her knuckles. "I had it all figured out,
and for a while I followed that linear path." When he reached the end of the line just below
her index finger, he started in a diagonal direction down along her life line, stopping where it
ended at the heel of her palm. "But life isn't always left and right or right and wrong or even
horizontal or vertical-"

"Or down and across," Rose interrupted him.

"Or even down and across," he laughed, tracing his finger across the lines in her wrist until he
reached her pulse point, where he pressed his thumb firmly against her skin. The beat was
solid against his thumb, the accelerated rhythm matching his own. "I may have roamed the
world, but I came back home. And everything I could ever want is right here."

It was true. His family, his friends, most of his life had played out in this small town. The
people he loved, the ideas he'd built all revolved around the Island. But Rose was here too.
This beautiful woman who'd run away to find herself had somehow found him, and in doing
so, had turned his world upside down. This was the end of his world, because at the moment,
everything he could ever want was contained right here.

Including her. And after two full dates of slow burn, of promise and laughter, hesitant touches
and endless flirting, Emmett decided it was better to throw logic out the window. Everything
he'd learned should send him running in the other direction, but he found himself not caring.
Recent break up of a long term relationship, the temporary relocation down here, the need to

discover who she wanted to be, none of it mattered, because Emmett knew who Rose was.
Yes, the dance was complicated, and the logistics could be a challenge, but hell, if his Uncle
Ali was right, and even porcupines could pull it off, then why couldn't they?

In the end, that's all that mattered.

She stared up at him, her face close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath against his
chin. The wind carried the scent of her perfume, mixed with the lip balm she'd put on after
dinner. It reminded him of how she'd laughed at the joke he'd made right after, her hand
pressed against her mouth, holding in the mouthful of beer she'd just drank so as not to spray
Dog, who was sleeping at her feet. She lived and laughed with a ferocity and passion that
astounded him. He wondered if she would treat everything in life the same way.

"I feel like we are waiting for some silly music cue," Rose said, her words barely audible over
the gulls, the waves and the wind. "You know, that final scene setter before the zoom in for
the epic kiss."

"Someone needs to tell the director to roll camera first," Emmett teased, adding to her
moment of levity. She didn't let him keep it though.

"Quiet on the set," she said, her eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips.
"This is Oscar worthy material." When she smiled, it was the same enigmatic expression from
the backyard when she tried to defer his teasing about dating. To borrow her phrase, it was his
cue to leap and hope that when he emerged he wouldn't be alone.

He dropped Rose's hand, bracing his palms against the open car window. In a motion not
unlike an inverted push up he slowly leaned forward to brush a feather light kiss against her
lips.

"I don't think that print took," she said immediately. "We're supposed to be going for epic.
Maybe something a little…slower…" Emmett laughed, and kissed her again, harder this time,
their lips slowly parting as one kiss gave way to two, and then three. He kissed her like he'd
wanted to since before he knew she existed. He kissed her the way he'd seen Esme kiss her
husband or Mike kiss Jessica. Like there was no one else in the world that ever could or did
matter.

Because he was slowly beginning to realize that no one else probably ever would.

Emmett would have pulled back, not wanting to be too aggressive or push too hard, had Rose
not latched onto the front of his shirt, her hand bunching the cotton into a knot that she used to
keep him in place. When that wasn't enough leverage, she shifted awkwardly, never breaking
away, until she was kneeling on the car seat, her body more than half way out the window.
Emmett wrapped his arms around her waist, partially to keep her from falling out, and
partially to use her as leverage to keep his balance, but it wasn't enough, and Emmett toppled
backwards onto the sand, dragging Rose out of the car and along with him.

Most women, when pulled out of the car in mid make out, would have screamed or panicked.
Not Rose. The minute they hit the ground, she was laughing; full on, gut wrenching peals of
delight. The gulls, stirred into action at being disturbed, leant their own cries of consternation,
which only made her laugh harder. Emmett found he couldn't resist, and in no time they both

had tears rolling down their faces, although Rose was hiccupping as much as she was
laughing.

"Oh my god, thank you for doing that," she gasped, a hiccup setting off another round of
laughter.

"Can't say it's everyday that I pull someone out of a car and land flat on my ass."

"I don't mean that!" She said, placing her hands on either side of his face. Before he could say
anything more, Rose kissed him with the same ferocity that had caused them to land flat on
their backs in the sand, their tongues sweeping over each other as her hand wove into the hair
at the base of his neck. She was winded when they finally broke apart, "I swear to god, I
would have lost my mind if I had to go another hour without you kissing me."

"Well, for the record, you initiated that last one," Emmett said, turning on the grin full force.

"Oh, just be quiet and deal with it," she said, pushing him back down into the sand.

And so he did.

Chapter 18.

Rosalie buried her feet in the sand, leaning back on her elbows. Her eyes scanned the ocean
dotted with surfers, their bodies and boards bobbing up and down as they let the smaller, more
docile waves pass them by.

The sun was shining and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back briefly, enjoying the
warmth on her face, her bare shoulders, stomach and legs. She listened to the surf pounding
against the sand just a few feet in front of her, let the smell of the ocean waft in through her
nose and fill her lungs. She felt languorous lying there, unhurried and indulgent, and she
couldn't remember a time when she'd been more perfectly settled in her body.

With that thought, she opened her eyes and straightened up, wrapping her arms around her
knees. She scanned the horizon, searching for Emmett. He was on his board out there
somewhere and she didn't want to miss the show he'd put on when he caught the next wave.

Two weeks had gone by and they'd spent nearly all of their free time together. They were both
busy, Emmett with the shop and the opening of the Sullivan's Island location and Rosalie with
the redesign of her parents' house and the contract work she'd been doing for the start-up in
New York, but they'd carved out time when they could. They had cozy dinners and took
walks on the beach where he'd pitch her over his shoulder and run along the water's edge, his
laughter and her indignant shouts lost to everyone but each other over the roar of the ocean.
They'd gone to the diner for breakfast, their legs tangled underneath the table as Emmett
called out answers to the identical crossword puzzles they were working on until she
threatened him bodily harm unless he shut up. They'd flirted tirelessly, always touching when
they were near one another. Rosalie had never been so aware of another person but she felt
like her body was tethered to him when he was within twenty feet of her. She knew that she
was acting like a love-struck teenager – they both were – but she couldn't resist the pull of
him. She didn't want to resist it.

Emmett brought her to the Washout last weekend on one of his early-morning surfing jaunts.
She'd wrapped herself up in his sweatshirt, which smelled like the beach and his skin and
laundry detergent, inhaling the neckline while her eyes followed his every move in the water.
She'd been in awe of his grace and the way he'd sliced across waves, the subtle undulations of
his muscular body controlling the board beneath him. He was perfectly at ease out there, the
waves submitting to him when he chose, and her heart pounded when he'd finally trudged up
to her, his board tucked under his arm. She'd watched impatiently, silently from the passenger
seat of the Defender while he changed out of his wetsuit. He'd pretended not to notice the way
she blatantly stared as inches and inches of golden, taut skin-covered muscle was revealed to
her, but his twitching mouth and the impish twinkle in his eyes had given him away. Her
mouth had covered those curled-up corners as soon as he'd slid behind the wheel and she'd
tasted salt on his lips and tongue, had let her fingers drift up and down the back of his neck
until she felt him shiver underneath her hand. They'd only broken apart when the catcalls from
his surfing buddies started.

Given the way she'd reacted to him then, Rosalie wasn't at all surprised when he asked her to
come today. He'd ditched out on the shop early, putting Ben in charge for the afternoon.

She saw him now, her eyes automatically drawing to him like some sort of magnetic pull as
he rode in on a wave. The muscles low in her stomach tensed and twisted. It was hot today,

hot enough that he was wearing only low-slung board shorts, and her eyes followed the water
that ran down over his broad chest and along his stomach. His board skimmed along the
wave, moving in a sinuous pattern driven by the movement of his legs and narrow hips and
god, he was gorgeous and relaxed, effortless. Rosalie had always appreciated power in a man,
but she'd never seen anything like this. He was in control but loose, so completely in his
element. She could watch him like this for hours.

As it turned out, Emmett came out of the water thirty minutes later toting his surfboard, a
wide grin on his face. He carefully dropped the board on the sand next to her beach towel,
shaking the water from his body and hair. She knew he was putting on a show for her, but she
couldn't find it in herself to laugh given how gorgeous he looked standing above her wet and
shirtless. He circled until he was behind her and crouched down, the water dripping from his
skin on to hers, soaking into the material of her bikini top. His hand pulled her hair to one side
and he placed a soft kiss just behind her ear, his nose nuzzling into her skin.

"Good waves?" she asked, already a little breathless from his touch. If I react this way to him
kissing me, I can't imagine…

Actually, she could and she had and she did often. Their relationship may have been moving
at a faster pace in other ways, but when it came to the physical aspect, that was a slow build.
It had almost turned into an unspoken challenge between the two of them. Who would break
first and initiate the next step? Rosalie's heart and mind were hesitant to make that leap,
though her body desperately wanted to. He made her lose control in so many other ways; she
felt like this was her last holdout, the last chance she had to not be completely pulled under by
the power of what was happening between them, because as amazing as this was, she didn't
know what it was. They were taking it day-by-day, never speaking of future plans or what
would happen when the renovations on her parents' house were done. Given the way he kissed
or how he touched her, she could only imagine that adding sex to the mix would complicate
things further, and she wanted to have a grasp on what they were doing before that happened.
She'd thought about bringing it up more than once, but she didn't know where he was at or
what he was thinking, so for now she indulged in his mouth and hands, and also in the fine art
of banter and innuendo.

"The waves were excellent," Emmett replied. She felt the words against her skin, felt the
vibration of his voice. "Can I interest you in some lunch?"

Rosalie grinned, her eyes fixed on the glistening water ahead of them. "I don't know, are you
on the menu?"

"I'm a pretty big meal, Rose." His voice was thick with innuendo and laughter and she turned
slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were a little hooded and a deeper, more brilliant blue
than usual. His mouth pulled up into a smirk and her eyes followed the movement before
meeting his gaze again pointedly, her eyebrow raised.

"Well, I'm a pretty hungry girl."

Their expressions mirrored one another's – challenge, desire, amusement – their eyes locked
and mouths dangerously close, smiling and slightly parted. Rosalie would only have to move
her head a fraction, just a tilt to the side, in order to kiss him. She started to, slowly and
teasingly, and his hand moved up to cup the side of her neck.

Apparently, her stomach had taken their conversation literally because it let out a low rumble.
Emmett paused, his lips just barely grazing hers, and Rosalie froze, horrified.

"You are hungry," Emmett laughed against her mouth, giving her another swift kiss before
standing up. She glared petulantly up at him, annoyed that her stomach had ruined the
moment, and then held out her hand for him to help her up.

After she gathered her towel and beach bag, they made their way up the sand to Emmett's car.
He lingered behind her, obviously enjoying the view of her in her black bikini, and she let her
hips swing back and forth lazily. When she looked back at him over her shoulder, his eyes
were fixed on their movement. She laughed at the mesmerized look on his face and his gaze
snapped upward, his eyes narrowed over the easy smile she was starting to know so well, the
one he wore whenever they were together. She let out a shriek as he came after her, going as
fast as he could considering he was lugging his board, and she let him chase her all the way
up to the Defender.

They spent the drive to Emmett's house teasing and touching, the wind whipping their hair up
and out like tornados, drying the salt and sand on their bodies. She could taste the ocean on
him when she leaned over to kiss his shoulder, and then his neck, and finally the place where
his jaw and ear met. He let out a low hum and darted a warning glance at her and she watched
as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. When they pulled into the driveway, he
hopped out and jogged over to the passenger side, pulling her out and tossing her over his
shoulder. She could have resisted, but she didn't want to, enjoying the way his hand felt
wrapped around the back of her upper thigh to keep her in place. She traced a path up the dip
in his spine with the hand that wasn't clutching her beach bag, drawing out a shiver from him,
and when they got inside, he put her down on the couch, took her face in his hands, and gave
her a kiss that she felt low in her belly.

"Food," Emmett murmured against her lips. He placed a quick kiss on her forehead and she
heard instead of saw him walk away, her eyes closed. She opened them in time to watch him
disappear around the corner and she collapsed back against the couch, feeling dizzy and warm
and sensual.

"What do you want for lunch?" Emmett called from the kitchen.

"I told you what I wanted," she called back, reaching into her bag as her phone chimed.

There was a pause and then a small crash. Rosalie bit the inside of her cheek, loving how he
reacted to her, how they so easily and effectively teased and provoked one another. "You talk
a big game, sweetheart. Was that before or after your stomach interrupted us?"

"Bite me," she sang out.

"Just tell me where and I'll happily oblige," he shot back. She grinned, shaking her head, and
looked down at her phone.

It took her a moment to place the number, though she recognized the 212 area code
immediately. It had been months since she'd seen this particular string of numbers and her
heart flipped when she realized who was at the other end. Her fingers were quick but clumsy
when it sank in and she shakily pressed the end key to ignore Royce's call.

She stared down at the now-dark screen, her brows furrowed and heart beating fast. She
hadn't heard from him since they'd broken up and now he was calling her out of the blue? She
felt a pulse of irritation that he'd interrupted what was turning out to be a perfect day. She also
felt distinctly unsettled and on edge. When they were in a relationship, he'd always had a
reason for his calls. They'd never talked on the phone just for the hell of it. She doubted she'd
had a phone conversation that had lasted more than ten minutes with him, ever. He'd always
had a purpose, was almost always curt and business-like. She couldn't imagine that that aspect
of his personality had changed since they broke up. So what could he possibly want?

Rosalie heard the slap of Emmett's bare feet as he left the kitchen and she stuffed her phone
back in her purse, feeling strangely guilty. She had no ties to Royce anymore, and didn't want
to, but his phone call made her feel out of her skin, like she'd stepped out of the bubble she'd
created for herself here.

"For your meal today, madam, we have-" Emmett was speaking in a ridiculous and terrible
imitation of a French accent but stopped short when he saw the expression on her face. "Hey,
you okay?"

"Yeah," Rosalie croaked out, shoving her bag off the couch and under the coffee table in front
of her. With the shove of the bag, she attempted to push Royce's call to the back of her mind;
he had probably misdialed. Her smile was forced when she looked up at Emmett, but then she
saw him standing there in all his half-naked, tanned and deliciously muscled glory and it
turned genuine and wicked. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, exhaling the last of
the strange energy the call had drudged up. "I'm just fine."

He gazed down at her, looking unconvinced. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in
challenge, then let her eyes drift over him. She took in the two plates in his hands, how his
biceps flexed subtly against the weight of them, the way his damp hair curled around his ears
and forehead and the pink tinge on the bridge of his nose.

Her gaze moved down further and she noticed his lips were stained red and glistening
enticingly in the sunlight filtering through the window. "Were you sampling the menu there,
Moondoggie?"

He shrugged, eyeing her as she leaned back. She hadn't bothered to put on shorts or a top; she
was comfortable with her body and didn't feel the need to cover it up, particularly when he
looked at her like that, his eyes darkened and heavy.

"Let me taste," she murmured, motioning for him to come closer. He sat down next to her,
practically tossing the plates onto the coffee table, and wrapped his arms around her waist,
pulling her onto his lap. Her fingers wove through his hair and she leaned down, kissing each
corner of his mouth, letting her tongue dart out and taste the tang of strawberries mixed with
salt and sea and warm, delicious skin. His hands tightened around her hips and he drew her
closer against him, moving one hand up until it was in her hair. He guided her to where he
wanted her, where she loved to be.

The second his mouth opened against hers, she forgot everything – lunch, Royce's call, her
own name. She was boneless and malleable, just made up of muscles that contracted under his
touch, curves that served as a roadmap for his hands to roam over and explore, skin and
nerves that ignited against his fingers, and a heart that beat solidly, deeply against her chest.

And in that moment, she didn't need to think. She only wanted to feel.

Chapter 19.

As summer wore on, Rose and Emmett continued to dance on the edge of the knife, struggling
valiantly to maintain the development of a relationship fueled by intense intellectual and
physical attraction. It was a dangerous but heady mix, one that, at the most unpredictable
times, could spin completely out of control. As an homage to his youth, Emmett would find
himself reciting batting averages, stock symbols, and at one point, recite the entire US
Constitution to maintain control.

Of course, Rose knew this, and loved to wield that power over him.

"What kind of last name is McCarty anyway?" Rose had asked one afternoon. They were
tucked in the little office at the back of the shop, Emmett demolishing a sandwich she had
brought him for lunch.

"Scottish, although the family lived in Northern Ireland before moving here," Emmett had
answered absently, too focused on the email he was drafting for Rose's liking. "A few of my
uncles came over in their teens, and still have one hell of a brogue."

She slowly walked around the back of his chair, her hands resting for a moment on his
shoulders before ever so slowly sliding down his chest to rest on his abdomen. It brought her
mouth level with his ear, and Emmett tried not to flinch as she blew gently against his warm
skin, knowing full well she was going for a reaction. "I guess that explains why you go
commando under that wet suit. Real Scots don't wear anything under their kilts, so it's only
keeping."

He'd swiveled in his chair, hand shooting out to catch her and pull her into his lap, but Rose
was too fast, scurrying out of his office without so much as a goodbye.

"I'll show you real man," he called after her.

"Promise?"

