Just when it seems Emma Daniel has finally managed to piece herself back together, life threatens to rip her apart. Again.
Add a coffee shop, an almost hit-and-run, and one very hot, very stubborn Cuban-American with secrets of his own, and you've g...
Kale's reply was almost immediate as Emma stepped into the kitchen.
Knows what?
About the wedding, Kale. She knows.
Wedding? I'm lost.
Emma facepalmed herself as she realized she'd never come clean about what happened in Miami to anyone, not even her best friend. Which, rather inconveniently, was going to cause her even more problems.
Gotta go. I'll tell you later.
Wait up, Em. Wth is going on? Who's getting married?
She ignored the buzzing against her butt as she turned around to drop her bag in the foyer, the same place her brother had yelled about just a few days earlier.
Taking a few seconds to regroup, she prayed her upcoming encounter with her mother wouldn't go as badly as she saw it going.
Who am I kidding?
It seemed like the good Lord himself was having a hearty laugh at her predicament, because there was no way this was ever going to go well.
Emma braced herself as she returned to the kitchen, jumping as she heard a plate hit the sink bottom especially hard. Dreading the movement, she looked up, watching her mother calmly, albeit strangely quietly, scrub the grease from a casserole dish.
Charlotte always sang while she washed up.
After way too many moments of silence, Emma finally gathered the strength to talk to her mother.
"Mom," she called out firmly, trying to play it cool. At the sound of her voice, Charlotte stilled, and her grip on the dish tightened. Emma felt her heart sink.
"Mom, please, talk to me," she urged, her voice betraying her despondency. "Please."
Still no answer, just the sound of Charlotte rinsing away the suds on the casserole dish.
"Mom."
Charlotte dropped the dish gently, turning around to face her daughter with a measured look that made Emma cringe all over.
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No words left her mouth, but Emma could feel the word big and bold across her forehead.
Traitor.
Before she could try to defend herself, her mother had turned the faucet back on.
That sent Emma off the edge, and she lurched forward, slamming the faucet off.
"You can't do this, Mom," she said firmly. "You can't just not talk to me! I'm your daughter!"
Charlotte dried the casserole dish, completely ignoring her daughter's gaze. Emma felt her tears spring free.
