Emma and Miguelstood chatting behind the take-out table at the airport. I’d left a note on Emma’s kitchen counter after I fixed Liam’s car and had been trying to get my head on straight since I got home to pack. I had some snacks in my backpack and had just eaten, so I didn’t bring a road meal with me. And I definitely didn’t have the balls to start requesting something new now. I wanted to talk to Chef so badly, but I knew I shouldn’t if we were going to lie low.
But Emma’s face lit up when Mom and I came into view. Inside, my blood turned bubbly. Was Emma happy to see me? She stepped out from behind the table and held out her arms.My heart leapt, and I hoped no one could tell that I was breathing faster.
“Bethany?” Emma asked.
“Emma! My gosh!”
Then my mother and Emma hugged.
I clenched my jaw while it felt like my feet were in quicksand.
“I didn’t know you worked here!” my mom said.
“Yep, sure do. Head of athlete nutrition and team chef.” Emma’s cheeks went pink. “And I didn’t know that you’re Royce’s mom?”
Mom put her arm around me and leaned her head into me. “This is my big boy!”
Emma’s nervous laugh had me ready to puke. Just last night, Emma learned what a big boy I could be. Mom picked up on none of this.
“Oh my gosh, Harlan, how lucky are you? Emma’s an amazing chef.”
My hands were cemented in my pockets as the awkwardness of the situation lapped at my ankles like waves crashing in.
My mom knew the woman I hooked up with last night.
What kind of small-town nonsense was this? We lived in Columbus, a city of two million people, and somehow the woman who birthed me and the woman who sat on my face and occupied my spare brain space knew each other?
This was going to be a hard one to shake off.
I cleared my throat and fought the clammy sweat building at the nape of my neck. “Yeah, she’s a good cook.”
Were she and my momfriends? I couldn’t turn and run. Harlan 2.0 would stay. Harlan 2.0 would engage.
“I’ll say. The soups you bring into the shelter are everyone’s favorite. It’s hard for us volunteers to not steal a spoonful for ourselves.”
The shelter. Emma took soup to the shelter, and that must have been where my mom volunteered these days.
“You’re too kind,” Emma said.
Mom patted my arm. “What’s it like cooking for this guy? Is he still as picky as ever?”
Emma coughed out a laugh. “He can be. I’ve had to throw him out of my kitchen a few times. But this year he asked me to give him private lessons.”
“Good for you, Harley! You know he started cooking young because I told him to make his own dinner if he didn’t like what I served. I hope he’s grown from needing that cheese sauce on his broccoli.” Mom leaned in toward Emma like she was telling a secret.
Emma pressed her tongue into her cheek and flashed her eyes up to me. “Cheese sauce on the broccoli. Good to know.”
“Em.” A little line was forming at the take-out table, and Miguel was calling for help.
“I better get back to it, but it was good to see you!” Emma said, rushing to help Miguel hand out the bags.
Mom and I stepped out of the hangar onto the tarmac. “She doesn’t have a meal for you?” Mom asked.
“I usually just pack my own or eat before I show up,” I said. Our team photographer was snapping pictures of Mom and me walking to the plane when fast footsteps sounded behind me. “Royce!”
I’d heard that before, right before my life irrevocably changed.
I turned to find Emma charging at me with a take-out bag around her wrist. I doubled back, leaving Mom to probably embarrass me to the team photographer.