Take a Chance On Me

Chapter 12 Shake Your Groove Thing

"Oh, for God's sake-disco dancing dogs?"

While Emma laughed, Thomas couldn't help but stare at her over in the passenger seat of his Audi. She looked exceptionally pretty in the sunshine, those streaks of burgundy and gold dancing in the lustrous pleat of her dark braid. The rosy cheeks. The shining blue eyes.

She looked like a freaking Ivory soap commercial.

Not that that was a bad thing. In fact, it conjured up a real pleasant image-Emma all wet and pink in a steamy shower, where he'd volunteer to lather her up-but good.

"No joke," she said. "There are a couple groups that hold regional and national dance competitions. Everybody wears elaborate costumes and does difficult routines-and it's not just disco, we're talking country line dancing, hip-hop, Riverdance stuff. You name it."

Thomas shook his head and briefly shut his eyes. "How has this been allowed to happen in our country?"

Emma let loose with a loud guffaw, and Thomas glanced over in time to see the way she threw back her head, the feminine line of her jaw, the sweet pale throat, the succulent little earlobe he'd once held between his teeth. He licked his lips.

"Well, Thomas, you're the guy who says people are capable of anything."

She turned toward him and her eyes crinkled up with amusement. "This is just another unusual thing that human beings do in their spare time-they dance with their dogs. You got to admit that it's harmless enough. And I figure if we find the group Scott Slick belonged to, it might give you a lead in what happened to him, right?"

It was possible, so he nodded. "You ever seen one of these dance competitions?"

"Yup, a couple. They're lots of fun."

"I'll take your word for it."

She laughed again. "I'll make a few calls this afternoon, see what I can find. Are you free tonight? Can we try a few things with Hairy this evening?"

"I'm free until about ten-thirty. I've got to work tonight."

"What are you working on?"

As Thomas glanced at those blue eyes brimming with curiosity and intellect, he thought maybe the real attraction of Emma wasn't the physical at all. It was her mind. Her sense of humor. Her innate kindness. All wrapped up in that modest, soft-smelling beauty.

How was a man supposed to defend himself against all that? Why would he even want to?

"The team is starting a new campaign tonight. Some guy in Hancock asked around about getting rid of his ex-wife-a pretty common situation-and we're… well, I'm meeting him at midnight for a drink. We're going to talk things over."

Emma bit down on her bottom lip, briefly checking the interstate traffic before she turned to face Thomas. She was frowning.

"What happens during one of these things? What exactly do you do?"

Thomas gave her a gentle smile and shook his head. "Not very many people know the specifics of what I do, so I'm trusting you to keep it to yourself. All right?"

Her nod was so enthusiastic that it made Thomas laugh.

"You're an exceptionally trustworthy person, aren't you, Dr. Jenkins?"

"Absolutely."

"No, I mean it. Look at yourself." He extended a hand toward her and grinned. "You spend your life taking care of needy living things. You've accepted your friend's kid as your own. You keep your dad from getting lonely. You pay your bills. You don't suffer fools and don't lie. You're an exceptional person."

She leaned away and studied him. "I try to be decent, if that's what you're getting at-but that doesn't make me exceptional."

"If you say so." Thomas loved the way Emma blushed.

"So what's going to happen tonight?"

Thomas put his eyes on the road. "The guy asked a hooker if she knew anyone who'd do the job. She called the local police, who called us. We've already interviewed her. So when I show up tonight, the guy will think I'm the hit man from Killers 'R' Us."

"Ah, yes. Your consulting firm."

Thomas laughed. "Right."

"Where are you meeting him?"

"Some hole-in-the-wall tavern. The team's never used the place before, so my people have been up there for the last few days doing background-interviewing the employees, checking all the exits, figuring out where everyone will be stationed."

Emma frowned. "Is he dangerous?"

Thomas tipped his head thoughtfully. "You never know. Most people who go looking for someone to do their dirty work don't carry guns. But every once in a while… "

Emma drew in a sharp breath.

"We take care of each other, Emma." He smiled at her, pleased that she worried about him. Another excellent development.

"So what will you say to him?"

"I'll get him to give me the name of the target, the specifics of what he wants done, ask for a down payment of some sort, and arrange the next meeting. We always try for two meetings-it shows clear intent. And we'll be recording everything on video and audio."