Her wicked smile and laughter filled the small room, infusing the space with an energy that
was almost palpable. That's the way she was around him, always full of life. Her joy and
passion had quickly changed the landscape of Emmett's world, introducing new sights and
sounds, along with a litany of new and unknown emotions. In just one short month they'd
gone from antagonistic to this mind-blowing mix of affection and attraction. Yet, for all the
lighthearted banter and playfulness, a subtext had crept into the last few days. Like ocean
water seeping into the cracks in a child's sandcastle, there undercurrents to their interactions,
the swirling motions breaking down the fortress walls just a little more with each gentle
brush, breath against skin.

As Emmett struggled with his riot of emotions, his extended family had a field day with the
developments in his life, the impact of which reached all the way to his mother in
Jacksonville, who demanded to know who this 'Rosalie girl" was.

The attention was all Esme's fault. She'd caught them 'en flagrante delicioso' at the shop after
closing one night, and quickly realized that a flustered Emmett was a fun one. She'd joyously
shared the news with the rest of the mammoth McCarty clan, setting off a landslide of phone

calls and emails. Esme also started paraphrasing cheesy movie lines like 'You complete my
crossword puzzle' and 'you had me at Moondoggie,' every chance she got. The final straw had
been when she started signing lines from Miss Congeniality, her hands clasped
melodramatically against her chest as she paraphrased in sing-song fashion, "You think she's
gorgeous, you want to kiss her, you want to hug her, you want love-"

Esme had only gotten to the love part, quickly breaking off at the dumbstruck expression on
Emmett's face. She'd scrambled, apologizing that she'd taken it too far, but the comment had
hit home, leaving Emmett with an awful lot of questions and nowhere near enough answers.

For three days, he stewed on Esme's accidental insight, the word love turning over and over in
his head. It gnawed at him, taunting him with the promise of something more. Which is how,
one Thursday evening while Rose was out running, Emmett found himself sitting out in the
backyard with his feet propped up on Dog's back, staring up at the sky wondering how he
could get such a charge out of one simple word.

Part of Emmett's challenge was that he wasn't sure if he'd been in love with someone before.
Infatuation? Lust? Sure, but the emotions and physical reactions to Rose were so much more
than just raging hormones. He got the sense that spooked her just as much, if not more, than it
did him, so he fought temper the physical side of their relationship. Emmett didn't want sex
overshadowing what else might slowly but tentatively be evolving, even if it did mean he had
more pent-up energy than a sixteen year old.

Out of nowhere, something cold and wet hit the back of his neck, sending Emmett lurching
forward in his chair. The motion startled Dog, who snorted loudly and shifted in the grass,
trying to regain his comfortable position.

"Be nice to the poor baby," Rose cooed, sitting down on the arm of the chair. She held an old-
fashioned Popsicle, layers of red and white and blue stacked one on top of each other to form
the shape of a rocket. "Why are you sitting out here in the dark?"

"Where did you get that?" Emmett asked, eying the Rocket Pop suspiciously. "I didn't know
they still made those."

"I love that an ice cream truck was driving around your neighborhood. I'm sure it was quite
the look, a bunch of little kids and me, all clustered around waiting impatiently for their fix."
Rose slipped down into his lap, her legs dangling lazily over the side of the chair as she tipped
her hand towards him. "Want some?" Her face was flushed from her run, a few tendrils of hair
sticking to the side of her face and softening her overall appearance. She was absolutely
beautiful, but it was because of what she radiated from the inside, not the snug fitting shirt or
the miles of exposed leg.

"Yeah, I do," Emmett said, grasping her wrist and pulling her hand up to his mouth. The
corners of her lips curled up just the slightest bit, amused that he was playing along. But
instead of going after the Popsicle, Emmett raised her fist to his mouth, gently licking at the
small rivulet of syrup that had melted and run down the side of her hand. The syrups mixed
together, red and blue blending into a dark amethyst as the flavors melded into a sickeningly
sweet tang. "Not bad," he said, quickly releasing her hand so he could cup her face in his
hands, running his thumb along her lower lip. It was sticky from the Popsicle, and she darted
her tongue out, instinctively swiping at the corner before he could cover her mouth with his.

That strange knot in his chest twisted a bit, tugging him downward as he lost himself in the
riptide of emotions she sparked.

Rose relaxed into him, her tongue darting out to meet his. That same syrupy sweet
combination of cherry and blueberry mingled together with the acidic zing of pesto they'd
tossed with pasta for dinner. Emmett pulled Rose closer into him. Whatever this was between
them, it was so much more than sexual; she had to know that.

"Em," Rose whispered, her forehead pressed against his. It was just that simple, his name, or
more appropriately, her own little spin on his name. The kisses in the car, on the couch or at
the beach were all innocent fumblings, like two teenagers desperate to push the boundaries.
This was different, with the humid air wrapped around them like a soft blanket, the gentle
sheen of sweat-glossed skin as Emmett's hand slipped up the back of her shirt, his fingers
splaying out against the soft damp skin at the base of her spine. It felt like they were
suspended, hanging just on the edge, as innocence gave way to something that felt a hell of a
lot more like magic.

A blast of music cut through the quiet night, shattering the spell that bound them together.
There was a beat of silence, then another jarring blast of music as it burst forth from the grass
where Emmett had dropped his phone. Dog leapt up and stalked off with a huff, seeking
respite inside, away from loud noises and other disturbances to his sleep. Just a fraction of a
second later, another cold splash of liquid hit Emmett's neck; Rose's forgotten Popsicle
melting in the sultry night air.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" she asked. Her words came out choppy and breathless.

"Let it go to voice mail," Emmett said, pulling her back for another kiss, desperate to cultivate
whatever spark was flaring between them. Rose dropped the Popsicle on the ground, her
sticky fingers warm and wet against the nape of his neck as they sank back into each other,
and Emmett knew, without a doubt, that she felt it too. Trust me, he thought. This is more.
Believe that.

The phone erupted again, the tinny mechanical music splitting the humid evening air with
petulant insistence. Sighing in exasperation, Emmett wrapped one hand around Rose's waist,
holding her in place as he retrieved the offensive piece of technology and angrily jabbing the
talk button.

"This better be good, because I am right in the middle of something," he barked into the
mouthpiece.

"Well, that's a proper greeting," a deep, lyrical voice boomed back at him. "I thought your
dear Ma brought you up better than that, lad."

Emmett leaned his head back against the chair, happy to hear from his feisty Irish uncle while
half-heartedly cursing his timing in his head. "Hey Uncle Liam, what's up?"

Rose's head tilted to the side, taking in the conversation which was so loud it could have been
on speakerphone. When she realized it would not be a short conversation, she slowly drug her
hands down, around his neck to slip inside the V of his polo shirt. Emmett widened his eyes

and puckered his lips in what he hoped as a warning to behave, only to receive a mischievous
smirk in return.

Payback is a bitch, he mouthed. Rose merely licked her lips and smiled wider.

"Wee Alice tells me there is a loosebit that you've latched on to. Will you be bringing her
'round to Carlisle and Esme's? Uncle Ali's already promised to be on his best behavior."

Emmett watched, fascinated as Rose leaned slowly towards him, ducking her head at the last
moment to press her nose against his throat. He could feel the heat of her breath against his
skin, followed by a soft kiss just above his collarbone. He closed his eyes, struggling to pay
attention to his uncle while Rose slowly tortured him with indiscriminate little kisses.

"Yeah, Uncle Liam, I am seeing someone." She laughed at his admission, less sound than
motion and warmth. Emmett opened his mouth to say something that would deal with his
uncle's curiosity while putting her back in her place a bit, but he was too distracted by her
tongue, tracing from his Adam's apple down into the hollow at the base of his throat. He
instinctively tightened his arm around Rose's waist, holding her in place but letting her know
that he was onto her games. She simply laughed and redirected her path up to the ear not
covered by the phone.

"So what do you say, lad? We'll be on our best behavior. And lovely Esme says she's quite the
corker. I'd love to see her put old Ali in his place."

The last time Emmett had brought a date to a family event, Uncle Liam and Uncle Alistair
had spent the night raving about the girl's 'fun bags' and offering to run and buy him 'johnnys.'
Never in Emmett's life had he been so grateful that his uncle's thick brogues and slang made it
difficult for the girl to glean the true gist of their comments. But somehow he doubted Rose
would be quite that obtuse.

"Come on, lad," Liam said, his voice full of promise and good humor. "We'll keep the naked
baby pictures stashed safely away. Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"Yeah, well, neither were you. That's why I like you. Tell your Molly-"

"Rosalie," Emmett said quickly. It came out in a rush of breath, sounding more like Rosie,
thanks to the hand that was slowly inching up under his shirt and across his abdomen as she
playfully sucked on his earlobe.

"Rosie? Excellent! I like her already! Does she have five sisters-"

"Liam!" Emmett warned his uncle, already regretting what he might be walking into by
bringing Rose to any type of family event. She'd only met Esme, who was probably the tamest
of the very large and very raucous McCarty clan.

"Just yanking your chain, lad. Tell your fair Rosie that the family looks forward to meeting
her," Liam said before disconnecting, leaving Emmett with an empty line.

"Naked baby pictures, huh?" Rose teased, her nails scraping gently across his stomach. "I
might want to see those. I bet you were a cute little baby…"

"Don't get them started," he warned, but Rose just laughed him off. "Fine, you get them
started; just know that I am totally capable of payback."

"Oh yeah? Bring it on big guy!" she said, flashing Emmett a wicked smile. He moved quickly,
slipping an arm under her legs and easily hoisting Rose up into his arms like a child.

"Put me down!" she squealed, kicking her legs to no avail. Emmett didn't let go, carrying her
to the back of the yard, where earlier in the day they'd set up a cheap plastic baby pool filled
with cool clear water. Dog had sniffed at it half-heartedly, wandering once around the
perimeter before trotting away, unimpressed with his own personal watering hole.

"After that little display, I'm guessing I'm not the only one in need of a cold shower, and since
there's only one bathroom…bottom's up!" he said, gently dropping Rose into the shallow cold
water. Emmett didn't wait, turning and walking quickly towards the house as Rose's squeals of
delighted echoed through the backyard. Part of him wanted to turn and watch her play and
splash in the tiny pool, but Emmett knew he needed distance and clarity right now. Something
he would most definitely not get with a waterlogged and feisty Rosalie Hale.

"Keep walking Moondoggie!" Rose called through her giggles. "And make that water extra
cold, cause you just threw me in a pool wearing a white t-shirt with nothing to change into."

"I'll leave you out a towel and a shirt right here," Emmett retorted, pointing to the railing with
his middle finger.

"Oh stop it, you big tease! You know you love me!"

She meant it as a jest, but that was the problem. While Rose meant it as a joke, Emmett's
response would have been anything but. Even in his flustered state, Emmett trusted his
instincts well enough to know that a declaration of love was anything but romantic when the
recipient was waist deep in a dog's wading pool, wearing a white shirt that was now as
transparent as he felt.

Chapter 20.

"Did you have to wear that dress?" Emmett asked over the roar of the wind, looking sideways
at Rosalie.

"What, you don't like my dress?" she replied with a frown, one of her hands leaving the
steering wheel briefly to run over the soft cotton fabric of the floral strapless number it'd taken
her nearly an hour to pick out for tonight's party.

Emmett shook his head, making what was probably his tenth sweep of her shoulders with his
eyes before his gaze met hers again. "No, I love your dress and my uncles are going to love it,
too."

Rosalie shot him an exasperated look. "I doubt they're as bad as you make them out to be,
Em."

"You're right," he replied, pausing for dramatic effect. "They're worse."

She rolled her eyes, then focused back on the road. Emmett pulled her right hand from the
wheel and kissed the back of it, before enveloping it in his.

They were on their way to Esme and Carlisle's house on the other side of town for a barbeque.
Apparently their backyard was the only one that would hold the upwards of fifty people that
were going to be there. The thought made Rosalie's stomach twist in anticipation and she
darted another glance at Emmett, wondering if he was as nervous as she was. She was fairly
certain this party had been put together on short notice to entice him to introduce her to the
rest of the family and he'd seemed reluctant to agree at first. Esme had finally talked him into
it, but he'd spent most of their dinner a few nights prior giving her all the details of the
raucous McCarty clan, focusing particularly on his uncles, Liam and Alistair. She'd laughed at
his stories of their crazy antics over the years with her feet propped in his lap and his thumbs
kneading at her arches absently. He'd explained with an affectionate smile that when they
were all together, it was an event. Everyone talked at the same time and loudly. They loved to
tease and play practical jokes, but they accepted and loved one another fiercely. They lived
the meaning of the word family.

Rosalie had watched his face carefully while he talked. Despite his warnings, she could
plainly see how much Emmett loved his family. She wondered what it would have been like
to grow up in that kind of environment, to be surrounded by love and unconditional
acceptance, by noise and craziness and laughter. She couldn't imagine it, particularly because
his family was everything hers wasn't. As the only child of only children, she'd never grown
up surrounded by family and warmth. Her parents were both cool and reserved, neither of
them openly affectionate with her. She thought of their reaction to her moving down to Folly
Beach, the displeasure they had oozed. But that was so like them, to voice only their
disappointment in her, to stay silent when she did what they expected of her.

Her mother had called the day before for her weekly 'what do you mean you're still in Folly
Beach?' phone call and Rosalie had heard that same distinct edge of resigned distress.

"I just don't understand," her mother had sighed. "What's down there for you, Rosalie?"

She thought of Emmett immediately, imagining his face and his smile and his touch. She
thought of how he made her heart race, how he challenged her. How he made her feel alive.
She knew she couldn't tell her mother these things, being possibly the most unromantic and
clinical woman alive. Furthermore, she didn't want to share Emmett with her, not when he
was so new. Especially not when she didn't know how permanent he wanted it to be. "There
are plenty of things here for me, Mom. I'm doing some contract work and overseeing the
renovations…"

"Oh, Rosalie, for god's sake. This has gone on too long. You need to get back up to New
York." She'd paused, just briefly, and Rosalie knew before she'd said anything that she was
about to drop a bomb. "You need to get back to Royce, darling."

"Mother," Rosalie had snapped, her voice turning acidic and clipped. She thought of Royce's
phone call last week and the second one she'd missed just the other day. "Do you have
something to do with him calling me?"

"He called me the other day," her mother replied. "He didn't know you'd…moved, Rosalie, so
I filled him in. Are you not speaking?"

"No, we're not speaking! I'm pretty sure that's the entire point of a break-up."

Rosalie had rushed off the phone soon thereafter, her blood boiling at the thought of her
mother and Royce talking about her. She could only imagine his opinion on her leaving New
York to come down south. He'd been allergic to the mere idea of crossing New York's state
line. Was that why he called? To ridicule me for my choice? God knew she didn't need him
for that; her mother was doing a perfectly adequate job.

Warm, strong fingers on her cheek brought her out of the memory and she blinked, looking
over at Emmett.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked curiously.

"They're not even worth that much," she replied with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
They weren't and she didn't want to involve Emmett in something that was really nothing. He
narrowed his eyes, unconvinced, so she grabbed his hand, weaving her fingers through his and
kissed each knuckle, her smile growing wider and more genuine underneath his steady gaze.
"I promise."

They reached their destination a few minutes later and Rosalie could hear raucous laughter as
soon as they pulled into the driveway and her palms dampened against the leather steering
wheel. The nerves that she'd pushed down flared back up in full force and she let out a
surreptitious exhale, not wanting Emmett to catch onto the fact that she was apprehensive.

"Here we go," he said, his tone less confident than the dimple-framed grin he threw at her.

"Right," she replied with a sharp exhale, grabbing her purse.

They both got out of the car and she met him on the passenger side, smoothing down the front
of her dress. He took her hand and guided her to a side gate that led to the backyard. The

noise was louder now, a constant buzz of activity and voices, and Rosalie's heart picked up
speed.

Emmett stepped in front of her, eyebrows raised and tone business-like. "Listen, just-"

"Don't," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "No disclaimers. I'm fully capable of handling
this. You've debriefed me thoroughly on every-"

Emmett let out a low laugh. "I've debriefed you thoroughly, huh?"

Rosalie reached out to smack him and he laughed, catching her by the wrist and reeling her in
until she was pressed against him. She looked up at him reproachfully, even as she wrapped
her arms around his waist. "I'm serious, Em. It's going to be fine, okay?"

"I know it will. You're amazing and everyone is going to love you," Emmett murmured,
placing a soft kiss on her forehead and then her nose. "I just want you to be prepared. My
family is crazy and huge and I know you aren't used to that."

Rosalie nodded, thinking of the family events she was used to. She'd certainly never been
exposed to the type of gathering Emmett had been trying to prepare her for. But she wouldn't
let her lack of exposure hinder her from making the best impression she could. She wanted to
show him, and maybe herself, that she fit here. She wouldn't let herself delve deeper than that
or think about the reasons she felt the need to make a good impression. Maybe it was that she
was making up for the terrible one she'd made with him. Maybe it was more. She just knew
that this mattered to her because it mattered to him.

She ghosted one hand up over his stomach and chest, up until it was cupped around the back
of his warm neck. She could feel the smile on his lips when her mouth met his and she sank
further against him, sighing when their tongues met. Emmett's hands tightened on her hips,
pulling her closer, and she could feel his heart beating hard against her chest.

"Ahem."

"Shit," Emmett whispered resignedly against her lips before pulling away. Rosalie cringed in
horror, hoping that it was Esme who'd caught them making out. Again. But when she looked
around Emmett's shoulder, her heart dropped.

