A chance at love

A Day never to forget

Emma's POV

I replayed the moment in Tristan's office over and over in my mind, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts running wild as I lay in bed. What on earth had happened between us? I couldn't decide if I was reading too much into it or if there really was something behind the way he had looked at me. It was absurd to even entertain the idea that Tristan Davenport might've wanted to kiss me.

The thought made me snort quietly in the dark. Tristan? Kiss me? No, I must have imagined the whole thing. I shook my head, running my hand through my hair as if I could shake off the ridiculousness of it all. But a small part of me, the part I didn't want to admit existed, couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if he had.

How would it feel? Would his lips be soft? Would he be gentle or take control in that arrogant, confident way he always seemed to carry himself?

I quickly banished the thoughts, pressing my face into my pillow. "Get a grip, Emma," I whispered to myself. "This is Tristan we're talking about. He's way out of your league."

Not that I cared about being in his league. Did I? I mean, my parents were always going on about how pretty I was, how I had the kind of curves people admired. Even my ex-boyfriend, for all his faults, used to rave about how lucky he was to have me. But I wasn't dumb. Tristan wasn't the kind of guy who cared about looks like that. He had access to women way more polished, refined, and sophisticated than I could ever be. Women who knew how to navigate the world he lived in, who probably grew up going to expensive private schools and knew the difference between a sauvignon blanc and a chardonnay.

I was just... me. Emma, the small-town girl trying to make ends meet by working as a caregiver. And that wasn't exactly glamorous, was it?

The whole idea was laughable. But still, the thought lingered, and it kept me from falling asleep.

---

The next morning, I packed up a few things and made my way to my parents' house. The familiar sight of their little house with the white picket fence brought an immediate smile to my face. No matter what was going on in my life, this place was my haven. I needed that more than anything today.

Mom and Dad were their usual loving selves, pulling me into tight hugs the second I walked through the door. "Our girl!" Mom said, planting a kiss on my forehead. "It's been too long, sweetie. You look amazing."

Dad's proud grin warmed my heart. "Sit, sit. Let's catch up. How's work? How's Eleanor? And your boss—what was his name again? Tristan Davenport, right? He sounds fancy."

I rolled my eyes and laughed, settling onto the couch. "He's... fine. He's just my boss, Mom. There's not much to tell."

Mom wasn't about to let me off that easy. "Oh, come on. You never say much about him. What's he like? Is he handsome?"

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I tried to dismiss her with a wave of my hand. "Mom, seriously?"

"What? It's just a question. He's rich and successful, right? I thought maybe you two would—"

"Mom, stop," I interrupted, my face flushing with embarrassment. "He's not interested in me, and I'm definitely not interested in him."

Dad let out a chuckle. "Your mother's always been a romantic."

I laughed, grateful for the change in topic as we moved on to more casual conversation. I told them about Eleanor's health, how she was improving, and how much I was enjoying taking care of her. Mom and Dad always loved hearing about her. They had a soft spot for elderly people, and I think they admired how much I cared for Eleanor.