Emma's eyes widened. "You go in wired? Like on TV?"

"Absolutely. A camera inside my shirt button. A microphone inside my ball cap. Two guys in a communications van outside. At least four backup people inside the tavern-and everybody can hear everything."

"Hmm," Emma said, brushing a finger over her lips. "But how come you do the actual undercover work when you're not a cop?"

He caught her eye and couldn't help but smile at her. Right then he realized he'd smiled more in the last two hours than he had in the last two years.

"It's a team effort, so at the beginning I made a point of knowing firsthand how all the jobs were done-background preparation, remote electronic surveillance, backup, and playing the role of the hit man. It went so well the first time that I did another and another and pretty soon everyone on the team realized that, for some damn reason, people like to chat with me about murder. I'm a good listener, I suppose."

Thomas felt the heat of Emma's eyes all along the length of his body, from his shoes to his hairline. He didn't dare look at her.

"I think it's because you look the part," she said softly. "At first you look kind of dangerous-the bump on your nose, the squint, the scar, the fact that you don't smile too much… the fact that you're so… uh… big."

The air inside the car felt too heavy, too warm, while Thomas waited for her to finish her observation.

"But your eyes can be very expressive when you let them, Thomas-understanding even. I bet you reel people in with your eyes. Like you've done with me."

Oh, yeah, there is a God!

He stole a glance her way, expecting to see her usual smile, but was greeted by eyes sharp with fear.

"What happened on my porch was kind of a fluke, Thomas. It was too much, too fast, and for the time being I can't be anything more than your friend and co-worker. Let's focus on helping Hairy and getting to the bottom of Slick's murder. Okay?"

Shit. It was not okay. Not at all. It was a mess.

Thomas was ready to risk getting involved with her. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her in bed and out of it. It amazed him. Thrilled him. Made him feel alive.

"How long is a 'time being,' Emma?" He reached out across the gearshift to find her hand, so warm and silky and petite in his own. With a rush of hot relief, be felt her fingers wrap around his.

"I'm not sure," she whispered. "It depends on a few things-Leelee, mostly. She's been through the wringer, and I can't do anything that would make her feel her place with me is threatened right now. Can you understand that?"

"Sure." Thomas kept his hand on hers as long as he could, but he had to let go as he shifted down at the exit.

"Thank you." She straightened in the seat, folded her hands in her lap, and whispered, "But that doesn't mean I didn't like it, Thomas."

His head spun around faster than Michelle Kwan doing a triple-axle. "Yeah. I noticed how much you liked it."

The flush that raced up her throat to her cheeks was too adorable to believe. Just then they pulled into the Wit's End parking lot.

The shy smile Emma offered put a vise grip on his insides. "Why don't you and Hairy come over to the house for dinner tonight and we can set up a few tests afterward, maybe shake our booties a bit before you have to work?"

Thomas nodded, completely amenable to a bit of bootie shaking as long as it was Emma doing the shaking. But he'd already figured out the real purpose of the get-together.

"Is this 'meet the potential new boyfriend night' at the Jenkins house?"

When they'd both stopped laughing, Emma touched his hand again and gave it a friendly squeeze. "I should probably warn you that Leelee's not an easy crowd to work. Don't expect much of a welcome."

Thomas nodded, bringing her hand to his lips. He planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I'll just be my charming self, then."

Emma got out of the car and leaned in the open window.

"It wouldn't hurt if you dress extra sharp tonight, Rugby Boy. Do you own a white polyester bell-bottomed suit by any chance?"

Thomas the Tongue was about five minutes early, Leelee noted from, her bedroom window. How completely pathetic. But she had to admit that he drove a truly superior car with a bumper sticker that made her laugh. So maybe she could stand him for one night.

Then he unfolded himself from the front seat, and he looked like he was twelve feet tall.

In his hands was a bouquet of flowers-daisies, maybe-tied with a long yellow ribbon. God. The poor man needed some remedial assistance in the gift idea department. Besides, they looked too little-girly for Emma. Those red roses had been more her speed.

He was dressed nice for a Baltimore guy-a pair of black slacks and a dark eggplant shirt that looked silky and expensive. He looked urban cool, even, though she didn't know why he bothered out here in Tractor World.

She was about to turn from the window when she saw something skitter out of the car onto the gravel-Hairy! Emma had told her all about the dog's disco dancing career and it was the coolest thing she'd ever heard! And he was here!