Two tall men were standing a few feet away, mirrored shit-eating grins on their faces. They
were broad and dark-haired like Emmett with the same brilliant blue eyes and Rosalie knew
even before Emmett reluctantly introduced them that these were the infamous uncles. She
shook their hands, laughing to herself when they both held on for a beat too long, and then out
loud when Emmett rolled his eyes, exasperated.

Liam looked at Emmett, a mischievous smile spread across his face. "So, were you going to
hide your lady out front all night, Em?"

"No, Uncle Liam, we were just…talking," Emmett replied, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh, well that's strange, because it looked to me like you were snogging her senseless,"
Alistair spoke up, winking at Rosalie.

"Didn't I say something on the phone about you not embarrassing me?"

"You've gone soft on us if this is embarrassing you, Em." Alistair slapped Emmett on the
back, sending him reeling forward slightly, then gripped his shoulder and shook him.

"Yeah, Em, why don't you be a good lad and go take care of the grill if we're so
embarrassing? Ali and I will take care of Rosie here," Liam said, winding his arm around
Rosalie's shoulders. She bit back a smile, looking over at Emmett, her eyebrow raised in
question.

He hesitated, his expression going from amusement to preemptive horror and back again.
"Yeah, see, that's what I'm afraid of."

"Afraid we'll be stealing your woman? I see, as you should be," Liam chuckled, shaking his
head. "Why, I remember the time Ali walked in on you and…oh, what was that rosspot's
name? Leah Something-or-other. Poor bugger had one hand up her shirt and one down-"

"Liam!" Emmett bellowed, a vein in his forehead popping out dangerously.

"Had no idea what he was doing, from what I recall," Alistair tsked.

"I was sixteen and please, please shut the hell up now," Emmett begged. Rosalie saw Esme a
few feet away, talking to a slight dark-haired woman and a tall blond guy. She looked over
her shoulder curiously, then did a double take at the pained look on her cousin's face. Her
eyes met Rosalie's and she raised an eyebrow. Rosalie shook her head, trying in vain to keep
from laughing, and Esme rolled her eyes, making her way quickly over.

"Oh, we're just playin' around with you, Em, my boy." Liam waved him off and winked down
at Rosalie. "Gotta give you a little bit of shit in front of fair Rosie, hey?"

"Em, come help me with the food," Esme cajoled, smiling over at Rosalie before focusing her
attention back on Emmett. "Carlisle's manning the grill and we ended up with burnt burgers
last time he was in charge."

"Es…" Emmett started, throwing her a pointed look.

"Rose can take care of herself, Bear," Esme said, pinching his elbow lightly. She turned to her
uncles, who now flanked Rosalie on each side. "You two behave, okay? I'll be watching you."

To emphasize her statement, she pointed her index and middle fingers at her eyes and then out
at Liam and Alistair, her expression teasingly fierce.

"When do we not?" Alistair replied, seeming genuinely affronted. Liam let out a cackle.

Esme snorted. "I'd die of old age before I got finished answering that question, Uncle Ali."

"I'm leaving you in very dubious hands, babe," Emmett said resignedly as he let Esme pull
him away.

"It seems like I might be in better hands with them than you," Rosalie teased. Emmett glared
playfully at her, drawing his finger across his throat, but Alistair let out a delighted chuckle,
pulling her from Liam's grip and tucking her tightly against his side. He shook her gently with
a wink.

"How do you feel about older men, lass?"

"You are in so much trouble," Rosalie heard Esme murmur to Emmett. He latched onto her
shoulder and propelled her forward, whispering something that made her smack him in the
stomach. Emmett looked over his shoulder back toward Rosalie, and his eyes were both soft
and bright, his lips curled into a contented grin despite the working over he'd just gotten from
his mischievous uncles. She smiled back, her heart beating fast and hard.

"I'm sorry to say you caught me a couple months too late," she replied, her gaze lingering on
Emmett's retreating form.

"Why, you don't sound sorry at all," Alistair huffed playfully. He turned to Liam. "Does she
sound sorry to you, Liam?"

"Not a bit," Liam replied. "Now, how do you feel about a pint of stout?"

She twisted her mouth thoughtfully. "It's not bad, although I much prefer a few inches of
Glenmorangie."

Liam staggered back, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. "Not drinkin' the poof juice?
By God, I think I'm in love."

"Easy there, old man, our boy Em's already claimed her."

Rosalie was slightly disappointed that Emmett was out of earshot when Alistair turned to her
and with a mischievous smile that eerily resembled Emmett's said, "By the way, lass, I love
your dress."

Chapter 21.

As much as his uncles gave him shit, they had been spot on in their commentary about
Emmett's dating life. Women had come and gone with amazing speed, each one never 'just
right.' There had been Bree (too quiet) and Jane (too demanding), both clinging to his side and
demanding his solitary focus. After a while, Emmett had started to wonder if he had
unrealistic expectations.

That was until he introduced Rose into this crazy family of his.

Somehow, without planning or preparation, they'd fallen into Emmett's idea of perfection,
something he'd watched Esme and her husband Carlisle do a thousand times. Always
conscious of each other, they floated through the party as independent entities, laughing and
interacting with others, all the while completely aware of where and what the other was doing.
Periodically, they would share a smile from across the yard, or briefly touch each other in
passing. A small brush across the nape of her neck, or a quick kiss of his shoulder, full of
meaning for them that had every one of his relatives smiling.

"You look like the cat who ate the canary, you know that Bear?" Esme had teased him as he
slipped inside the house to grab a beer. "She fits in well here."

"Yeah, Rose likes Folly a lot."

"Don't be obtuse, brainiac, I meant the family." Esme wiped her hands on a dishtowel before
pushing her hair back from her heart-shaped face. "She has Liam and Ali wrapped around her
finger."

"I don't think Rose has ever met anyone she couldn't wrap around her finger," Emmett said,
recalling the way his little cousin Maggie had immediately curled up in Rose's lap, her thin
little arm extended as Rose had gently applied a temporary tattoo. Maggie was shy, often
staying away from people she didn't know, but Rose had drawn her out. Once the tattoo, a
large gold star with a rainbow erupting from the center, had dried, Rose braided Maggie's
hair, slipping tiny little clover leafs from the lawn into the tight weave. Their giggles rang
through the backyard, and Emmett watched his aunts and uncles smiling at the girl with the
strange northern accent who was twining her way into their lives.

Rose was like a pied piper, and it appeared that everyone was falling under her spell.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Esme asked. She was leaning back against the
kitchen counter sipping from a glass of white wine, watching Emmett in a manner he found
unnerving. "You are awfully pensive, you know."

"I don't know, Es…I just…" he glanced out the window. Rose was talking to Alice, laughing
as Alice's hands waved wildly around her head. "I wish Mom were here, you know? I hate
that she's missing all this."

"Have you told her about Rosalie yet?"

Emmett's father had died of a heart attack when Emmett was away at school, and his mother
had put up the brave front, keeping up the house up and running for her nineteen year old son.

But when Emmett graduated and took the job in Raleigh, she'd sold his childhood home,
moving to Jacksonville to be closer to her family. She loved the large and crazy McCarty
clan, but without her son or husband there, Mary McCarty had needed the comfort that only
her own family could provide. It took a long time for Emmett to understand that, for he'd
never differentiated from his father's riotous family in South Carolina and his mother's
quieter, smaller family in Florida. Family simply was, and it took him a long time to realize
that different people wanted and expected different things from those they loved. That was a
large part of the reason he'd been nervous today. He wanted Rose to feel like she belonged
here, and he knew that this group could be sensory overload to the wrong person.

"I had to tell her a little bit, thanks to your big mouth, Cuz," Emmett said mockingly, "But not
too many details. I didn't want to get her too excited."

"Because there is something to actually get excited about this time, isn't there?" Esme finished
for him.

Emmett glanced out the window just in time to catch Rose tip her head back, laughing at
something Liam had said. He couldn't help but smile, happy to see her so relaxed and at ease
with the people and place he considered home.

"Bear, it's obvious by the way you look at her what is going on in your head. But I know you,
and I know that's the problem: you are in your head. What's holding you back?"

"September. Reality. Experience. What more do you need?" he answered in a tone he hoped
sounded glib and not glum.

"Those are manufactured excuses. This is not last summer, and Rose is not Tanya. She fits
here, and she makes you happy. Happier than I've seen you in ages." Esme pushed on his arm,
reminding him of the tattoo underneath. Mike, Carlisle, Alice's husband Jasper, they'd all
gotten them as a show of solidarity right before Carlisle had proposed to Esme. A reminder
that, while they were embarking on the next stages in their life, they should never take things
too seriously. Silly totems, each unique, silly representations of their personalities. "Bear, you
are going to over think and fuck this up. Stop being such a skirt and live by the seat of your
pants."

"Do you have any more clichés to throw at me?"

Esme smiled, pouring herself another glass of wine. "Yes, I do."

Emmett waited for his cousin to continue, but once she'd filled her glass, Esme started
towards the door, a devious smile lighting up her lovely face.

"Es?"

His cousin turned in the doorway, her wine glass held aloft in mock toast. "The greatest gift is
just to love and be loved in return."

"What is with you and the movie quotes? Moulin Rouge? Carlisle needs to take you out more,
or buy you better wine. You are a cheap date."

She made a face. "You love her, Em. Don't deny it. Just tell her, okay?"

Before he could counter her statement, Esme was gone, leaving him alone in the kitchen with
a full beer and an open window on the spectacle that was unfolding out on the lawn.

He watched, amazed, as his family floated around Rose like they were bees and she was
pollen. There was never a moment where she was alone, lost in the sea of family members
and their infinite stories. These people had set the example for what it meant to lead with your
heart. He was not naïve enough to think it was all perfection; for that only happened in
storybooks. No, loving someone was hard work, and there would be times when everything
wasn't all smiles and happy thoughts. His parents had been the model for that, leading with
trust, and counting on open communication to smooth away the rough times. Emmett
remembered the way his father would spin his mother around in the kitchen, dipping her
backward as he sang silly songs to her before kissing the tip of her nose. Sure, they had their
moments where they fought, but in the end, there was always happiness and laughter. Emmett
had never realized how much he wanted that with someone else.

"Hey, Emmie, can you get me a juice box out the fridge?" Maggie asked as she came traipsing
into the kitchen. Her fiery red hair had escaped Rose's braids, dark cinnamon-colored
corkscrews framing her tiny face.

"When are you going to grow, Munchkin? I can't be getting these for you forever." Emmett
retrieved a box from the fridge, popping loose the cellophane wrapped straw and spearing the
top. "Here you go, Fireball."

Maggie took a long sip, then smiled up at him. She'd lost two teeth over the summer,
tempering the angelic air that always hung around her. "I'm going to grow up to be as tall as
Rosalie, and you won't get to call me Munchkin anymore."

"I'll always call you munchkin, Munchkin." He chucked her chin, "And even if I don't, you'll
always be a fireball."

Maggie giggled, spinning around and running out of the room, the temporary tattoo on her
arm a blur of color.

"Oh man, I am such a fucking sap," Emmett laughed as an idea formed in his head. Their
tattoos had been a show of solidarity, a way to remember to slow down and enjoy life. He
pushed up the sleeve on his polo shirt; the color wasn't far off. The idea was totally cheesy,
but it could get his point across nicely.

After a ten minutes of foraging through Carlisle's office, he'd found what he needed.
Elaborate, over-staged declarations would not win Rose over. Simple and honest, kind of like
a crossword slipped under a windshield wiper. The common thread was blue ink.

It took Emmett a minute to find Rose. She stood in the far corner of the yard, her arms
wrapped around her body as if she were cold as Alice continued to gesticulate wildly. As
Emmett neared, he could see Esme standing on the other side of Rose, frowning slightly.
Esme didn't meet his curious gaze.

"You cold, babe?" he asked as he slipped his arm around Rose's shoulders.

"I'm okay," she answered. Her tone immediately set off warning bells, the words too clipped
and precise.

"Come on, it's getting late, and I've got something I want to show you." Emmett pulled her a
little closer into him, frowning over the top of her head at his cousins. Alice shrugged her
shoulders at him, as if to say 'I didn't know,' but Emmett wasn't sure what she meant.

"It was really nice to meet you, Rosalie," Alice said quietly. "I hope we see you again, really
soon."

When she smiled, it was Rosalie, not Rose, and Emmett understood the concerned and
contrite expressions of his cousins. For as small as she was, Alice could be a bit of a bull in a
china shop, most likely pushing Rose beyond the tenuous comfort zone she'd established.

"You good?" he whispered into her hair. She didn't respond, simply snuggled in closer to him.
He kept her that way, nestled close in close where she knew she'd be safe and warm as he
called out goodbyes. They were met with a chorus of promises for lunch or getting together
soon, followed by catcalls from Ali and Liam.

"Sounds like you have a fan club," Emmett said as he led Rose towards her car. "Keys,
please."

"I haven't had that much to drink-"

"I know. Keys."

She frowned, digging in her purse to pull out the oversized black key. Emmett took it, then
scooped Rose up, lifting her over the closed car door to place her gently in the seat. Once she
was safely settled in, he placed his index finger under her chin, tilting her face up so he could
kiss her nose just the way his dad used to do to his mom.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said quietly.

"And you are ruining valet service everywhere."

"No valet should ever think about touching you like that. Now buckle up."

As he rounded the back of the car, Emmett checked his back pocket. The pen was still there,
just where he'd stashed it. Hopefully there would be enough light for him to pull this off.

He turned left out of Carlisle and Esme's, driving east across the island, but instead of cutting
up to Ashley Avenue and the direction of Rose's house, Emmett turned off on a side street. In
just a minute, they were parked in front of the diner, the neon extinguished for the night.

"What are you doing?" Rose asked.

"Just unbuckle and lean a little bit closer, will you?" Emmett asked. Rose frowned, but did as
he requested, scooting over a little bit in the bucket seat. Emmett slipped his hand around her
bicep, pulling her elbow up onto the arm rest. "Don't move."

He leaned forward, pulling the pen from his back pocket. It was a traditional Sharpie, not the
Micro Tip she used for crossword puzzles, but it was the same brilliant shade of blue. "Hold
still."

Emmett stuck the pen in the corner of his mouth, biting down on the cap so he could pull the
pen free. The heavy scent of chemicals mixed with her perfume lifted into the night air as he
pushed down on the firm skin of her shoulder. Rose squirmed as she arched her back, trying
to look over her shoulder to see what Emmett was drawing.

"Hold still, I'm almost done," he said, finishing the final loop that created the boundary
around their initials. He kissed her shoulder, careful not to smear the ink before it was dry.
Then he tugged up his sleeve to jot down the same initials just above the blue bear.

"Not quite the same permanent ink, but it's the concept right?" Emmett said as he watched
Rose lift her arm and crane her neck so she could see the small heart he'd carefully drawn on
her shoulder, the initials E + R in the center.

"You are such a sap," she teased. It didn't mask the raw emotion in her voice as her eyes
darted back and forth between their matching homemade tattoos. "A six foot four-"

"Six foot five and a half," he corrected.

"-creampuff disguised as beefcake."

"No, I'm old fashioned. I like to have things in writing." He kissed her shoulder once more.
"In permanent, matching ink, no less. We match now, like bookends. No take-backs."

"You are such a large child: no take-backs?"

"No," Emmett answered quickly. "There's a reason I used permanent ink. You're mine forever
now."

It was a simple declaration; nothing that would stop the world spinning, be written into
movies, or send him down in the history books as the most romantic guy in the world, but
Emmett knew what it meant to Rose. She left New York to find permanent, a place in the
world where she fit. That was here, with him and Saturday mornings at the diner with
crossword puzzles and a smile that encouraged him to keep trying even if he was being the
biggest idiot or sap in the world. He'd been wrong about her at first, but Emmett knew he was
absolutely right about this.

"Come on. Let's go home," he said. Rose had been quiet, too quiet, but at the mention of
home, she let out a little breathy laugh. It prompted Emmett forward, encouraging him to
focus on what could be, not what had been. "I want to wake up together tomorrow, and have
you throw on one of my shirts to go to breakfast. And then after breakfast I want to come
back home and crawl in bed. No more wasting time, okay? We lost a month right there," he
pointed at the diner, then gave Rose a sheepish smile, "that we can't get back. I learned my
lesson. No more taking things for granted."

Rose nodded slowly, and Emmett kissed her shoulder once more. "Let's go get your
toothbrush. I don't want to be kissing a girl with morning breath."

"I don't have morning breath now," she said, twisting in the seat so she could face him.
"Although you are the one with the taste fetish…"

"I think you started that, Miss Hale."

She smiled, and he saw Rose, his girl, not the glacial smile from the barbeque, and he
breathed a slow sigh of relief.

"That I did. Come here." She crooked her finger at him, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"You are so not subtle."

"Shut up and kiss me, okay?" She leaned toward him, and Emmett was amazed at how right
everything felt. He kissed her gently, resisting the urge to follow the path she was trying to
take him down. He didn't want to make out in the parking lot at the diner. No, it was time for
more.

"Come on, Rose, I want you to come home with me." Emmett made the request, leaving it for
Rose to set the terms for what home was. He held her hand as they drove to her house. They
didn't talk, and Emmett didn't think anything of it. His head was still wrapped up in all the
things he'd said, and how right it all was. There were no easy answers, but tomorrow, over a
shared plate of French toast, they could start to talk about it, and they would figure it out.

