I wait for a beat, hoping she’s gonna explain, but she keeps holding on. I pat her shoulder and work on untangling myself from her.
Conscious of the fact that I’m only wearing a towel, I carefully unwrap her arms from around my neck and set her away from me.
Until I feel a breeze.
The buttons on Emmy’s coat yanked apart my hastily tucked towel, leaving my dick swinging in the open.
I grab for the towel as it drops to the floor. I don’t look up until it’s wrapped around my waist and anchored firmly.
Emmy’s eyes are the size of saucers, and she’s not looking at my face as her hand flies up to her lips.
“Shit. Sorry. I ... come on in. I’m gonna go throw some clothes on, and I’ll be back in a second.”
She steps inside, and I shut the door behind her and turn for the hall, cursing her timing every step of the way.
Fuck. Why didn’t I shove her right back out the door? I take my time giving myself a mental ass-kicking as I pull on baggy sweats and a T-shirt, and return to the living room ... to find it empty.
The clinking of dishes comes from the kitchen, and I turn to see Emmy reach up in the cupboard and bring down mugs as the scent of brewing coffee hits me.
“I know you didn’t exactly say to make myself at home, but I had to keep my hands busy.” She sets the mugs on the counter and rushes over to me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Not wanting to hear her apologize for the towel incident, or hell, do anything but forget it ever happened, I interrupt. “What’s going on, Emmy?”
She wraps her arms around her body. “I’m just not used to dealing with all this. It’s not normal for me.”
“What happened?”
Her expression, already sober, turns more serious. “The police just interviewed me for over an hour, and I’ve never been so shaken up in my entire life.”
“Cody interviewed you? About what?”
She walks back into the kitchen and fills a mug of coffee, then dumps in one packet of sugar before sliding it across the counter toward me without asking. She repeats the process with a second mug and comes around to stand beside me.
With both hands curled around the mug, she stares up, her eyes wide. “About all this drug stuff. My parents owned one of those houses that blew up. The one Roy Planter was found in.”
Cody didn’t mention that to me, but I’m not all that surprised.
“They own a lot of rental properties. Was he saying there was some connection to your family?”
The Harrises have always been one of the richest families in the county, and only partly due to the success of Home Cookin’. They own a square mile or so out near the county line where they have their compound, a few cabins, and Emmy’s new house that she’s been building for over a year.
Emmy’s voice is weak as she continues. “He didn’t straight-out say there was a connection, but he implied it strongly. And then there were more questions that just scared the daylights out of me.”
“Like what?”
“About a couple of my employees they suspect might be either using or buying stuff to make the drugs. He wanted to know if I knew of anyone else who seemed suspicious.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That we can’t be a unified town if we’re going to be looking at our neighbors like they’re suspects. Then we’ll all be at each other’s throats instead of working together to try to put an end to this.”
I actually agree with Emmy’s sentiment. I hate to look at the people coming into my shop and wonder who’s dealing and who’s buying or supplying.
“What did Cody say to that?”
“If we want our town back, I need to be more vigilant in watching my customers and people from out of town who seem out of place.”
When she mentions people from out of town, I immediately think of Banner. Apparently, so does Emmy.