All right!

Leelee ran down the front stairs just in time to answer the doorbell, mad at herself because she was still second-guessing her overall plan for the evening. There had been so many possible ways to scare him off.

The punk-skank plan had been her first choice. She could've dyed her hair blue, stuck temporary tattoos up and down her arms, and put in a fake nose ring. But Emma and Beckett would have just laughed their butts off, ruining the effect, so she scratched that.

There was the silent-treatment option, where she could've given him surly looks and refused to speak to him while smiling at everyone else. But Emma would've been seriously hacked off if she did that, and she preferred to avoid another lecture about respect.

She even considered the needy-orphan routine, where she'd hang on him and thank him for agreeing to be her daddy. She figured that would get him running out the door the fastest, but it was the one gag she didn't have the cojones to pull off.

That left her with being herself. Totally lame-o, she knew, but it was too late to do anything about it. She was already at the door, wearing her low-rise Mudd jeans, her Dr. Martens, and an Old Navy stretch top with a big purple butterfly appliqué. Her hair was up in a clip. Her hand was on the old brass doorknob. She opened the door.

Wow.

"Leelee?"

He bent a little at the waist and smiled down at her-wow again. He was so big!

"I'm Thomas. It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah. Whatever. Come in if you have to." God-give him a mustache and he looked like that hot old eye doctor dude from the Friends reruns.

Then Emma rounded the corner from the kitchen and Leelee tried to make her exit.

"Wait, please."

A big hand came down on her shoulder and she turned to see that Thomas the Tongue was handing her the flowers. What-was she the maid now?

"Okay. I'll put these in a vase for Emma."

"They're for you, Elizabeth," he said, smiling, and Leelee felt her eyeballs basically pop out-and she wasn't sure if it was because no one had ever given her flowers before or because she'd just gotten a load of his dimples.

"Really?" Oh, God, she sounded like a complete loser. "Whatever. Thanks." She nearly ran to the kitchen because she was seriously embarrassed and she didn't want him to know she was smiling like a dweeb-besides, she had no desire to watch the two of them kiss again.

So why was she peeking around the kitchen door, spying on them?

"Hey, Emma," Thomas said. Emma stood there smiling like she wanted to jump into his arms. Leelee was in serious danger of spewing.

"Hi. Ready to disco the night away?" Emma asked.

"I'm a dancin' machine. Watch me get down," Thomas answered.

Leelee rolled her eyes. Definite heaving potential, here.

Then-total shocker-Thomas the Tongue leaned down and gave Emma a dry little smack of a kiss on the cheek, and Emma smiled all nice and sweet, but nothing wet and sloppy happened at all between them-no fluid exchange whatsoever.

Emma hooked her arm in his and walked with him to the living room. "I've got some interesting news for you about Scott Slick-or should I say Simon Slickowski of Smyrna, Delaware, last year's World Canine Dance Association's Team Disco Champion?"

Leelee started giggling. Emma had said Thomas would be left speechless by what she'd found out that afternoon, and she'd been right. Thomas looked down at her and his jaw dropped open.

"What the hell-" he said, as they disappeared through the archway.

Hey, Bright Eyes.

Something brushed against Leelee's ankle and she squealed with excitement. The disco dog jumped into her arms, and he was even uglier in good light! Oooh-his skin felt totally creepy! Bare and silky where a normal dog was supposed to be fuzzy. She started laughing. She couldn't help it. He was so cool!

"I'll put your flowers in water for you," Beckett said, now standing behind her, staring at the little dog. "I think we've seen better-looking roadkill on Route 27, wouldn't you say, Lee?"

Hey, TV Man, at least I got all four legs and attempt to keep the offensive smells to a minimum-nothing personal, Ray.

Leelee handed over the flowers and gazed at the creature in her arms. "Oh, Beck. He is by far the best thing I've seen since I left L.A." She scratched behind the dog's fuzzy ears.

You're not so bad, yourself Bright Eyes. Oh… just a little to the left…that's it…you got it. Now harder. Oooh, yeah…

It felt like Thomas and Hairy had been around forever.

Hairy made himself at home in Leelee's lap, eyes closed inecstasy as she stroked his bony head. Leelee's daisies sat in a place of honor on the coffee table in front of her.