But, as the old saying goes, life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. As
Emmett turned the car into the driveway, the headlights swept across a navy blue Jaguar
convertible parked in front of the house. A tall, thin sandy-haired man leaned against the back
bumper, his arms crossed over his chest impatiently.

Emmett didn't even need to see the New York license plate to know who it was. Rosalie's
reaction said it all.

"Fuck."

Chapter 22.

If anyone asked her, Rosalie would have been able to pinpoint exactly when the night went
downhill.

She'd been standing outside with Alice, basking in the warmth of Emmett's family and the
looks she and Emmett were sneaking each other from across the yard. He was right; his
family was loud, boisterous and slightly overwhelming, but she found quickly that she loved
it. Her smooth integration into the chaotic flow of the party surprised even her.

She and Alice had meandered through conversation for a while, laughing often at Emmett's
expense when Alice shared anecdotes of their childhood in Folly Beach and then, more
humorously, his various dating exploits as a teenager. But then Tanya's name had slipped out
of her mouth, so casually as if she expected Rosalie to know who she was. When Alice saw
her blank stare, she'd stopped abruptly, realizing that they'd stepped into foreign territory. It
had taken some cajoling and charm on Rosalie's part, but Alice had finally caved and told her
about Tanya, about her and Emmett's summer romance, the barbeques that he'd taken her to,
and the way it had fizzled out when she returned north to her real home.

The scenario was so familiar – too familiar – and by the time Esme joined them, snaking her
arm around Rosalie's shoulder, the doubt had already started to creep like ice through her
veins.

How do you know you're not the same as Tanya? He didn't ask her to stay and he hasn't asked
you,the voice of doubt taunted. The doubt turned to dread and she realized, standing there
with Alice and Esme, that this mattered more than she'd let herself acknowledge. She wanted
it to last, but she questioned if it could, especially given the information Alice had supplied
her about Tanya. She hated jumping to conclusions, but knowing that Emmett had been in this
situation before, that this might be a pattern with him, had her leaping.

Still, she accepted Emmett's invitation to go back to his house for the night despite her
conversation with Alice and her new reservations. She was tired of trying to resist him. She
wanted to forget about Tanya, about Royce. And when he'd inked her, thrown around words
like permanent and forever and home, words that she wasn't sure she understood the meaning
of before him, he'd broken down the rest of her resolve, swiftly crumbled the walls she'd put
back in place after talking to Alice. It was hard to tell how serious he was when he smiled at
her the way he had, when he still hadn't flat out asked her to stay, but she'd kissed him in the
diner's darkened parking lot anyway. She'd let him burrow himself just a little deeper
underneath her skin.

The truth was, she wanted all of those things with him. She wanted to believe that he felt
everything she did, that she wasn't just some summer fling like it seemed Tanya had been.
She'd thought about bringing it up, wanting to ask Emmett what they were doing and what she
meant to him, but the words had gotten caught in her throat. The fear continued to pump
through her, right alongside the desire, the want and the need. Could she reasonably expect
him to ask her to stay when he'd only known her for a couple short months, the first of which
had been spent disliking one another? And could he even reasonably ask her to stay if he did
want her to? Was it even practical?

What's practical when it comes to love? she thought to herself now, her hand enveloped in
Emmett's as they pulled onto her street. She hadn't even realized what she'd said to herself, the
word she'd silently uttered, until her eyes landed on a sleek Jaguar. The shock of realizing that
it was entirely possible she did love Emmett was replaced by the shock of seeing the ghost of
her past life standing in her driveway.

She bolted out of the car, her heart stopping and starting in quick succession so that it almost
felt like it was beating still. It was an insane feeling fueled by anger and frustration, by fear
and new revelations.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked incredulously, her eyes locked with Royce's
and her arms spread out wide. She heard the car door slam behind her.

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd pop by." He smiled, but it was hard, almost cruel.

"No, you weren't." She struggled to keep her breath even, but her words still came out in
sharp, staccato bursts. She could feel Emmett right behind her, not touching but close. "What
do you want, Royce?"

"So, this is what you left me for?" Royce asked with a fake joviality that turned her stomach,
ignoring her question. His eyes raked over their surroundings, over her body and finally
landed on Emmett. His lip curled up slightly before he turned back to Rosalie, raising a
condescending eyebrow. "Shit, and here I thought you'd lost your mind when you quit your
job. It seems like that was the tip of the iceberg. Is this where people come when they can't
hack in the real world?"

"Are you serious right now?" she snapped venomously.

Royce snorted. "I think the better question is, are you? This is an absolute joke."

Royce's eyes darted past Rosalie and she looked over her shoulder to see Emmett standing
there, his eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, his chest expanding out, his shoulders moving
back to take advantage of his intimidating size.

"Listen, asshole-"

Royce turned on him. "Was I talking to you?"

"If you're talking to her like that, then hell yes." Emmett stepped forward, too, and drew
himself up to his full height, crossing his arms across his chest. His jaw was locked, his
nostrils flared. He was coiled, taut, ready to release the frustration and anger at the slightest
provocation. Rosalie could see his right hand, blocked by his bicep, curling and uncurling.

"You think you know her?" Royce said derisively, his eyes sweeping over Emmett from head
to toe. Rosalie could see him through Royce's eyes, could see the way he discounted him
because he was dressed casually and his hair was a little too long. It was the same thing she'd
done to him and the fact that she'd had a reaction similar to Royce shamed her and made her
stomach roll. "You don't know shit. This is some sort of game to her; it has to be. The Rosalie
I know doesn't dress like that, she doesn't live in nothing towns like this and she sure as hell
doesn't date guys like you."

"Well, that right there is your problem, you presumptuous prick," Emmett shot back. His tone
was acidic, his words fast and angry. "You don't know her. All that shit you just listed off is
so superficial it's laughable. I know more about this woman after two months than you do
after however many years you spent taking her for granted."

Royce stared at Emmett, blinking, and then turned to Rosalie, his eyes black in the darkness
that surrounded them. "Are you serious with this, Rosalie? Do you know what your parents
would say if they knew what you were doing down here?" His gaze darted back to Emmett.
"Or maybe I should say who you're doing down here?"

She ignored the insinuation, though she saw Emmett's face tense out of the corner of her eye.
"So what, Royce? You drove 800 miles to tell me you don't approve of what I'm doing?"

"No, I drove 800 miles to bring you back to New York where you belong."

"I don't belong there, Royce, and I certainly don't belong with you. I thought I made that
abundantly clear when I broke up with you."

"Oh, so you belong here, is that it?"

Rosalie balked, her mouth opening and closing. "I…I-"

She was fumbling for her words, but she didn't know what to say. It was the wrong person
asking her that question, and with the wrong tone. It was a question she knew, standing in the
dark driveway with her condescending dickhead of an ex-boyfriend, should have come from
Emmett. It should have been a conversation that they had together, their legs tangled together
in bed. She felt a wave of anger that Royce had beaten him to it, that she had to answer the
question now when she wasn't even sure Emmett wanted to ask her in the first place. He
hadn't asked Tanya to stay, and while she didn't want to compare herself to a woman and a
relationship she had no knowledge of, she couldn't help but compare the two situations'
similarities. It made her feel unsure and unsteady, and much too vulnerable for her liking.

Royce's eyes flashed, obviously seeing a chance to strike. He'd always been a master at
sniffing out her vulnerability when they were fighting. No matter what kind of metaphorical
armor she would wear – calm reason, feigned indifference, full-out bitchiness – he would find
the one point of weakness, the place she hadn't thought to protect. "What are you going to do,
Rosalie? Are you going to stay here forever?"

"No," Rosalie blurted. She saw Emmett's head snap toward her out of the corner of her eye
and she felt like she was mentally scrambling, trying to gain purchase on her thoughts and
emotions. There were too many, though, and they kept slipping away, falling through her
fingers like shale. "I don't know, I – you know what? This is none of your damn business.
You have noright to come here and act like you have any say in anything I do anymore. We're
done, Royce, and we were done long before I broke up with you."

"So you're staying." It was a question veiled as a statement and Royce's voice dripped with
disdain and judgment.

She clenched her jaw. "Yes."

"Unbelievable," he said with a laugh. "You're really unbelievable, Rosalie. I gave you
everything you could have wanted and you threw it all away. For what? For this?" His arms
spread wide and swept around him wildly.

"Everything I had that mattered I got myself," Rosalie said lowly, her fury making her
intensely quiet. "So fuck you."

"Oh, you already did that, remember?" Royce responded smugly, his mouth pulling up into a
humorless smile. "Now you're fucking yourself, and pretty well I might add. Definitely better
than you ever fucked me."

Rosalie had never hit anyone. She remembered a dinner party she'd gone to with her parents
as a child, when one man had punched another, sending him reeling into the bar. Rosalie
could still remember clearly the look of horror on the other partygoers' faces, the way the
broken bottles of champagne had poured out onto the marble floor like a small and roiling
river. Her mother had talked about the scene the entire way home.

"Physical violence is déclassé, Rosalie," she'd said, turning around in her seat, her eyes fixed
on her daughter. "If you have a problem, use your words."

The Hales had never needed to use their fists. Their weapon of choice had been words and
detached disdain, and they'd always used them well.

But right now, standing in front of Royce, her body vibrating with anger and frustration and
resentment, she wanted to use her fist. So she did. She hit him, heard the dull thud of her
knuckles against his mouth, watched with detached fascination as his head snapped back and
he stumbled, the backs of his legs hitting the Jag's bumper.

"Shit," she heard Emmett mutter from somewhere near her. He sounded pissed off and
apprehensive, but also impressed and something else. Something that sounded a little like
resignation.

"What the fuck!" Royce bellowed, his eyes wide and disbelieving. His hand cradled his chin
as he stepped forward, but suddenly Emmett was standing in front of her. She couldn't see his
face, but his shoulders were tight and up around his ears, his back moving in and out with
deep, even breaths. His voice was low, dangerous as he gripped Royce's shoulder. It looked
almost friendly, the way his hand curled over Royce's polo shirt, but Rosalie saw Royce's
knees buckle slightly under the weight of Emmett's hand, saw the twitch of his mouth as it
turned down into a grimace.

"You're lucky it was her hitting you and not me, because I would've fucking ended you,"
Emmett said, his voice so low she almost couldn't hear it. "Now, get in your Tiny Dick-
Mobile and drive yourself back to New York. And if you ever, ever even think of picking up
that phone to call her after this shit you just pulled, you'll be answering to me. Do we have an
understanding?"

He shoved Royce backwards, sending him reeling. He glared petulantly at both of them
before his gaze settled heavily on Rosalie, his lip curling up into a sneer. "Have a nice
mediocre life, Rosalie."

"Thank you for reinforcing the fact that I made the best decision of it, Royce," Rosalie bit out,
watching him climb behind the wheel, the back of his wrist pressed against his mouth. The
Jag roared to life and he peeled out, sending small particles of dust whirling up into the night
air. She watched the taillights as he drove away, waited until every part of him disappeared,
before she inhaled sharply and stepped closer to Emmett.

"Em…"

She placed her hand on his back and he turned slowly until he was facing her. She looked
down at her feet, unable to meet his eyes. She could feel her hand starting to throb, the
adrenaline that had been coursing through her body now drained, replaced by exhaustion,
frustration and fear. She wanted to make it better but she wasn't sure how, and the uncertainty
sent words pouring out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry, I never thought he'd show up here. God, he's such an asshole and he was doing
everything he could to piss me off, I could tell, and I shouldn't have hit him, but I don't…"

She trailed off, realizing that Emmett was silent and completely still. When she looked back
up at him, he was gazing at her, his handsome face troubled, his eyes dark and sad. Her heart
squeezed as she took him in, then dropped when he uttered the four words that always change
a relationship.

"We need to talk."

Chapter 23.

"Let me see your hand."

As Rose stared down at her feet, Emmett waited, slowly counted backwards, struggling to
reclaim control. He took slow, deep breaths, in and out to channel the litany of emotions that
ran riot through him. Royce's cheap shots had stung him just as much as they had Rose, the
inferences to the carnal portion of their relationship burning a hole deep in his chest. Emmett
knew that it had been before their time together, but the fact that that prick had laid claim to a
portion of Rose that he didn't know hurt badly.

As if overcoming some internal struggle of her own, Rose extended her left hand to Emmett
gingerly, shaking slightly. By the glow of the porch light, he could see the angry red bruising
that had already started to form across her knuckles. He didn't speak as he gently probed,
moving her thumb and flexing each finger to check for any damage. It allowed both of them a
moment to calm down before moving on to the issue at hand; or for that matter, the one issue
that should have been discussed long before this. He'd tried earlier, gently easing up to what
he hoped would be a transparent request to stay.

All this could have all been avoided if he would have been just a bit more direct. Then he
would have known where he stood, and could have spent his time retrenching, not being torn
apart by an arrogant ass hell bent on destruction.

"Emmett, I…" Rose started.

"Did you mean what you said?" he asked, hating the raw quality of his voice, full of
vulnerability and fear that made his accent deeper, more pronounced. "You never had any
intention of staying, did you?"

She pulled her hand back to her chest, recoiling from his attack. "What?"

"You heard me, Rose." The words were pouring out faster than Emmett could think. "What
were you planning on doing when the summer was over? And when were you going to tell
me?"

"When was I going to tell you?" she shot back, her injured hand cradled against her chest.
Emmett wondered if that was the only thing that hurt, or if he was alone. "What, did you think
I was just going to stay here forever? You have your life, Emmett, and you sure as hell haven't
asked me to be part of it. Seems like that's your thing, isn't it? Hook up for the summer, then
let me ride off into the sunset while you go back to your life."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" he shot back, confused by Rose's attack. This wasn't
about him, it was about her and the decision she'd clearly already made but not shared. This
attack was completely unfounded.

"How am I any different from Tanya? Did she stay?" Rose was close to shouting now,
clutching her wrist, her arms pulled in close to her chest as if they could stop his words from
reaching their target. "Did you ask her to stay, Emmett, or was it just like this, all pretty words
and sweetness, and sexual attraction so thick you could cut it with a knife? Then she went
home and you went on with your life, easy peasy?"

Those words, spoken quickly and in the heat of passion, cut deeper than all the vileness that
Royce had let loose in his bitter tirade; the hurt and anger that darkened her beautiful face
only reinforced the fury of her words. Emmett stepped back, bile rising in his throat as he
struggled to figure out just where everything had gone wrong.

The night air pressed down on them, the heavy tang of salt water stifling the ability to breathe
or think clearly. There would be no calm, rational conversation tonight, and Emmett realized
it was better to walk away. If they kept at it, this would only escalate, and they were both
already on edge, ready to hurl angry words when level heads should prevail.

"I'm going home, Rose," he said, turning to walk down the crushed stone drive. He couldn't
very well ask her to drive him home, and he needed to get away, now. "We'll talk when we
both cool off."

"Emmett, wait!" she called after him, her voice wavering.

"No," he said quickly. "I don't think that this is a good idea right now."

"What, so you are going to just walk away?"

He spun to face her, the anger too close to the surface to hold back any longer. "Yes, I am
going to walk away and cool down."

"You never even-"

Emmett held up his hand, too tired and defeated to formulate the proper response. He didn't
know what to say, and for that precise reason it was better that he didn't say a word.

"Don't cut me off," Rose demanded. "What did you expect me to do? I don't have a job; I
don't have a place to live. What happens in a few weeks, Emmett? When the house is done?
When my contract is up? I can't stay here forever."

"Why not? Why can't you stay here forever? Is it that you can't or you won't?" He cringed the
moment the words were out there, the bitterness and hurt making him sound petty and
vindictive.

Rose's mouth opened, then snapped shut, her jaw locking. The motion forced her chin
forward, and Emmett could tell that she was fighting hard not to cry. It made him hesitate for
just a second, but it was out there now, and there was no way to turn back.

"You've proved you can do whatever you want, Rose. You went toe to toe with Royce and
stood your ground. You've said no to your mother repeated times. You have a job that is
bringing in more than enough for you to live on; it doesn't matter where the hell you do it.
You said it yourself, you have provided everything you ever needed, and it can be wherever
you want to be. You just have to want it."

They stood just a few feet apart, but it might as well have been miles, for they were locked at
an impasse with no way of easily clearing away the wreckage. A single tear slid down Rose's
cheek, followed by another. Those tears were worse than any words she might have hurled at

him, for they were signs of his own failure. It made Emmett feel like the biggest asshole in the
world. He was hurting her as much as that fucking ass Royce had, and he hated it.

Before she could bat her tears away, Emmett stepped forward, running his thumb across the
apple of her cheek. How many times had he touched her like this? They'd spent all summer
dancing around the topic, neither having the courage to flat out say please don't go, or stay, or
I love you, or any of a hundred little things that could have prevented all this until it was too
late. He'd put the words out there, but not with enough time for them to take root and thrive.
All it took was a simple answer, spoken in the heat of passion to bring it all crashing down.
No.

"I may want it," she answered quietly, her words twisting like a knife in his chest. "But you
haven't asked. Last I checked it takes two, doesn't it?"

Anger flared up inside of Emmett. He'd put himself out there, folding her into his life, his
family, sharing everything with her. He'd told her tonight that he wanted her to stay, to be a
permanent part of his life, and yet it still wasn't enough. Part of him wondered if it would take
writing it in blue Sharpie on his forehead to make her believe that; and that is why Emmett
knew he needed to walk away. Anger was not what they needed right now.

