Chapter 32 - The talent show

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Emma

I stayed out much too late last night. What happened between me and Knightley... Max... was the best sex I've ever had, but it felt like so much more. I'm not sure what it was, and I want to take my time and figure it out. So I stayed away until Hannah basically kicked me out.

I turn off my alarm and groan. I'm tired and nervous. Not just about seeing Knightley, but about today. Today is the talent show. It's the culmination of several months of hard work, and if anything goes wrong...

I push back the nausea and sprint into the shower, taking my time washing my hair and drying it. I style it into a simple braid. There's going to be a lot of hard work today, and I need it out of the way.

After I do my make-up, I grab the necessities and shove them in a bag. I won't have time to return to the apartment to get ready. I check my hair. With any luck, I'll be able to just let it down and it should look halfway decent.

My dress is already hanging on the closet door, in a garment bag, and I make sure I have my shoes and whatever else I need.

By the time I leave my room, I've calmed down enough to be hungry. I sniff the air and wrinkle my nose. Something smells unusual. Delicious.

I stop. Knightley is in the kitchen. Cooking breakfast.

"Good morning," he says and casts a wary glance at me.

"You cook?" I make my way to the counter where there are eggs and bacon on a plate.

"My mom taught me," he adds the pancake he was cooking to the stack next to him and brings it over to the counter. "I figured you'd need a nutritious breakfast. It's a big day."

I stare at the plates of food.

"Eat," he says.

I load my plate full and he places a mug of coffee next to me and sits down. I'm not sure we've ever eaten at the kitchen table. The counter has become our spot.

I eat, and the last of my nervousness melts away. "This is really good. Why don't you cook more often?"

He shrugs and pours syrup on his pancake. "It takes time and I can just as easily pick something up."

"So, why did you cook today?"

Our eyes meet, and the nerves come back in full force.

Clearing his throat, he returns his attention to the food. "Because I knew you'd be stressed, and sometimes you forget to eat."

I cock my head and blink at him. He cooked because he thought I need it. I inhale. He cooked for me.

Without another word, I eat what's on my plate. He doesn't ask me any questions. He doesn't talk to me or pressure me for any answers I don't have. He just eats. And watches me eat.

Once he's put away our plates, he grabs his keys. It's not until I'm in the car that I realize we never even discussed if he would drive me. He just did.

As soon as I arrive at the venue, I'm pulled in a hundred different directions. There's a lot to set up and at one point, it seems everyone's lost the ability to think and solve even the smallest problems.

I'm trying to explain the very concept of a concession stand to Teresa when dark eyes burn into my soul. Stammering and stumbling over my words, I make sure she knows what to do before I turn.

"The sound system is all set up," Knightley says in his deep, soothing voice.

"Good."

"Take a breath." He smiles. "You've been running around for hours."

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