Thomas seemed to fit this old house. When he stood, he was in perfect scale with the ten-foot-high ceilings, his arms and shoulders just as strong and basic as the living room's thick crown molding and baseboards. When he sat, as he did now in the chair next to Beckett's, he seemed relaxed, comfortable with his right to be here.

Emma listened with contentment as the two men laughed and talked about everything from women's professional basketball to their favorite Monty Python dialogue. The last of the day's light was slipping through the front windows on a pleasant breeze. The white sheers rippled. The cozy group was bathed in a wash of pure gold.

Then Emma's breath hitched-somehow, the friendly scene before her had just become something more-one of those impossible moments, when time hovered, when the air stilled, when hidden love and magic were revealed.

Thomas chose that instant to turn toward her, laughing at something Beckett had just said, and his gray eyes locked on hers with a flash of awareness. Though his laugh fell away, a faint smile remained, and she could see that he felt it, too. And Emma's heart grew very quiet.

She'd know him in an instant…

He nodded at her almost imperceptibly, then turned back to her father, and she realized that not once in all the years she'd been with Aaron had he ever seemed to fit here. He was preoccupied. Antsy. Always checking his watch.

Beckett used to remark that Aaron would rather be anywhere else on the planet than out here at the farm, and Emma knew it was true.

So why did Thomas Tobin-a man she hardly knew-seem so at home in her house, in her life?

And what would she do about it?

Emma knew it all came down to whether she'd trust her instincts. Looking back on her life, she was aware that in every single instance, her gut-level response had been the right one. Whether she chose to pay attention to it was another matter. And the trouble always started when she let her thoughts override her instincts.

So which would she listen to tonight?

Her brain told her to watch for falling rocks and hairpin curves and to remember that bridges freeze before roads.

But in that golden moment-when Thomas looked at her, when he smiled at her, when she saw him sitting between her father and her daughter-her instinct was telling her that something wonderful was right around the next bend. That it was okay to go a little faster than usual. That she'd be safe.

Emma felt Leelee's eyes on her, and turned. She was grinning.

"Hey," Leelee said. "You said we were going to boogie-oogie-oogie till we just can't boogie no more."

Hairy raised his head and yawned.

"You're right." Emma hopped up from her chair and crossed to the armoire that housed the TV and stereo. She looked over her shoulder. "What'll we try first-the Bee Gees or Donna Summer?"

"Ooh, the Bee Gees!" Leelee squealed, jumping off the couch, Hairy tucked under her arm.

Within minutes, Thomas and Beckett had the furniture pushed to the edges of the room, Emma had the music queued up, and Leelee had positioned Hairy in the center of the rug. Then everyone stared down at him. He began to shake.

"Do you think he still remembers how to dance?" Leelee asked.

"Absolutely." Emma smiled at the expectant looks in everyone's faces. "If Hairy is who I think he is, he's a highly trained pro. I think we're in for a big treat."

She squatted down and touched his frightened face. "It's okay, little man. We just want to have some fun. Show us what you got."

Emma rose and hit PLAY, and the room throbbed with what she'd always considered the soundtrack to her childhood-the high-pitched wail of the Brothers Gibb.

"'Oh, you can tell by the way I use my walk…'"

"Oh, my God!" Leelee squeaked.

"Give the man some room," Beckett said, pushing everyone back like a police officer at an accident scene.

Thomas gravitated toward Emma and took her hand in his-warm and big and just right. He was shaking with laughter. "Okay. I've officially seen everything now," he said into her ear.

Several things impressed Emma. First, Hairy was perhaps the most agile little canine she'd ever seen. He'd just executed a flip with a full twist. He could spin on his hind legs. He flawlessly kept the beat as he pranced and swiveled and made sharp cuts on the rug.

The second thing that impressed Emma was that she swore, despite everything she knew to the contrary, that the damn dog was smiling.

His sharp yips and howls brought her out of her trance.

"What does he want? What?" Leelee jumped around worriedly, looking to Emma for help. "Why is he barking at me?"

"I think he wants you to dance with him," Thomas yelled over the disco throb.

"Yeah? Oh, how totally cool!"

Thomas's hand tightened around Emma's, then he brought his arm around her shoulder and held her-really they held each other-because they were laughing so hard they could barely stand.

