Twenty-One
“Imiss Oscar.” Stefanie looked cute slumped in a padded chair at the classy downtown restaurant.
Sunday had stopped to pick up her beloved cat this morning, which also happened to be Sunday. The second his ex left his town house, Stefanie had thrown her arms around him and announced they were going to brunch.
He couldn’t argue. Not after his wife had dealt with his ex-girlfriend and was forced to say goodbye to her temporary cat.
The first sip of coffee hit his tongue like battery acid. “What the hell?”
“It’s vanilla cinnamon. Their house specialty,” Stef chirped.
“It’s repulsive.”
She tsk-tsked and reached over to touch the corner of his frown. He waved the waitress over while Stef accused him of being a “spoilsport” and requested coffee that didn’t taste like a Christmas tree was sitting in his mug.
“Salmon Benedict. How yummy does that sound?” Stef asked as she perused the one-sheet menu.
He was ordering off the menu. He didn’t want foie gras with baby greens or savory pancakes with chives. He wanted coffee—unflavored, thank you very much—two eggs over easy and three slices of whole-wheat toast.
He still didn’t understand the concept of “brunch.” A first meal was breakfast. Period. No matter what time it was eaten.
About twenty minutes later, Emmett was in the midst of changing his mind.
He dug into his eggs over easy and found himself enjoying “brunch” with his wife.
Her stack of waffles resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and he begrudgingly admired her technique of syrup and butter application. He polished off his plate, finished hers when she said she was full and leaned back to palm his very satisfied stomach as the waitress refilled his coffee mug.
“How’s Chase’s campaign going?” Stef asked, hands wrapped around her Christmas potion.
“You didn’t ruin his chances, if that’s what you’re asking,” Emmett said after a furtive look around.
They weren’t news any longer. Two weeks of wedded bliss later and everyone was bored of them. According to Penelope, the Dallas Duchess was too busy reporting on dating Blake Eastwood herself, if that could be believed.
Who knew what was real anymore?
Except Emmett was beginning to suspect his own marriage was realer than anyone knew. As such, there was something he needed to tell Stefanie that he hadn’t come clean about yet.
“I told him, by the way,” he said.
“Told...Chase? Told him what?”
“No. I told my dad.”
Her eyes widened. He went quiet while the waitress cleared their table and dropped off the check. Once she’d gone, Emmett rested his hands on his thighs and watched Stefanie carefully.
“You talked to your dad?”
“He called the mayor’s office and left a message. He’d heard about the wedding and wanted to know if it was true. I don’t tell him much. I never confide in him. But this... You’re important.”
He could see on her face what that meant to her—that he’d march into territories unknown for her. That he’d put himself in a position of discomfort for her. He would. Repeatedly, and for as long as she asked him to.
“I wanted Dad to hear the truth and I wanted him to hear it from me.”
“That must’ve been hard for you.” Her brow crimped. Concerned for him still. She was amazing.
“I know I haven’t had many nice things to say about him but I don’t think he’s interested in your money. Even if he was, I’d never let him touch a red cent.”
“Emmett.” Stef’s expression broadcast sincerity. “I don’t think that. But if he needed it—”