"We can't do this tonight," Emmett said, scrubbing his hand across his face. Another tear
escaped from the corner of her eye, and Rose made no attempt to hide it. Emmett reached out
to wipe it away, the back of his hand resting against her cheek. "Go get some sleep. We can
talk in the morning. We both need to step away and find some clarity now."

Rose closed her eyes, and he could feel the frustration and pain leaking out of her, as thick
and cloying as the humid night air. He leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the forehead,
breathing in all the scents that he'd come to associate with her. Her perfume, heavy with
cinnamon and nutmeg, the lip balm she loved that smelled and tasted like lemon. How many
times had he caught those very smells lingering in the air at the house or at the store? They
were forever associated with her, little olfactory tweaks that could send his mind into
overdrive without even having her nearby.

"It might not mean anything now, but I meant what I said. You are permanent to me, and if
you'd let me, I'd keep you here forever," he whispered, kissing her once more before turning
down the drive to walk home. "I want you here. I always will."

The time and distance gave him the chance to cool down, and by the time Emmett reached his
house, the anger had ebbed away, allowing him a new perspective. Rose was right - he hadn't
asked her to stay. He'd merely assumed that she would, discrediting exactly what she had
become to him, a partner.

An equal.

He lay awake for most of the night, replaying everything over and over, dissecting every
action and statement, realizing all the little clues and tells that he'd missed. He was supposed
to be so smart, so together, but he'd gotten hung up looking too far ahead to stop and consider
what Rose might need to hear. It stuck in his throat, a bitter pill that he couldn't swallow. All
he'd wanted was for her to stay, to continue on this amazing journey they had just started.
He'd assumed that was what she wanted, that she knew exactly where she stood with him and

how important she was. But assume was the key word, and after everything they'd been
through, it should have been an indicator in and of itself.

Emmett crawled out of bed at five in the morning, showering and brewing a large pot of
coffee as he thought through his options. He needed to talk to Rose, to explain what had been
on his mind, and give her the same chance. Once they did that, they would need to have an
honest conversation about what came next, and really listen to what the other said, even if it
wasn't what the other necessarily wanted to hear.

He stopped at the diner, picking up more coffee and bagels. At eight on the nose, he found
himself standing at Rose's front door, Dog waiting patiently by his side as the bell chimed
throughout the large house.

Emmett was about to turn and head back to the car when the door cracked open to reveal
Rose, a white sheet wrapped around her shoulders. "Sorry, I was sitting out on the deck
watching the sun come up."

"I thought you might like coffee," he said, holding up the carrier Jess had given him. "And I
brought lox and bagels."

She opened the door wider, silently inviting Emmett and Dog inside. He'd not spent any time
here, and was surprised by the state of disarray. Ladders and tarps were scattered around the
living room, the bright light from a large row of windows almost too brilliant for the stark
white walls of the room.

"Come on, it's not as much of a mess out here," she said, weaving through the destruction to a
set of French doors that opened out onto the deck. Dog trotted ahead of Emmett, sniffing at
pieces of furniture and piles of rags, his bushy tail swinging happily from side to side at the
promise of a new adventure with his friends. He was oblivious to what was going on around
him, or the somber mood of the morning.

Once outside on the deck, Rose climbed into a large teak chair, keeping the sheet draped
loosely around her shoulders. Her body language was defensive, matching the dark circles
under her eyes. It would appear she'd not fared any better than he had last night.

"I guess the best place to start is at the beginning," Emmett said, sitting down in a chair
opposite her. "What do you know about Tanya?"

"Not much," Rose answered. She twisted the corner of the sheet around her finger, pulling it,
then releasing the cotton only to repeat the process. It caused the blood rush to her finger on
release, the skin darkening to an angry red. "You met her last summer, you dated and then she
left."

"Who told you this?"

"Alice."

That explained the conversation he came upon yesterday when Rose had looked so
uncomfortable. It made everything – her reaction in the parking lot, the way she'd responded
to Royce – all that much clearer now.

"And you thought this was the same. That I didn't ask Tanya to stay, and I would do the same
thing with you?" he asked. When Rose wouldn't meet his gaze, Emmett slid down out of his
chair to kneel on the wood planks in front of her, his head ducked into her line of sight,
eliminating her ability to avoid him. "Is that it? You thought we were the same?"

She nodded, her gaze resting somewhere between his chin and his chest.

Emmett sighed and placed his index finger underneath Rose's chin, forcing her head up until
they were eye to eye. "Yes, I dated a girl named Tanya last summer. I didn't ask her to stay. I
never even thought about asking someone to stay until I met you. That's what I was doing last
night, Rose. I thought you knew where I stood on that."

"You're kneeling," she said dryly, a weak attempt at levity.

"You're the only one I've knelt for," he said quickly, and she tried to look down but Emmett
didn't let up on the pressure that held her chin in place. "You're the only one that has driven
my car, or has worn my sunglasses, and hell, I've never drawn on someone before. Permanent
ink is permanent, don't you get that?"

He tugged at the corner of the sheet, pulling it free to reveal her shoulder. The heart he'd
drawn had faded after a shower, but it was still there, the blue ink silently affirming his
promise.

"I'm not going to force you to do anything, Rose. You are your own person. You proved that
last night when you stood up to Royce. Two months ago I don't think you would have done
that, and you would be hard pressed to find anyone who is more proud of you than I am. You
can do whatever you want because you want to do it. All I can tell you is what I'd like, and
I've done a shitty job at that lately."

She was looking at him now; her face, scrubbed clean of makeup, was more beautiful with the
dark circles and freckles. This was the real Rose, the one that lived and laughed and felt.
There was no subterfuge here; she was open and trusting. She deserved the truth. Emmett
knew that, while it might hurt if she rejected him, she deserved to know that he would support
her when no one else ever had.

"Rose, I want you here, in my life. But I'll take whatever you are willing to give me. If that
isn't here, then we'll try and find some way to make it work. It's your call. I just want what
makes you happy. You, of all people, deserve to be happy."

Before Emmett could brace himself, Rose pitched forward, wrapping her arms around his
neck as she knocked him backwards onto the deck.

"You are such an oaf," she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder. He could feel
the tears, the deep heaving breaths as she tried to calm down, but he didn't say anything. "You
make me happy and you bring me coffee. Isn't that enough?"

"It's probably getting-" he was going to say cold, but she cut him off, kissing Emmett until he
forgot what they'd been arguing about in the first place.

They hadn't solved everything, but they'd made the first few tentative steps in the right
direction. That was the hardest part.

Chapter 24.

Rosalie looked across the table surreptitiously, eyeing the crossword puzzle that Emmett was
currently working on, the same one she had in front of her.

They were at the diner for breakfast and had been solving each clue in relative silence, though
she'd caught him staring at her more than once. His eyes had been on her face the first time,
her bare shoulder the second and, on this last time, her left hand splayed out in the middle of
the table. His gaze had flickered up to her face, a smile playing on his lips, and then he'd
looked back down at his puzzle. His fingers had crept toward hers until they were lightly
stroking her skin, sweeping up and circling over her now lightly bruised knuckles. Their
fingers would intertwine and pull away, blindly explore the curve of a cuticle, the soft edge of
a nail, run lightly over subtle wrinkles at the first and second joint. It was an effortless circuit,
slow, like they were moving underwater, and her skin tingled underneath the attention of his
fingertips.

Her eyes drifted from his puzzle and made a trail up his forearm, watching the muscles ripple
subtly as his fingers continued their distracted and aimless path.

"I know you're not looking at my puzzle for answers," he said without looking up.

"You're right, I'm not," she huffed, darting another glance at it to see how far along he was.
His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he raised an eyebrow slowly.

"Are you a cheater, Rose?" Emmett asked, feigning shock.

"Excuse me, I've been doing crossword puzzles for years without needing your help with
answers. I just wanted to see if I was further than you."

"And?"

She snorted, holding up her newspaper, which was nearly filled out. "I think the answer is
obvious."

He rolled his eyes, then squinted at her puzzle, reached across the table and tapped the paper.
"The answer to 17 down is dulcet."

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him as he went back to work on his crossword, a
self-satisfied smile on his face. "Why do you always do that?"

"Karma for your cheating ways, babe," he replied easily.

She let out another huff of irritation, but it was all for show. Secretly, she was relieved that
they were interacting so easily, in that effortless way that had been the norm for them up until
three days ago when Royce had shown up and spurred their first major argument. After
Emmett had come over the next morning and told her exactly how he felt, she'd been on edge.
Her mind had been filled with his words and her fears and she didn't know how to soothe it,
how to make it better.

She knew she wanted to stay with Emmett. She wanted to give him everything because that
was what he had essentially promised to give her if she'd take it. And while she knew he
cared about her, she hadn't realized just how deep it ran until the other night when, despite the
fact that she'd hurt him by stupidly blurting out that she had no plans to stay here indefinitely,
he wiped away her tears and told her he was proud of her. He saw all of her, the good and the
bad of both Rosalie and Rose, and he accepted both versions without hesitation. At the end of
the day, she was just one person, one woman with a complex and sometimes messy riot of
emotions and reactions and thoughts, and he seemed to have realized and accepted that before
even she had. In just a couple of months, he'd been able to uncover and understand her in a
way that no one else ever had. It scared and exhilarated her, made her want to just let go and
see what happened. She'd been in control for so long, had tried to dictate how every aspect of
her life would go, but Emmett was the shining example of how good unexpected and
unanticipatedcould be. She'd never thought she'd fall for someone like him, a man who
challenged all of her preconceived notions of what smart, sexy and accomplished meant.

And yet she was. She already had.

Beyond their initial conversation the morning after their fight, Emmett hadn't pushed her to
make a decision on what she'd do once the renovations were done and her contract was up.
She knew he was giving her space to figure out what she wanted to do, which was exactly
what she'd been doing the past few days. Her mother hadn't called, which meant that Royce
probably hadn't told her about what had happened. She hoped that he wouldn't, that he'd be
too embarrassed by the fact that she'd not only refused to come back with him, but had
punched him in the face, to tell anyone about what had transpired between them. She hoped
that he would erase her number from his phone and her memory from his mind, that their
argument would be the last interaction they'd ever have.

Rosalie looked at Emmett, her chin resting against the palm of her hand. His head was bowed,
all rumpled dark hair, and his jaw line was shadowed with stubble. She resisted the urge to
reach over and cup his face in her hand, run her palm against chiseled bone and rough skin.
She liked watching him when he was busy doing something else, whether it was helping
customers at his shop or shooting out emails on his laptop or sitting across from her at the
diner right now, his lips parted slightly and his brows pulled together in concentration. She
liked even better watching him when she touched him or when they kissed. She was
fascinated by the vulnerability in his eyes, the blissed-out glaze that so perfectly matched the
feeling that slowly made its way through her body when his hands and mouth were on her.
She loved the way his heart raced and the way he looked at her when he pulled away. She
loved the way he said her name when she went for the spot right below his ear.

She wouldn't be able to walk away from that, from him, easily. If she didn't have to, if there
was a way that she could stay, she owed it to both of them to figure it out. She had a sinking
feeling that the renovations on her parents' house were being done to get it ready to sell and if
her mother found out that she was planning on staying in Folly Beach indefinitely, she'd
certainly do everything in her power to get it off their hands more quickly. Rosalie had
enough money in her savings account to last her a few months once her contract was up, but
she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Either way, she vowed that she'd figure out how to stay here with him.

Emmett looked up again, feeling her gaze on him. He squinted at her and then grinned, his
dimples serving as little parentheses on either side of his mouth. "What are you looking at?"

She hooked her feet around his ankles, skin rubbing against skin. His smile deepened. "You."

"Like what you see?"

She nodded slowly. "Very much."

"You're a little flirt, Miss Hale," he drawled.

"Only with you."

"And my uncles," he shot back. She batted her lashes playfully, thinking of the way they'd
teased and flirted with her shamelessly throughout the party last weekend. If she'd wondered
where Emmett cultivated his gift of flirty banter, the answer had been perfectly clear when
she met Alistair and Liam. "They won't shut up about you."

She laughed. "Do I want to know what they've said?"

"No," he said quickly, his eyes flashing with amusement.

"Hmm," she hummed, playing with the edge of the newspaper. "Well, your family is amazing,
not that I should have been surprised given how you and Esme turned out."

His expression went serious and his voice lowered. "You were amazing with them, Rose. I
think Maggie wants to adopt you into the family."

Her breath caught at that and she cleared her throat, trying to conceal her reaction. The truth
was, she could easily see herself being a part of his huge, affectionate and slightly crazy clan.
It almost scared her how much she wanted it, how easy and right it felt to be with him when
he was with them.

Emmett's eyes swept over her face and she could see the wheels turning in his brain, like he
was trying to decipher what she was thinking. She sighed and slid out of her side of the booth,
moving to sit next to him. He lifted his arm and she leaned into him instinctively, pressing her
face against his chest. She breathed in the familiar scent of him, the subtle scent of cologne
mixing with ocean and sunscreen.

"Em, I want to be with you. I just need to make sure this makes sense, okay? I don't want to
decide to stay here and then not have anywhere to go or anything to do."

"Hey, look at me."

She felt rather than heard him say it, his voice rumbling against her ear. She pulled back and
looked up into his brilliant blue eyes, her breath catching all over again. He pushed a loose
strand of hair behind her ear and then cradled her face with his warm hand, his thumb
sweeping over her cheek. She could gladly lose herself like this, with him touching her and
looking at her, and she wondered if she hadn't already. Certainly she'd lost her heart. It wasn't
just her face he held in his hands, she knew.

"I told you the other day that we'd make it work, okay?" he murmured. She nodded, leaning
into his touch. "Whatever you decide, we'll figure it out."

She nodded again, closing her eyes as his lips touched hers. She exhaled, wanting to press
closer against him and weave her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. She wanted
them to be alone, to finish what they had been about to start before Royce had interrupted
them the other night. She wanted to give that remaining piece of herself to him. Emmett's
hand moved forward to surreptitiously block their mouths from the view of the old man sitting
at the next table and he swept his tongue along her lower lip quickly, teasingly.

"I'm going to interrupt your make-out session because I have huge news."

Emmett sighed, pulling away reluctantly to look over Rosalie's shoulder. She turned, too,
looking up at Jessica, who was standing at the end of their table, rocking back and forth on
her toes and a euphoric smile plastered on her face. "You have really terrible timing, Jess."

"Just shut up for two seconds so I can share with you," Jessica shot back, clapping her hands.

"All right, Tinsel Teeth, what's got you so excited?"

"Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives is going to feature the diner!" Jessica said breathlessly. She
paused for a split-second and then let out a little shriek, dancing in place. Rosalie and Emmett
stared up at her, their mouths open in shock. "We just got the call confirming it! We were in
the running, but we never thought they'd actually pick us."

"Jess, oh my god!" Rosalie exclaimed when it had finally sunk in, reaching over to grasp
Jessica's wrist.

Emmett's eyes widened and he broke into a gorgeous grin. "Jess, that's amazing. Is Mikey
passed out in the back or what?"

Jessica waved her hand toward the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with
excitement. "No, no, he's back there calling everyone in town."

"I'm going to go congratulate him," Emmett said, wrapping his arm around Rosalie's shoulder
and pressing a kiss into her hair. She slid out of the booth and he stood, smacking her
teasingly on the behind as he walked away. Jessica caught it and laughed, shaking her head.

"So, when is everything happening?" Rosalie asked, forcing herself to look at Jessica and not
watch Emmett walk away.

"They're coming to film in a couple of weeks," Jessica replied. She shook her head in
disbelief. "I just can't believe it, Rose. This is so huge for us. Mike has been thinking about
opening up another location and this would be…" she stopped, her eyes still bright, but now
with tears. Rosalie reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. "This is a game changer."

"Let me help you," Rosalie replied quickly. Her mind was already formulating ways to gain
even more exposure for Jessica and Mike. She made a quick mental checklist of the things
she'd realistically be able to pull off given their timeframe: pulling together a press kit and a
press release to announce Jess and Mike's participation in the show for the local media outlets,

a wrap party after the taping to garner further community involvement, among other things.
This was an opportunity for them to make the diner a destination in its own right, a place
tourists would know about when they stepped foot in Folly Beach, and she hoped that with
her experience she could help them get to that point.

She bit her lip, feeling the familiar sensation of excitement and adrenaline start to pump
through her veins, the same sensation she used to feel when she'd land an important account
or ace a presentation. But this was different; she wasn't driven by a sense of power or the need
to gain professional ground and climb the corporate ladder. This was the need to help out two
people that she'd grown to care about, the feeling of wanting to contribute to a community
that, without her knowing, had turned into a home for her.

"Really?" Jessica breathed, her eyes getting wide. "That would be amazing, Rose. We don't
even know where to begin, to be honest."

Rosalie waved her hand in the air. "Don't even think about it. I've already got some ways we
can drum up publicity for you around here. Hopefully we can get you some local media
coverage and spread the word through other venues, too."

Jessica threw her arms around Rosalie's neck, squeezing tightly. Rosalie froze on instinct;
she'd never been demonstrative like this with her girlfriends, and god knew her mother had
never shown her affection in this way. Her arms wrapped loosely around Jessica after a
moment's hesitation, patting her awkwardly on the back.

"Sorry," Jessica laughed, blushing slightly as she pulled away. "I just…thank you so much."