Whatever Leelee did, Hairy mimicked her. If she turned a sharp left, so did he. If she did a little cha-cha-cha, he did, too. If she leaped, he leaped.

"I'm going to pee my pants," Emma laughed.

"You know, I've heard tying a maxi pad inside a sweat sock works wonders for that," Thomas said in her ear.

"I've gotta get the video camera!" Beckett raced from the room. "They ain't gonna believe this down at the Moose!"

Thomas was pretty sure he'd just gotten his ass kicked by a twelve-year-old.

"Leelee, I'm not sure vair is an actual word." Beckett reached for the dictionary that lay on the floor at his feet.

The girl rested her chin in her hands and looked up at Thomas, her eyes crinkling as she grinned at him.

"Whadya say? You gonna challenge me, Mr. Tobin?" He sighed, leaned back into the chair, and looped his fingers together on his lap. The two of them had gone head-to-head for an hour now, and all he had left were the letters X and Q and there was nowhere on the Scrabble board to put them. "No. My brain hurts, Lee. You win."

"Well, I'm going to look it up anyway, because she can be sly sometimes… "

"Beck!" Leelee looked offended.

"Oh, hell's bells, here it is-'the skin of a kind of squirrel with a gray back and white belly.' Now how in God's name did you know that, Lee?"

She shrugged. "I read a lot, I guess."

"Good game, junior." Thomas reached across the letter-dense board to shake her hand. It felt tiny and soft in his palm. "So what kind of things do you like to read?"

"I don't know-biographies. History. Adventure. Science fiction. Romances that Emma approves in advance." Leelee shot Emma a quick glance. "Just about anything, really."

"Do you have any favorite authors?"

"Sure-J.R.R. Tolkien, Barbara Kingsolver, Judy Blume. Emma took away all my Tom Robbins novels when I moved here from L.A., though."

He couldn't help but smile. Who let their twelve-year-old daughter read Tom Robbins? It was probably a good thing Emma arrived on the scene when she did.

"How about music? What kind of music do you like?"

Leelee snuggled back into the couch and Hairy returned to her lap. She stroked his ears. "Have you ever heard of the Backstreet Boys?"

He supposed it was good that Leelee was normal in some way. "Sure have," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Well, I'm in love with every single one of them, even the married ones." She sighed. "But Mom used to listen to lots of different stuff at home that I like, too-reggae and ska. Alternative. Texas blues. Jazz. You know she and Emma were in a band together when they were teenagers, right?"

Thomas watched a flush spread across Emma's cheeks as she sprang up to clear the drinking glasses.

"I'll get that, honey." Beckett took the glasses from her and suddenly Emma stood in front of Thomas with nothing to do but look embarrassed.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," Leelee said. "They sucked."

Emma shrugged, thick hair shifting over her shoulder. "I'm afraid it's true."

"We've got a few videotapes of their shows if you want to see-"

"Time for bed, Lee!" Emma slid Hairy out from Leelee's arms and hauled her off the couch.

"But I don't have school tomorrow!" Leelee wailed. Emma pushed her toward the stairs.

"Good night, sweetie." Emma kissed her cheek.

"Wait!" Leelee spun around and ran back toward Thomas, looking up into his face with expectation. "I'll make a deal with you-you let me keep Hairy for the weekend and I'll go to bed now." A mischievous smile spread across Leelee's face, and in that instant she reminded him of Pam-except for the color of her eyes, she could be Pam's kid. Or his.

"If it's okay with Emma." His glance landed on Hairy and the strangest pang of jealousy hit him-he was going to miss the little pecker. "But you've got to let him out pretty often or you'll have a big mess to clean up. And he'll want to sleep in bed with you. He gets kind of cold and lonely otherwise."

"Oh, sure! Cool!" Leelee scooped Hairy from Emma's arms and ran out the front door with him. Emma turned to face Thomas with a crooked grin.

"It is okay with you, isn't it?"

"Why not?" Emma spread her arms wide in surrender.

"Here." Thomas dug into the front pocket of his slacks. "In case you need to bring him back and I'm gone, here's a key to my place. Just drop him in his crate."

Emma accepted the key just as Beckett came out of the kitchen and excused himself for the night, giving Thomas a friendly slap on the shoulder, and Leelee burst in the front door and started up the stairs. She stopped halfway and leaned over the polished oak banister.

