Even if Emma could have breathed, she’d be holding her breath. She didn’t want to do anything to shatter the moment.
Jo looked at her mouth. Emma wanted to lean down, to leaninto her. She and Jo had almost kissed more than a month ago, and she’d mostly blocked that out in the time since, but maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she was an idiot for it. Maybe she wanted to kiss Jo now as much as she did that day, and maybe she should listen to those emotions for once.
Jo finally dropped her hands as the driver pulled up in their car. Her cheeks were pink, from the cold, probably.
—
When they arrived atthe airport, their flight was supposed to be on time. Security moved quickly, but by the time they were through it, the flight was delayed by an hour. Emma groaned when they saw the delay on the departure screens.
“It’ll be fine,” Jo said. “We can get a drink.”
Emma could use a drink. They were already not set to arrive in LA until past ten. She wasn’t looking forward to getting in later.
Jo took her to the Vin Room. It was fancy enough that Emma was surprised it was in an airport. She and Jo sat across from each other at one end of a long curving table with other diners.
“What kind of wine do you like?” Jo asked, looking over the menu Emma swore had hundreds of types.
“Uh, red?” Emma half grimaced. She didn’t know wine well enough to make this decision.
Jo smiled at her and ordered a bottle of something Emma couldn’t pronounce.
There was a silence between them when the waiter left, and it was more awkward than it had been all trip. Emma bounced her leg. She wondered if there was a less convenient time she could’ve picked to learn Jo was single, was—dare Emma even think it?—available. They had to be together for hours more, and Emmawasn’t sure how she was supposed to handle that. Jo was quieter than usual, too, which meant she could tell Emma was uncomfortable. It was all a mess.
Jo let Emma pour her own wine when the bottle came. Emma probably took more than she should’ve, only just remembered to sip instead of gulp.
“I know we just ate,” Jo said. “But do you want to look at the dessert menu?”
“I wouldloveto look at the dessert menu,” Emma said.
Alcohol and dessert—it was how she’d deal with this situation were she at home, so it seemed like a good enough way to deal with it now.
They got a menu and eventually put in orders for tiramisu and strawberry cheesecake. Jo poured them both more wine.
“Are you... ,” Jo started quietly. She was looking at the wood of the table. “You were upset, or something, at the restaurant. Are you nervous about your promotion?”
What happened at the restaurant had little to do with her promotion, but maybe if Emma could act normal about it, she could throw Jo off the scent. Plus, shewasnervous about the new job.
“A little,” she admitted. “I guess maybe I like my job so much I’m scared to move to something else for fear it won’t be as good.”
Emma felt vulnerable, saying that, but it was better being vulnerable about her career than about her heart.
“You’re going to be fine,” Jo said. “We’ll both be fine. We’re branching out, moving on, and we’ll do okay.”
Emma breathed. It sounded like a promise, and with it, the tension lifted. Emma and Jo drank and talked and ate dessert and Emma felt okay, felt good. She had a brief moment of panic when Jo made a noise of pleasure over her tiramisu, but besides that, she was fine.
They were both done with dessert and the end of the wine was poured when Jo brought up work again.
“You’re going to be a great director,” she said. “Lord knows advancement takes forever. But when you get there, you’ll be great.”
“I don’t know about that,” Emma said.
“I do,” Jo said. “You’re smart, and you’ve got a knack for bringing out the best in people.” Her hand fell to Emma’s on top of the table, and she squeezed it. “You could doanything, and I don’t want you to let doubt or anything else hold you back.”
Drinking might not have been a good idea. Emma wasn’t close to drunk, but her stomach swooped at Jo’s smile. Jo’s hand burned her skin, even after she pulled it away. Maybe drinking with her boss an hour after realizing her feelings for her actually mattered wasn’t the best idea.
“I dropped out of film school,” Emma said. Jo already knew, but there was a part of the story she didn’t. “My boyfriend at the time told me I wasn’t any good. And I don’t think I was. And I’m afraid that’s just going to happen again, when I try to do something other than be your assistant.”
Jo let out a breath. “Your boyfriend saying you weren’t good doesn’t mean you weren’t good. It means he was an asshole.”