"Ready, Rose?" Emmett called from the front of the diner. Rosalie turned and held up a finger
to indicate she'd be there in a second.

"Can I come by tomorrow to talk more specifics with you?" she asked, turning back to
Jessica, who nodded eagerly. "Oh, and Jess? Do you mind if we just keep this between the
two of us for now?"

"Sure," Jessica shrugged, too distracted by her excitement to ask questions. "Come by around
eleven tomorrow. We should be slow."

Rosalie nodded and then, with a wave, made her way to Emmett, who was halfway out the
door, propping it open with his foot. She caught his eye and grinned, thinking about her plan
to help Mike and Jessica, how good it felt. She couldn't help but wonder if there were other
opportunities like this for her here, if she could find the kind of fulfillment she felt in this
moment on a long-term basis. It was a little glimmer of hope in finding her place here and
being able to stay, but it was one that she wanted to keep quiet until she was sure that she
wasn't giving false hope to an opportunity that had just blossomed in front of her eyes.

When she reached Emmett, she slipped under his arm, her head tucking perfectly against his
chest. False hope or not, she couldn't help feeling like she was finally on the right path to
finding that elusive idea of happiness that she'd chased all the way down to Folly Beach.

Chapter 25.

"So you think it's okay? No numbers that send up warning flags?"

Emmett wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder as he scrolled through the
spreadsheet, quickly calculating percentages and potential rates of return.

"No, man, I think it all looks good. The only place you might be able to peel back is all this
advertising stuff. It's a bit aggressive, don't you think?"

Mike laughed. "Dude, strike while the iron's hot, you know? If we're getting national
coverage, then I want to ride it for all it's worth."

"I get that, Mikey, but you're talking about a big chunk of change, especially when you're
outlaying for new equipment and all the game room stuff too."

"So, what I'm hearing you say is that it's a big chunk of change, but I also don't hear you
saying it's a bad idea either?"

"No," Emmett conceded, "I don't think it's a bad idea at all. I just want you to be careful. And
I want in."

"What?" Mike's response was immediate, and exactly as Emmett had expected. Surprise,
confusion, amazement.

"I told you, I want in," Emmett repeated. "I need to diversify a bit, and things are going better
than I ever expected. I've recouped my investment on the Folly store, used those funds to seed
Sullivan's, and the eCommerce stuff is booming. It's time to expand into other areas. Isn't part
of Wise Investing 101 having a varied portfolio?"

Mike snorted, and the sounded echoed through the phone line as it got hung up between cell
towers. "Dude, you are so not small town."

"Please, look at where I live and what I do."

"Emmett, I've known you since I could kick your ass," Emmett's booming laugh cut Mike off,
but he continued unfazed. "Remember that day at The Washout when you were all freaked out
about Rose, and you were talking about where you belonged?"

"Who says I was freaked out?" Emmett countered, surprised that his friend knew him so well.

"Please, do you really think my wife doesn't pass on your epic stupidity? Dude, you are a total
hack when it comes to that girl. Anyway, I told you that I belonged here in Folly, but I wanted
to be here too, do you remember that?"

"Mikey, you've had your head in the fridge too long. I came back because I want to be here.
My family and friends are here. This is my home."

"You are defining home based on the past, Emmett. You came back here because it was safe-"

"Not even."

"Please, you were burnt out and you weren't happy in Boston, so you came running home
with your tail between your legs. It's cool to admit that. You wanted to be here, but for the
wrong reasons. But now, well, I think you're figuring it out."

Emmett leaned back in his chair, the seat back adjusting so that he could stare at the ceiling.
There were small little divots in the drop panels from where he liked to chuck pencils at the
ceiling. He wished he had one to throw right now. "And you figured that out all by yourself?"

"No, my lovely wife did," Mike countered. "I just listen and take notes."

"What she sees in you, I'll never know," Emmett teased.

"I'd say the same, asshole. Now go be the money maker, I've got work to do."

"Cha, that will be the day. I'll take another run through these numbers, and I am going to draw
up some paperwork. I meant what I said about seed money. I want in."

"Fine, bring your check book, big spender. There was life size Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots in
Greenville that has game room written all over it."

After disconnecting, Emmett dropped his phone on the desk, but didn't go back to work.
Instead he continued to stare at the ceiling, considering Mike's comment about why he'd come
back. Folly was home, it always had been. He'd thought for a brief moment that might change
when his mom sold the house and moved to Jacksonville, but it hadn't. His best memories, the
people he loved, they were all here, woven into the fabric of this small little island. It was the
one place where he felt he knew himself the best, but it was also the place where the small
rents in the fabric stood out the most. He had a thriving business, and people to celebrate that
with him, but no one to share it with. He had a house that he called a home, but it didn't have
the same energy that Esme's house did, or the diner for that matter. The holes weren't in his
family and friends - they were within this life he'd created for himself. Emmett had done
exactly what Mike said; he'd been so busy looking back that he'd never allowed himself to
look forward and think about what came next for him. All his foresight had been reserved for
business, everything else taking a backseat. He'd created a duplicate of his life in Boston,
using his friends and family to fill the spots that were empty. They were important, but they
couldn't be everything, fill every hole. He'd never realized that.

Well, until now.

"So this is what you call working…"

Emmett shot forward, the chair creaking at the release of his weight. Rose leaned against the
doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest in a look not too far removed from the one his
mom would give him when she busted him reading Sports Illustrated instead of doing
homework. He took a minute to drink her in, the casual clothing of summer replaced by a
simple but elegant black sheath dress and dangerously high heels.

"Wow," he breathed, stunned at the transformation. "I don't know why you are dressed like
that, but I am not going to complain. Come here."

Rose slowly strolled across the office, and it wasn't lost on Emmett that there was a bit of
extra swing in her walk. It might have been the heels, but then again, it could have been
intentional, too. Either way he was hooked. When she was close enough, Emmett grabbed her
hand, pulling her in between his legs so that she could lean back against the edge of the desk.
It brought them to eye level, and before Rose could say a word, he had a hold of her by her
hips, his face buried in her neck as he peppered kisses against her soft skin. She hummed, her
arms draping loosely around his neck so as not to impede his path.

When he reached her ear, Emmett hesitated, wondering if it was all too much, if this would be
one push too far. But the idea of moving forward, of expanding and further sinking ties into
this town without Rose was a concept he didn't want to explore. Forward alone wasn't
progress. Forward with her was.

"I want to talk to Esme about houses that might be opening up after the season is over," he
said against her hair. "I want to find a place for you to stay, out from under your parents'
thumb. I am going to make you a key to my house so you can take Dog for a run whenever
you want. I am going to buy stock in Newell Rubbermaid and send the chairman a thank you
for making blue Sharpies."

Rose laughed softly, turning so that she could brush her lips against his. "You are such a
creampuff."

"You knew that already. But I'm not a pushover. I'm tired of being patient, Rose, which means
I'm not going to play fair now." Emmett stood, forcing her to scoot back onto his desk, her
hands immediately dropping to the surface for support. "I am going to make it impossible for
you to ever think about leaving." Leaving what was left unspoken. Here, Folly Beach, him,
this; they were all interchangeable concepts.

"What brought this on?" Rose asked breathily, dropping her head to the side so that Emmett
could better access her neck. "Oh God, don't stop that."

What had brought it on? A smack on the head from an old friend? Maybe it was the
realization that Rose was the one thread that could neatly weave all the little pieces of fabric
in his life, making it stronger and infinitely warmer? Or it could have been his competitive
spirit, the businessman in him bubbling back up, something he'd suppressed for far too long.
Emmett was a competitor. He knew how to fight, how to create a case and play to win. Maybe
it was time to do that here, and make Rose realize that the hard fight and all the scary what ifs
were infinitely worth it.

"I'm tired of giving you the easy way out, Rosalie Hale," Emmett said, forcing her to lean
back just a bit more on his desk. "I've been patient and understanding, and I am a good guy,
but there is a hell a lot more to me than that."

"I know there is-" she started to say, but Emmett cut her off, kissing her almost roughly, his
hands moving slowly across the soft black silk of her dress. He felt the sharp intake of breath
as he slowly outlined the curve of her breast, continuing up across her collarbone, and then
back down to repeat the circuit.

"No, you don't know, but you are going to," he slipped his other arm around to pull her
forward, pressing her flush against his body, nuzzling his face into the cool silk. "I am going

to turn you around so badly that you aren't going to know which way is up. No more Mr. Nice
Guy. I am going to use every tool in the arsenal to make it impossible for you to ever think
about leaving here."

He let go of Rose, and she toppled back a bit, her hands catching the edge of the desk for
balance. Her cheeks were flushed, as was her neck from the rasp of his beard. He'd taken to
shaving less because she liked scruff so much. There were a million other little things she said
she liked or she reacted to. Whether it was a formal declaration or an unspoken preference
he'd picked up on, they were all going to be rolled back out, one after the other, until she was
just as hooked as he was.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me, Mr. McCarty," Rose said with a
touch of sarcasm. He kissed her once more, then stepped back, angling his head so he could
take it all in.

"You against my desk is a good look. I'll have to remember that one. Now come on, I think I
want to go catch a few waves, and I know how much you like to watch."

She snorted a derisive laugh, but Emmett knew he had her going. It felt good to watch her
flounder just a little tiny bit, to feel the same all encompassing need that he did. He meant
what he said too. All the things she loved, the ocean, Dog, his family, the way he made her
laugh, the way he made her feel, they were all going to be let loose in one massive campaign.
Folly Beach was going to wrap around Rosalie Hale in the biggest, warmest embrace she'd
ever known, a soft blanket that she would never want to let go of. The irony was, she was the
one that made the blanket come together, the golden thread weaving through it all. Esme has
called him King Midas, turning everything into gold. That wasn't a correct statement; he didn't
turn everything into gold, but he did know how to use it, and weave that one brilliant strand
through everything to create the one reason why she would never leave.

Chapter 26.

Rosalie was making her way down Ashley Avenue in Emmett's Defender, Dog curled up in
the backseat and Jessica and Mike yelling excitedly to her through the Bluetooth in her ear.

She smiled, shaking her head. "You two are going to make me go deaf. Take it down a notch
so I can go over the plans with you one more time, okay?"

"Right. Mike, sweetie, shut up so Rose can talk," Jessica teased. Mike let out a snort and it
echoed down the line.

"You're the one yapping away over there, woman. I can hear you all the way in the break
room. Are you sure you're up front? Or are you just that loud?"

"You better start running," Jessica replied. "As soon as we're off the phone, I'm coming after
you and you're so dead meat."

"Oh, that sounds kind of ho-"

"Newtons!" Rosalie shouted, startling Dog in the backseat. He shifted, throwing her a petulant
look that she caught in the rearview mirror and she reached blindly behind her, scratching his
sandy belly to pacify him.

"This is what you have to look forward to, Rose," Mike said with a laugh. "Are you prepared
for this with McCarty? The banter can't be faked."

"I think we've got that part down pretty well, Mikey," Rosalie replied dryly. "May I
continue?"

"Please do," Jessica said. "He's just keyed up about the taping next week."

Rosalie smiled at her reflection in the rearview mirror. "You should be."

She spent a few minutes going over the local coverage she'd set up for them, both from print
and television media. The press kits she'd sent out had garnered a positive reaction and several
media outlets were planning on covering the story. As far as she knew, nearly everyone in
town (or at least everyone who would fit) was planning on showing up to support Mike and
Jessica for the wrap party.

When she was finished, Mike spoke up first. "Well, we're going to need you for at least
another six months. Money is no object."

"Uh, yes it is," Jessica countered. "But we do need you, Rose, at least until we get things up
and running. Between you and Emmett, you're making this process painless for us."

"Has Emmett been talking to you?" Rosalie asked suspiciously, thinking of the full-out
operation he'd leveled in the past week, his declaration that he'd find a way to make it
impossible for her to leave. Of course, she hadn't exactly been able to argue with his body
pressed against hers at his desk. She'd secretly reveled in the way he'd stared at her in her
dress and heels, items that she'd had to dig back into the depths of her closet to find for an

informational interview with one of the larger ad agencies in Charleston. She'd driven straight
to his house after she was done there and had found him staring off into space, looking
gorgeous and deep in thought. That had been rectified quickly though, and she'd barely been
coherent when he started kissing down her neck, his tone assertive as he told her all of the
things he was planning on doing to make her stay. She wanted to hear him tell her all of the
things he was planning on doing to her when he talked like that, voice low and confident. She
didn't know how he was able to control himself; she was about to go absolutely insane,
though she knew he was probably just being cautious given that her plans were still
unconfirmed.

Jessica cleared her throat, bringing Rosalie out of her thoughts, and her voice took on an air of
nonchalance. "Emmett? No, not at all."

"Who's Emmett?" Mike added.

Rosalie snorted, rolling to a stop at a red light. She looked to her left and saw a beat-up pickup
with a surfboard throw haphazardly into the truck bed. The driver, a rangy blond guy that she
recognized from The Washout – Jason? James? – ducked down and threw her a wave and a
wink. She waved back, then turned her attention back to the light and her call. "Oh, you know,
that big oaf you surf with sometimes? The one who seems to have made it his number one
mission to make it impossible for me to ever leave Folly Beach? I'm sure you'd know him if
you saw him."

"Hmm, not ringing any bells," he replied. "But for what it's worth, we don't think you're going
anywhere."

"Well, I appreciate the confidence, Mike," she said with a laugh, pressing her foot on the gas
when the light turned green. "I'll call you guys in the next few days to finalize stuff, okay?"

"Aren't we going to see you at the diner in the morning?" Jessica asked.

"No, we're making breakfast together tomorrow."

Mike made a whip-cracking sound. "Just give up the fight, Rose. You've got that guy so
wrapped around your finger, it's not even funny."

"It's mutual, Newton," she replied, realizing just how true that statement was. She was used to
being in control when it came to men and her emotions, but he evoked a response in her that
was unparalleled, and she couldn't find it in herself to be scared by that anymore. They had
both fallen, but they'd done it together. "See you guys later."

She could hear them both laughing as she ended the call and she shook her head, wondering if
everyone in town knew what he was doing to her.

She knew exactly what Emmett was doing, of course. He'd warned her himself, though she
hadn't realized just how serious he was about it until he actually gave her the key to his house
as promised, or when he took her to Liam's house for dinner one night the previous week. It
had been smaller group than the barbeque, just Liam and Alistair, Esme and Carlisle, and
Alice and Jasper, but Maggie and her parents had made a surprise stop after copious amounts
of food and wine had been consumed and the little girl had latched on to Rosalie immediately.

She'd braided her hair again and stuck stickers on her impossibly soft, freckled cheeks, then
watched Emmett run around with her in the backyard, Rosalie's head resting on Esme's
shoulder. She'd never known the kind of calm that existed in her body, and maybe he
understood her better than she understood herself, because when he finally made his way back
to her and placed a lingering kiss on her mouth, his eyes were twinkling knowingly. She'd
spent the rest of the night laughing and talking with everyone over glass after glass of wine,
until Emmett had to practically carry her back to the car.

She knew he was showing her all the ways in which she fit into his life, all the ways in which
she'd made her own life here. It was the subtle things, though, that really brought to light how
much she loved it here with him. It was his ordering her coffee at the diner and calling after
Jess to remember the half & half and sugar. It was the casual use of we and us in conversation
with his family and his friends, the same people that had somehow become hers, too. He just
fit, and so did she. She'd never felt so right with anyone or in any place as she did with
Emmett in Folly. And she knew, she felt, that she had to stay here. It had only been a couple
of months for them, but this was it for her. She thought of the old cliché that people in love
often uttered, far-off looks in their eyes, and she laughed to herself as she continued down the
street, heading back toward Emmett.

When you know, you just know.

Her Bluetooth rang in her ear and she pressed the button on the earpiece, her smile lingering
as she answered. "Hello?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

Rosalie's smile disappeared as her jaw locked, her hands wrapping tightly around the steering
wheel. "Hello to you, too, Mom."

"Rosalie, I heard from Iris King that you're planning on staying in Folly Beach. Please tell me
she received that information from Royce erroneously."

"She heard correctly," Rosalie replied, her voice just as clipped as her mother's. "In fact, I
delivered the information to Royce personally when he showed up at the house here. I'm sure
you had nothing to do with that, though."

Her mother huffed and she could almost see her smoothing down nonexistent stray hairs from
the chignon she always wore. "I didn't tell him to go down there, if that's what you're trying to
say."

Rosalie let out a sigh, turning into the parking lot of a small convenience store. She shifted
into park, but left the engine running. She hoped this wouldn't take long. "It really doesn't
matter, and neither does Royce. I'm staying in Folly Beach." She paused, letting it sink in
before she continued. "Indefinitely."

"I don't understand," her mother said quickly, sharply.

"I met someone. He's…" she trailed off, grappling for the right word. "Mom, Emmett is very
important to me. I'm in lo -"

"So that's why you're staying?" Her mother interrupted her, cutting her off before she could
get the most important part out. "You're telling me that you're choosing this man," she said
man like it was a dirty word, "over your father and I?"

"No, that's not what I'm telling you," Rosalie replied quietly. "I'm choosing to be happy. I'm
happy here with Emmett, with my life, and I hope you can find some way to be happy for me,
too."