"Thanks, Thomas." Her butterscotch-brown eyes danced in the foyer light. "I was afraid you'd be a complete and total loser, but you're pretty cool. Do you think you could teach me how to drive your car sometime?"

Thomas wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "You want to drive my car? You're twelve."

"Just on the driveway. It's the hottest car I've seen since I moved to Maryland."

He felt the corner of his mouth hitch up. "Maybe someday."

She smiled at him and was gone.

Thomas stood in the hallway with Emma, his hands shoved in his pockets, a strange sense of pleasure spreading through him. Emma was looking up at his face, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Amazing."

"What is?"

She blinked, then laughed. "God, Thomas. Everything-everything's amazing."

"Sit with me a minute?" He reached for her hand and walked with her to the couch, where he pulled her down next to him. He let his arm drape across her shoulders, and sighed.

"I did pretty good tonight, didn't I?"

Emma snorted and shook her head. "You want to hear her nickname for you?"

He crooked his neck to look down at her. "I'm not sure… "

"Thomas the Tongue."

"Ouch."

"I told her it was disrespectful."

"Thanks for defending my virtue."

They sat in the quiet for a few moments, Thomas feeling more comfortable and relaxed than he could ever remember. Being with Emma seemed to do that for him. She snuggled closer.

"I passed the test, didn't I?"

Emma pulled away from his side to get a good look at him. "Thomas, you and Leelee are two peas in a pod-oh! Wait-that reminds me!" She was suddenly gone, and his arm fell to the couch cushions.

Emma sat on her heels as she rummaged through the lower bookshelves, and Thomas had to look away. He'd managed to get through the whole night without a single lustful thought about her-okay, that was an exaggeration-but he'd done pretty damn good and he didn't want to blow it now.

She returned to the couch, her finger holding her place in a big photo album. She didn't open it. Instead, she looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

"This is going to be a strange question, and you might get pretty angry. But, well, Becca-"

"Wasn't the world's most conscientious parent?"

Emma shook her head sadly. "There's no polite way to ask you this, Thomas. See, Leelee doesn't know who her dad was and you two look so much alike that I just have to know." She unceremoniously flung open the book and jabbed her finger at the glossy page. "Did you ever sleep with her?"

The album hit his lap with a thud, and he looked down at an eight-by-ten color photo of two beautiful women. One of them was a fresh-faced, joyous Emma, the wind blowing her hair back from her face as she laughed. The other was obviously Becca.

And Becca was drop-dead gorgeous. Like a movie star. Like an angel. And he'd never seen her before.

"How old were you two here?" He realized his finger was lightly tracing the shape of Emma's face in the photograph.

"Twenty-five. I was in vet school and was visiting her in L.A. when this picture was taken. Leelee would have been about three."

Thomas dragged his eyes from the photo and looked into Emma's face. She was waiting for his answer, holding her breath, that small divot carved between her brows.

"I never slept with Leelee's mother," he said, watching her eyes close in relief.

"I'm so sorry I had to ask you that," she breathed.

"I don't sleep around, Emma. My last relationship lasted four years. I've had one or two brief encounters, but I remember them all and I'm fairly certain I don't have any offspring running around unaccounted for."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He closed the album and handed it back to her. "I've got to get going. I've got to call Reg Massey on my way to Hancock-she's the detective who's handling Slick's case. Where did you put-"

Emma handed him a stack of computer printouts-everything she'd discovered about Simon Slickowski, the dog disco dancing king-and walked him to the door.

"Thank you for a wonderful night, Emma." Thomas felt he was forgetting something, then remembered that Hairy was spending the weekend with Leelee.

"You're angry with me."

He looked down onto Emma's bent head and, without thinking, touched his fingers to her chin and raised her face.

"No I'm not, because you're right, Emma-she looks like me. In fact, she looks just like Pam did at that age. It's kind of spooky and I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder the same thing for a second. But I'm not her father. I never had sex with Becca Weaverton. I think I would've remembered."

"I imagine you would."

Thomas cupped her face tenderly in his palm. "You two must have made the boys nuts."

Emma snorted. "Becca was the nut-maker. I just went along for the ride."

Thomas smiled down at her. Emma of the baggy sweatshirts really didn't know how beautiful she was. He leaned close.

"Well, you make me nuts, Emma Jenkins. But I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that-for the time being."

He kissed her on the cheek and left.