Page 13 of Emerson

Penelope smacks a kiss on his cheek, and Emery sputters. She doesn’t notice or care about his surprise. She rests her head back on his shoulder, sticks her thumb in her mouth, and closes her eyes.

Emery looks across the living room at the TV playing a cartoon, wide eyed. He smells like something warm, a little spice, a little musk. I inhale slowly and rub my hands down my thighs, looking away towards the TV.

I don’t see a damn thing.

I can feel the heat from his body in the inches of space between us, and I honestly can’t believe he’s actually here.

I’ll never admit how much I missed his annoying ass around the last couple of years. I’ve tried to talk to him, but was met with disgusted looks, a hand to my face once. Mostly, I’ve been busy as shit trying to grow the fuck up because the Universe thought it would be a good idea to make me a dad.

I flick my eyes back over in time to see Emery’s hand rub a circle on Penny’s back.

I think of a dozen things to say and dismiss them all. Emery is quiet, which is practically unheard of. Likely because of the sleeping toddler in his arms. I feel like I need to take advantage of his rare quiet moment to say something, but a good ten minutes go by, and his scent is starting to drive me insane.

I stand abruptly, rolling my shoulders before turning to take Penny from his arms.

His chest is warm where my fingers brush him, trying to take her sleeping form gently. He exhales when I lift her, and I drag my eyes up to his face. His big brown eyes are watching me with an emotion I don’t know if I want to name.

“Be right back. Gonna go lay her down.”

Emery nods, pulling his legs up on the cushion after slipping off his clogs, knees to chest, and looks away.

Emery

Bitches & Bros

Z: Why is Wonda parked in Dillon’s driveway?

Warren: Emerson Lee fucking Bennet

Ian: Woah there, War. Let's not make this a hostile environment…

Warren: You better be picking out paint colors.

*eyeroll*

Jesse: Emery, do you still have a crush on Dill?

EW.

There is an area rug.

I’m not so much of a brat that I can’t admit it’s even a good one. It’s got that stylish, faded look to it, soft designs in a print that adds a touch of flare without it being overwhelming to the space. Charcoal, which works nicely with the dove gray of his couch. Definitely styled during the height of the gray everything era, before the beige nightmare swept in and took over everyone's homes. Except mine, of course.

Mark me safe from any gray or beige eras, thank you.

I was impressed when I walked in, honestly. He even has a few scattered decorations—sleek frames on the walls with pictures of Penny, of him and Warren, Morgan.

It’s cozy.

Then I remembered that Sabrina lived with him during the very end of her pregnancy and for a short while after Penny was born. They called it off a few months before their daughter turned one. I’m sure she’s to thank for the tasteful decorating, even if she didn’t live here long.

I expected Penny to look more like her.

Dillon disappeared with the sleeping toddler down the hallway a minute ago.

Coming here was a mistake.

But I’ll be damned if I leave without at least trying to find something out. I didn’t risk the baby plague for nothing but a case of heartburn and an uncomfortable churning in my stomach that is absolutely not butterflies.