"I don't understand." There were those words again, but they were spoken more softly this
time. The line fell quiet and she imagined her mom sitting in the living room alone, the phone
clutched to her ear. Her father had never been around much, too busy with his career to pay
Rosalie or his wife much attention, and she couldn't help wondering if her mother was lonely,
if she'd ever thought of starting over or if the life she'd made – the money, the huge, empty
house, the parties and socialite friends – fulfilled her in a way that Rosalie's similar life in
New York hadn't been able to.

They were just inherently different people, she realized, and she would only waste her breath
trying to argue her case.

"Well, I hope you'll call me when you do," Rosalie said. "I'll talk to you then."

She disconnected and then pulled out the earpiece, tossing it onto the passenger seat next to
her. She took a deep, calming breath and then another, her hands moving up and down the
slightly worn steering wheel. When she opened her eyes, she looked around her and felt a
sense of peace overtake her. She shifted in reverse and then directed the car back on its route
toward Emmett's house, thinking about the phone call, about her declaration that her plans to
stay here were indefinite.

She desperately wanted to tell Emmett about the plans she was making, but she even more
desperately wanted to have it all laid out before she revealed them. She wanted it to be perfect
for him, wanted to make sure that it was written in stone before she let him know she was
staying. In addition to the opportunity that had possibly presented itself in Charleston, Paul,
the owner of the start-up she'd been contracting for, had called her the day before to accept
her request to extend her contract for another six months. That, coupled with the work she
was doing for Mike and Jessica would keep her flush for at least half a year, if not longer. She
was still searching for a place to stay after the renovations were done, though it was at the
bottom of the list of her concerns. Esme and Alice had already rustled up half a dozen listings
in town that would be perfect for her. The three of them had plans to go look at several later in
the week. It would be the last loose end, the last thing she'd need to solidify her plans to stay
here. After that was done, she'd tell him. The thought made her pulse jump and she bit her lip
with a smile as she pulled into the driveway.

For now, she was certainly enjoying all of the effort he was putting in to making her stay. Her
eyes zeroed in on the scene before her – a shirtless Emmett, up to his elbows in sudsy water as
he washed her car. She rolled her eyes, then let them linger on the broad span of his back and
shoulders, the muscles working underneath his skin.

"Do you enjoy objectifying yourself for me?" she asked as she climbed out of the truck. Dog
hopped out after her, stopping to sniff Emmett's calf before he made his way to the front

porch and flopped down, exhausted. She'd run with him up and down the beach for nearly an
hour; his dog muscles probably ached as much as her human ones did.

"Not nearly as much as you enjoy watching me do it," he replied easily, his muscles twitching
with the effort it took to scrub at the hood. He looked over at her and leveled a smile at her,
the one that he knew made her knees shake and her stomach dip. "How was the beach?"

She bent down to brush a dried patch of sand from her knee. "Sandy, but fun. You missed
out."

"You and Dog needed some quality time together," he said, his dimples deepening. "Oh, and
Esme just called. She said you two are doing a girls' night tonight?"

Rosalie nodded, coming to stand next to him. He straightened up, running his hand absently
up and down his stomach, and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Do you like my cousin better than me now, babe?" he asked. He dropped the rag into the
soapy water bucket next to him and grasped her wrist, pulling her until her body was flush
with his, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist, splaying her
hands flat against his bare, damp skin.

"Please, like this isn't working perfectly into your master plan," she murmured, tipping her
head back so that he could place a soft kiss on her lips.

"Oh, it definitely is," he replied, moving his lips to each side of her mouth, to her nose, to her
cheeks. He retraced his path until his mouth was on hers again, just grazing against it. "I think
it's working, don't you?"

She let out an incoherent noise as he ducked his head to kiss along the column of her throat,
his mouth pausing over her thumping pulse. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

She let out an indignant huff that turned into a whimper as his tongue swept into the hollow at
the base of her throat. "It's working."

"I told you I was going to be ruthless," he replied, his arms tightening around her. She could
feel the soapy water from the car seeping into the material of her shorts as he pressed her
against the door, but she couldn't imagine moving, not when he was so close.

"Using Maggie as leverage was pretty brilliant, if not completely unscrupulous," she
conceded.

"Ooh, big word," he hummed, his laughter vibrating from his chest to hers, from his mouth
onto her skin.

"For a big guy," she purred, her hands wandering lazily across his back.

He groaned, then pulled back, his eyes narrowed and amused. "No flipping this on me, this is
my game."

"You're not the only one making up the rules," she shot back.

He laughed, shaking his head. "You're extremely willful, you know that? You're going to
make me bring out the big guns."

She leaned back, running a finger down his chest and stomach, stopping at the waistband of
his board shorts. "I've never heard it called that before."

She felt the grin stretched across his lips when they met hers and her hands snaked up around
his neck, pulling him closer. She sighed into his mouth and the mood morphed from playful to
intense when his hands gripped her hips and pressed the full length of his body against hers

He pulled away and made an open-mouthed trail of kisses across her cheek until he was
pressed against her ear. "I need you here, Smurfette," he whispered. She opened her eyes and
then squeezed them shut, understanding his message. I need you, was what he was really
saying. She thought of what he'd said to her one Saturday morning, a morning that felt like a
lifetime ago.

It gets lonely when everyone wants you but no one needs you, he'd said. It had been lonely,
until he'd shown up in her life and turned her preconceived notions – about him, about this
town, even about herself – on their head. He'd shown her what it meant to live without
reservation, to laugh and need and want and most of all, to love. He'd shown her what it felt
like, what it looked like.

He'd brought out the big guns indeed, though he didn't realize it. But those words, him saying
he needed her, was the last clue to the puzzle that she'd already figured out.

She couldn't leave, would have never been able to really try. Her home was here with him.

Chapter 27.

Every booth and table in the diner was full, packed with friends and family on their best
behavior as the host, a bleached blond, who looked like he'd spent more than his share of time
in the pastry case, glad handed and snuck tastes of the shrimp and grits hidden behind the
counter.

Emmett had been there going on two hours, sitting in the booth he thought of as theirs,
watching as Rose flittered around, handling the final details. She was in her element here,
giving Mike a quick pep talk and reminding him how to stand so as not to block the food or
the host. One of the crew members, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, got a little
too close to her and found himself on the receiving end of one of the 'Rosalie bitch face'
stares. Comfortably ensconced in 'their booth,' safe and confident in what was unfolding
around them, Emmett couldn't help but laugh when the man went scrambling.

"I remember that look," he said as Rose strode towards him, her knee length skirt flowing
easily and revealing about a mile of leg. The man stood in the corner, his cheeks red, stared in
fascination. Dream on, brother, Emmett laughed to himself. Two months ago he'd been on the
receiving end of that glare, and now look at him. At them. He tried not to laugh as the poor
sap realized Rose wasn't flying solo. Better luck next time.

"Scoot over, Moondoggie," Rose demanded as she sat down on the bench next to him.

"What's wrong with your side?"

"I want to be able to watch," she said, sliding into the booth so that her leg pressed up against
Emmett's. "And since we can't talk while they are filming, you can write me love notes."

She dropped a notepad down on the scarred Formica, along with one of her trademark Micro-
Sharpies.

"Babe, if I am writing you notes, you are going to be working for-" he meant to say it, but
Rose's hand on his thigh shut him up.

"Shhh, they are going to start filming soon."

Emmett shot Rose a dirty look, but she just batted her eyes at him before shifting her attention
to the scene unrolling on the other side of the diner.

Two can play at that game, he thought, pulling the notepad closer to jot down a note.

20 Down. A four letter proper noun for pain in the ass.

Rose grinned and grabbed the hand out of his hand. In big block letters next to his prompt, she
wrote, B-E-A-R.

Emmett snorted, which earned him a flick to the inside of his thigh. He shot her a dirty look,
but she merely smiled and stared straight ahead.

You are playing a dangerous game, he scribbled on the notepad. She flicked him again. He
scribbled another note.

6 Across. A seven letter proper noun for tease.

Rose leaned towards him, her hand still resting on his thigh. "Are you trying to cause trouble,
Mr. McCarty?" Her voice, lowered so that it wouldn't be picked up by the large overhead
boom mics had a breathy quality, which did very little to help Emmett's state of mind. Long
legs, her hand where it was…they'd been building up a wicked head of steam all summer, and
he was pretty much ready to blow.

He jotted down another note, turning it back in her direction. You're being a tease.

She grabbed the pen out of his hand, and ducked her head over the paper. The elegant loops of
her script were a stark contrast to his bold block letters.

I don't tease, I follow through, and you love it, thank you very much. By the way, you're hot
when you're flustered.

She handed the pen back to Emmett with an innocent smile. It wavered a bit when he returned
it in spades, causing an idea to form in his head.

Fine, he jotted down on the paper. Since you follow through, Little Miss I Don't Tease, let's
play 20 questions. I go first. Emmett waited for Rose to nod her agreement before he wrote
his first question. You loved it when I sucked the raspberry sauce off your finger, didn't you?

Rose snorted, clapping her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. But instead of swiping the
pen out of his hand, she stooped to retrieve her purse from the floor. When she sat up, she was
armed with her own pen.

Fine, you wanna play? I loved it almost as I loved you all flustered by it. Notice a pattern? My
turn. Did you know that Mike bought another property?

Emmett read her note three times. First for context, second, to notice a pattern that was
manifesting in the scribbles, albeit not the one she was alluding to, and third, trying to figure
out the point of her question back at him.

Yeah, I know, he scribbled quickly. He's opening another diner just north of here. He asked
me to look over the business plan and I might have strong armed my way in as a silent
partner. By the way, I dare you to find the pattern that I see, because it's not what you are
referring to.

He watched her, suppressing a smile at her chuckle. She shifted in the booth, pressing further
up against him as she wrote quickly. I told him the marketing plan was aggressive, but he
wanted to grow, and that's the best way to do it. And how do you know that we aren't talking
about the same pattern? By the way, your cheeks are pink. It's cute.

Emmett's face was warm, but not because he was embarrassed. The blood racing to his cheeks
was fueled by adrenaline as it surged through the rest of his body. Using his pen, he went

back through and underlined four derivations of the same word, waiting as Rose studied the
paper, her face strangely blank.

Without a word, she pulled the notepad back towards her, scribbling furiously. As the seconds
turned into a minute, then two, Emmett's unease began to grow. Rose pushed the paper back
in his direction, her gaze shifting immediately to the crew that had moved slowly from the
tables to the kitchen, the host following Mike as he talked about the diner's approach to the
traditional dish Shrimp and Grits.

Your cheeks are still pink. I need to make sure that you put sunscreen on tomorrow before you
head to The Washout. Oh, and that reminds me, I can't go with you. Mike and I have an
appointment with an agency to talk about what I want them to do for the new ad design. You
are probably going to have to make do without me a few mornings a week, at least until after
Christmas, because this whole expansion effort and PR blitz is going to keep me pretty busy.
Oh, and I love you, too.

His pen hovered above the paper as he took in what would appear to be just a mindless ramble
of words. It was like a note his mother would have left for his dad once upon a time, a rushed
stream of consciousness, with no real depth or detail.

But that was only on the surface. The words had been crafted intentionally to deliver
maximum impact.

Emmett dropped his head, writing quickly, his letters not quite as meticulously formed as they
had been before. Guess that means you should be there when I get up tomorrow a.m. to make
sure I apply the proper SPF, huh? Wouldn't want these sweet cheeks that you've grown so
fond of to fry now, would you?

Instead of writing a note back to him, Rose relaxed against him, her head resting against his
shoulder. Emmett draped his arm around the back of the bench, letting his hand come to rest
against the base of her neck. After a minute, he began to draw slow patterns on her skin with
his thumb. Lines and circles and little squiggles that caused Rose to shift in her seat as she
curled her hand into a fist against his thigh.

The minute the production coordinator called clear, Emmett tightened his arm around Rose's
shoulders, leaning in close enough to whisper in her ear. "You're staying here?"

When she laughed, it was light, full of infinite delight at his reaction. "I'm not staying here,
silly boy. I'm staying with you. There's a big difference between the two."

Emmett tipped his head, forehead pressed against her hair, letting it all unfold around him.
The success of his friends, who were laughing and hamming it up with the production crew;
this woman sitting next to him, his big gamble, who had just thrown a surprise seven, leaving
him completely speechless.

Well, almost.

"I love you," Emmett said quietly, just low enough for Rose to hear.

"We established that, but I think you need to tell me a whole lot more so I can get used to the
way it sounds. Now can we go home please?" She turned to face him, mischievous glint
lighting up here eyes. It was the same look that had stopped him dead in his tracks that very
first day Emmett had ever laid eyes on her. "I think a declaration like that deserves one hell of
an epic kiss…or something doesn't it?"

"All depends on what the 'or something' is," Emmett countered. Rose simply laughed, sliding
out of the booth and holding out her hand for him to follow. Once standing, Emmett pulled
Rose behind him, her hand pressed against his stomach as he used his size as a way to part the
crush of bodies by the door. He was hoping to make it through a small gap and out the door,
unobserved.

"Hey, where's the fire?" Jess called after them. She stood, one arm draped around her
husband, the other holding a glass of wine aloft in celebration. "The wrap party's just getting
started."

"I'd rather have an unwrap party at home," Rose whispered against Emmett's shoulder. He
coughed, moving quickly, his hand pressed flat against hers to keep her in place.

"Left the oven on, Jess, we'll take a rain check, gotta run!" He grabbed for the door, tugging it
open with more force than was necessary. It slammed against the back wall, sending a few
pictures titling on their hooks. Rose giggled, and her hand slipped just a bit lower. "Could you
be less subtle?" he hissed good- naturedly.

They were out in the parking lot now, the door closing on the chorus of laughter that had
followed them out of the diner along with comments about cooking with gas. They hadn't
fooled anyone with their mad dash, but honestly, Emmett really could not have cared less.

When they reached the car, Rose pulled free of Emmett's grasp to dart between him and the
Defender, which was wedged in between a production van and a large black SUV, the former
casting a long shadow over his car. "Oh, I can absolutely be less subtle," she said, wrapping
her arms around his neck and pulling him in close. "I just prefer to be less subtle without
people watching." She kissed his jaw, running her nose up the side of his face, her breath
coming out in quick little puffs. "Tell me again."

Emmett laughed, and slowly backed her up against the side of his truck, fingers sinking into
the soft cotton of her skirt, just above her hips. "Not subtle and so demanding. Your manners
are horrible, Miss Hale."

"Fine," she laughed, running her nose along his cheek. "God, I love it when you don't shave. I
love it when you taste like salt," she kissed his jaw again, her tongue sneaking out to swipe at
the skin just below his ear. She laughed as a strangled little moan escaped from him, and
turned so that they were eye to eye. "Love you, Em. Love you, love you, love you."

They met in the middle, not one initiating and the either receiving. They were finally on an
equitable ground, both fully invested and completely transparent. That knife's edge they'd
danced on all summer, the one that they'd both fought so valiantly to balance, was all but gone
now, a swirl of emotions so overpowering and out of control that propriety gave way to
desperation; Emmett's hands slipping up underneath the back of Rose's shirt, the bare, soft
skin of her lower back like fire against his fingers.

"We really need to get home," Rose insisted, her head tipped back against the truck as
Emmett kissed the base of her throat. He laughed, his lips following the V of her t-shirt lower,
loving the way her chest rose and fell, and tremor of her pulse at the base of her neck. "Why
are you laughing at me?" Her words were rushed, any attempt at indignation half-hearted.

Emmett straightened up and took a deep breath. "You said home."

It was like a match to gas, the flame flaring high again as he pressed her back against the car,
their kisses growing more and more desperate. When his hand slow ghosted up the side of
Rose's body, grazing the underside of her breast, she let out a low throaty moan that, if there
had been a top on the car, would have had Emmett pulling her into the back seat, home be
damned.

"Let's go," he said, reluctantly letting go of Rose to tug the door open. She scampered up into
the car, squealing as he lightly smacked her ass as she climbed over the center console and
into her seat. The minute Emmett was in with the door closed, she was back on him, all but
sitting in his lap as the car roared to life and he backed haphazardly out of the parking lot.

It was late afternoon, and the backstreets of Folly Beach were quiet, everyone either at the
beach or at Mike and Jess's for the wrap party. It was probably a good thing, for Emmett
didn't have the best handle on the road, distracted by Rose's hands, her lips on his neck, and
her laughter as he ran over the curb to pull into his driveway. They were both out of the car in
a flash, up the walkway, where Emmett had her pressed against the door, his mouth
reclaiming hers before he even managed to get the key in the lock. The latch gave easily, and
they stumbled into the house, Rose grabbing the hem of his polo shirt and jerking it roughly
up over his head. Once it was gone, she threw her arms around his neck and sent him
backwards, used Emmett's body as the leverage needed to force the door shut behind them.

Chapter 28.

The door slammed behind them and Rosalie pressed herself against the length of Emmett's
body, her hands exploring the bare skin of his chest and shoulders. He pulled her closer with
one hand, gently grasping her chin with the other. His mouth covered hers, a hot open-
mouthed kiss that was quick and deep, before he pulled back and looked down at her. She
could feel the heat of his stare all the way down her spine and her stomach clenched at the
look in his eyes, heavy-lidded and sparking.

"Rosalie," he murmured, pressing his lips to hers once more. They did this dance once, twice,
three times, lips meeting and pulling away. His hands wound up in her hair while hers
wandered everywhere, their mouths and tongues working together in a slow and intense
rhythm. She let out a moan as his fingers curled into a light fist at the nape of her neck. He
pulled back slightly, his mouth curling up into a smile. "You like that?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the phrase 'show, don't tell?'"

"Can't I show and tell?" he shot back. "I think you'd like that, too, wouldn't you?"

She grinned as she kicked off her wedge heels. The loss of height put her mouth right in line
with the hollow of his throat and she leaned forward, tracing the edges of it with her tongue.
He hummed his appreciation, his shoulders tensing underneath her hands, and she smiled
against his skin. "Like that noise you just made? That's a show."

His hands wandered down the back of her body, tracing every curve with desperate fingers.
"What else?"

She rocked her hips against his, desperate in her own way. For friction to ease her ache, for a
resolution to the crackling sexual tension that had plagued them all summer. He let out a hiss,
his hands moving roughly down until they were cupping her ass, bringing her closer to him
once more and then again. He covered her mouth with his, his lips hot and demanding.

She pulled away after a long, delicious moment and looked up at him, her breathing erratic.
"Mm, good. You're a fast learner."

"A faster learner, yes," he began, his lips making a languid path across her skin until he
reached her ear. His breath was warm and she shivered at his next words. "But I like to take
some things nice and slow."

Her hands moved up to his hair, fingers buried in silky strands, and she moved his head back
until his lips were close, so close, but not touching. "Show."

He swept her up at that and her legs circled his waist. He walked swiftly down the hallway,
his hands cupped under her ass. She let him focus on walking so that she could focus on his
skin under her mouth. She laughed against his throat when she sucked on the sensitive skin
just below his jaw and he pitched sideways into the wall, the thump of his elbow echoing
around the otherwise quiet house.

"You better knock it off with the squirming or I'm going to stop right here, Rose," he warned.
She tightened her legs around his waist and grazed her nose up and down his throat, letting

her tongue follow its path, and laughed again when he let out a low moan. "Please don't make
me do this in the hallway."

"What kind of girl do you think I am?" she teased, her fingernails raking lightly up his back.

"Girl?" he repeated, his fingers digging into the supple flesh it supported. She arched into him
and suddenly her back was against the wall. She leaned back and he did, too, so that they were
only touching where she was pressed against him, the skin on her thighs hot and damp against
his sides and back. He moved one of his hands up the front of her body, dragging her shirt up.
His eyes followed the movement and she could feel the path they made, the blazing heat of his
gaze on her skin. Her head fell back as he cupped her breast, his thumb grazing over her
nipple, and she felt his lips on her neck, along her jaw, up her chin and then against her lips.
She felt rather than heard him. "Mm, girl? I don't think so."

"You have a way with words," she teased, biting lightly at his bottom lip. "I'd really like to
know if you have a way with other things, though."

"Speaking of a way with words…" he trailed off, kissing her deeply, his fingers tangling into
her hair.

"Two words," she said breathlessly, only pulling away because she knew there was so much
more where that came from and she was tired of merely imagining it, of waiting for it to
happen. "Bedroom, now."

Emmett was a blur of action, carrying her quickly to the bedroom. He pushed the door open
with his foot, nearly tripping over Dog, who was sprawled out on the hardwood floor. He
jumped up, his nails making an indignant tapping noise as he trotted slowly to the other side
of the room and lay down. Emmett tossed her gently on the bed and she scrambled back,
propping herself up with her hands, legs dangling over the edge. He leaned over her, his
mouth and tongue finding hers again and she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into the
damp skin at the back of his neck. His knee pressed into the mattress between her legs.

"Dog out," Rosalie said against his lips, her hands fumbling for the button on his shorts.

"Huh?" Emmett pulled back, glancing at Dog distractedly as he pulled her shirt up over her
head. His attention snapped back to her and he breathed in deeply, his eyes and then hands
roaming over the newly exposed skin.

"I don't want him to see what's about to happen."

"He's a dog, babe, he won't -" he started, stopping when he saw the challenging arch of her
eyebrow. He backed off the bed quickly and stumbled a little when his unbuttoned shorts
pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off impatiently, throwing Rosalie a teasing glare as
she laughed, then shepherded Dog out the bedroom door. It closed behind the indignant swish
of Dog's tail with a resounding click. As she crawled back on the bed, she let her gaze sweep
over him, taking in the almost indecent musculature of his body, the broad shoulders offset by
narrow hips, long legs and taut arms.

Their gazes locked as he moved toward her and she felt a jolt of electricity move through her
spine and spread through her veins. A silent acknowledgement passed between them. There

would be no more stops and starts, nothing to distract or interrupt; they were here together,
time stretched out in front of them without deadlines or questions to make them wonder if it
was right. They both knew that it was.

"You're so beautiful," he said, stopping at the edge of the bed to take her in. She saw
everything in his eyes, everything that she'd been missing before him. He looked at her and it
was like he was seeing her for both the first time and thousandth. He knelt on the bed,
positioning himself over her, and his fingers moved over her skin like they'd explored and
touched and teased a million times. It was new and exciting, but at the same time felt so
familiar, so deeply and intimately established. It was like he was the first and the last, the only
one who had ever done this to her before. And in a way he was, because he was the only one
she could remember now, the only one who really mattered.

He leaned down, his mouth urgently opening up to hers, and her breath caught in her chest,
settled there as she arched up into him. Their hands were everywhere, clawing at their
remaining clothes, until they were only skin and limbs, frantic heartbeats and tongues and
teeth.

"Say it," she said breathlessly, her hand cupping his neck to bring him closer.

He let some of his weight settle against her, bracing himself with his forearms so that he
wasn't crushing her beneath him. Her hips moved up to meet his and his chin dipped down for
a second, his eyes closing. And then he smiled, breathless, pressing his lips to her skin so she
could feel the words, so they went right into her. "I love you."

He said it, and more importantly, he meant it. He showed it with every touch of his hands to
her skin, of his mouth to her lips and neck and collarbone and shoulder. He showed it by
letting her into his life, by sending her on runs with Dog, by taking her to family dinners in
Esme's backyard, by helping her realize that she had a place here.

That place was next to him.

"I love you," she replied, letting it bubble up from deep inside of her. She ran a hand over his
cheek and along his rough jaw line, locking her gaze with his, and his eyes went from hazy
with desire to sharp with understanding. "I love you, Emmett."

He leaned his forehead against hers and with a long, lingering kiss, pushed into her. Her
whimper mingled with his low moan and he dropped his head into the curve between her neck
and shoulder. They started to move together, a slow and deep push and pull, and it was so
much more than she could have imagined. It was so right. He was making noises low in his
chest, rumbling moans and breaths of pleasure that spurred meaningless words and sounds
from deep in her lungs, pushed out into the heavy air that surrounded their tangled bodies.

"God…waited so long," Emmett murmured disjointedly against her shoulder, his teeth
scraping lightly at her skin. Her nails dug into his back, her heels into his thighs to bring him
closer.

"You're…" Her back arched off the bed as his hips moved and she dug her nails into his back.
"Oh god, that's…yes."

She felt the solid weight of him, the way he moved inside of her, and she couldn't last, not as
long as she wanted to. It was too much and god, too good, but he was right there with her and
their moans and words to one another echoed around the room and spurred them on until they
were going over the edge together, her hands gripping the headboard behind her.

She went limp, all of the breath rushing out of her in one long, sated sigh and Emmett rolled
off her, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close. It was hot in the room despite the
ceiling fan buzzing above them, and the smell of jasmine wafted in from the open window
above his bed. Rosalie smiled contentedly, eyes closed, as she worked to get her heart and
lungs functioning normally again. His hand moved lazily up and down the curve of her waist,
stopping to circle around her hipbone before moving up again.

"You know, if you'd done what you just did to me earlier in the summer, I would've stayed
regardless of financial constraints," she teased, tilting her head up so she could look at him.
His eyes were closed, the corners of his mouth pulled up.

His voice was low and rough when he spoke and he opened a brilliant blue eye to squint at
her. "You think I don't know that?"

"Someone's a little cocky."

He grinned wickedly, raising an eyebrow. "A little?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're very sure of your moves, aren't you?"

"I think you were, too, a few minutes ago."

She let her hand wander down to his stomach and made figure eights around his belly button,
laughing into his chest as his muscles contracted and he let out a sharp sigh. "Okay, Mr.
McCarty. What are you sure of?"

"You," he replied quickly. He squeezed her waist lightly, kissing the top of her head, and she
hummed. "This. That you belong here in Folly with me."

She pulled back slightly and scooted up his body so that their faces were only millimeters
apart. His eyes met hers and he smiled, running the back of his finger along her cheek. "That
you love me?"

"That goes without saying."

She grazed her nose against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against her skin. "It does, but
I like hearing you say it."

"I love you, Rose," he said, placing a lingering kiss on her lips. She sighed against his mouth,
letting him gently coerce hers open, and his hand moved to the back of her head, their tongues
intertwining languidly, before he pulled away. "And now I want you to say something for
me."

"I love you, too," she murmured, a little dizzy from the heat but more so from his touch.

"Not that, although I like hearing you saying it, too," he replied, pulling her on top of him.
She stretched out, feeling all of him as she rested her cheek against his chest. She listened to
the steady, slow thump of his heartbeat. His fingers danced lightly over her spine and she
shivered, goose bumps rising up on her sticky skin.

"What then?"

"That you're staying."

She lifted her head and propped her chin on his chest so she could see the look in his eyes
when she told him. "I'm staying with you, Em."

He sighed, a contented sound, and brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "I wish we'd done
this sooner."

"The sex?" she asked, though she knew exactly what he meant. They'd wasted so much time
that first month, both of them scared and stubborn. But they were here now, and for good, and
that was what mattered most.

"The talk." He paused, his eyes moving up toward the ceiling thoughtfully. When he looked at
her again, he grinned lazily. "And maybe the sex."

"I think you liked torturing me. All that parading around shirtless and touching and teasing
and pinning me against your desk." She wriggled slightly, pressing her hips into his. His
groan reverberated through her body. " And you call me a tease?"

"You wrote the book, sweetheart, although I do like it in the proper venue."

She smiled, tilting her head. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"I don't think we've gotten to that part of the repertoire yet," he replied, his grin matching hers
in brilliance and amusement.

"Well, it's early still."

"In our relationship?"

"No, sweetheart," she said, rising up so that she was kneeling above him. He took her in
unabashedly, his eyes moving over the length of her body. "In the day."

He let out another groan and reached for her, but she was already off the bed and moving
toward the door. She looked over her shoulder and he was still there on the bed, but sitting up,
leveling her with those eyes that saw all of her, with the smile that got her every time.

"I'm going to take a cold shower." She let her eyes drift downward and smiled, then met his
gaze teasingly. "You look like you need one, too. Guess you'll have to wait until I'm done."

"Like hell I will," he called as she swept out into the hallway. "I have owner's rights on the
shower. You better get that sweet ass in gear, 'cause I can smoke you in a foot race."

"Come and get me," she called back, lingering right outside the door.

She heard his footsteps, quick and determined, and then he was towering over her, eyes and
mouth smiling in challenge. She let out a shriek and took off, her laughter bouncing off the
walls. He chased her down the hall, but she let him catch her by the doorway, let him grab her
around the waist and carry her into the bathroom. When his lips met hers, she thought how
fitting it was. She'd run from an unfulfilling life in New York, had come to Folly to find the
happiness and contentment of her old life, and had instead found a brand-new one. She'd
found love and family and home, had rediscovered her heart, and all of that had been because
of Emmett.

And most importantly, she didn't have to search anymore, because all of that was in him.

Chapter 29.

It was 7:00 am, and the sun rose slowly over the Atlantic Ocean, a wash of soft pinks and
purples against the dawning hazy blue sky. Fluffy puffs of clouds dotted the horizon, an
homage to summers past and the childish longing for cotton candy, running through the
sprinklers or popsicles.

Emmett glanced down at his dive watch, the heavy silver band glinting in the early morning
light. As much as he would've liked to squeeze in just one more ride, he had places he needed
to be. High season was over, but that didn't mean there wasn't work to be done. More
importantly, there was someone waiting for him, and Emmett didn't want to disappoint her.
Ever. He ran through a mental to-do list as he tugged at the long corded pull of his wet suit,
his mind going immediately to Rose and how she would try to sneak glances as he peeled off
the snug Neoprene skin.

Toweling off, Emmett quickly dressed, pulling on shorts and a hoodie before forcing a
baseball hat down over his damp hair. He'd meet Rose at the diner for breakfast and their
standing crossword date, then they would head back to the house where he would dive into a
mammoth pile of paperwork. Mike was toying with bottling the hard cider they'd been selling
at the diner, having gone so far as to trademark the name Newton's Folly in honor of their
hometown. He'd emailed the business plan to Emmett last night, wanting his perspective on
the distribution assumptions and thresholds necessary for breaking even. Rose had laughed at
him, telling him he was hot when he talked net margin.

Not surprisingly, he hadn't gotten much work done after that.

This was all part of Emmett's strange new world, one filled with business, with laughter, and
with Rose. She'd not only stepped into his life, turning everything on its head, she'd brought
back into it the little details he hadn't realized he missed. His work in Boston had always been
enjoyable, but he'd happily given that up to come home, never realizing that it was possible to
balance the life of an entrepreneur and an investor. It was possible to balance an awful lot of
things, to bend but not break, if one had the right motivation.

With his board stashed safely in the back of the Defender, Emmett climbed into the front seat
and fired up the engine, revving it a few times before letting it ease into an idle. Rose drove
the truck more than he did these days, preferring the simplicity and the sheer power of 'The
Tank' as she had named it. And with him spending time in Charlotte with potential business
partners for 'Newton's Folly," having the razzle dazzle of Rose's car didn't hurt. That was the
symbiotic nature of their relationship, the easy give and take that came with trust and shared
objectives. When he'd signed the lease on the surf shop, he'd thought he'd had everything.
He'd been close, but not quite. He'd had a vision, but he'd been lacking a partner. Now, he had
it all – and then some.

The crowds long back to work and school now that it was fall, the diner parking lot was much
quieter. He pulled in next to the little red BMW, smiling at the brand new plates proudly on
display. That fateful word – UTOPIA - in bold black lettering, the silhouette of a palm tree
and a crescent moon proudly taking the place of Lady Liberty. Rose was a Carolina girl now,
as witnessed by the little cottage she rented a few blocks from Emmett's house, the driver's
license and the plates on her car (with the url proudly displayed at the bottom of the plate).

She'd made good on her promise. She had stayed, and she'd already made one hell of an
impact.

"Hey good looking," Jessica called from behind the counter. "The usual?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Emmett shot back, not looking at Jessica. Instead, his gaze
was fixed on the booth in the corner, the head bowed over a crossword puzzle. He could see
the sheen of perspiration across her forehead; she must have gone running before coming
here, which would prove a challenge to the concept of a quick shower. He walked slowly
towards her, a lazy grin lighting up his face.

"That's pretty ballsy," he said, staring down at the blonde head. It had bleached out over the
summer, streaks of white softening the perfect New York style and making her more
approachable. How many times had he wrapped those strands around his finger, twirling then
releasing, as he read a magazine or watched TV?

"Excuse me?" Her answer was not rude, but it didn't match the expression on her face. She
always did this, a tip to their first meeting and the miserable start they'd recovered from.

"You show up here all sweaty, and you are going to want to shower at my house. I'm onto
your games, Miss Hale. You have your own place."

"But I like your shower more, Moondoggie. Better water pressure," she over articulated the
last three words as her bitchy expression relaxed into a big, doe eyed look she'd learned from
Maggie. Rose knew exactly what she was doing, twisting him around her finger so tight he
would never unspool. She would want him to wash her hair, knowing full well what else it
would lead to. He cringed to think what his next water bill was going to look like.

Emmett reached out to run his finger down her nose, tapping the end affectionately. "Six
down, easily seen through? That would be transparent."

She laughed, the blue Micro Sharpie tapping against the paper. "After all this time, that's all
you have?"

"What, are you going to do me one better?"

Rose snorted at the double entendre he'd intentionally thrown out. "Sit down and eat your
bagel, Moondoggie. Don't you know I plan on making one hell of an impression on you
today?"

"Babe, you made an impression a hell of a long time ago," he countered, sliding easily into his
side of their booth.

They continued their banter, knocking feet under the table and battling over the last of the lox
and cream cheese. It was like this every Saturday. The pattern, the ease, the laughter. Rose
had created a home here, easily growing into both herself and what she wanted to be. While
the family – especially his Uncles Liam and Ali – were ready to rush them down the aisle,
they were perfectly happy taking the time and letting things proceed in their natural course.
They'd spent a lot of time talking about the things they wanted, their childhoods, as well as
their doubts and fears. Rose still had things she wanted to conquer in her quest to purge the

fears that had governed her for years – including the deep seeded hope that one day her
parents would come around to accepting her happiness trumped everything else. They'd face
those fears head on, either conquering or letting go as they figured out what would come next.
For now, they knew where they stood with each other, and had a place where they belonged in
the world, both together and as individuals.

"Come on, Moondoggie," she said, standing up quickly easily out of the booth. "I think you
need to take me home. I promised to do you one better. I'm thinking one isn't going to be quite
enough."

"Woman, you are going to be the death of me," Emmett teased, scooting out to follow her.
"And you love every minute of it."

"Not as much as I love you. Now come on, let's go home."

It had taken them all summer to get to that one little word - four simple letters that carried so
many different meanings and so much potential.

It was home. And it was good.

~*~

The End

~*~