“I want to check something out.” At Simon’s raised brow, Max’s grin widened.
“Man, I’m not sure you want to go there.”
Max’s grin faded. “Why not?”
“Because Wallflowers has been known to suck the testosterone out of every single male who’s ever entered.”
“Huh?”
“It’s pink. And frou-frou. And lacy. And pink .”
Max laughed as Simon shuddered. “If your masculinity can handle it, so can mine.”
Max watched his friend work on the stained glass window, his mind once again turning to Emma.
He hadn’t seen her in eight years. She’d been seventeen, just about ready to graduate, smiling and laughing at the prom in a way he’d rarely seen her do. She’d been striking in her dress, a one-of-a-kind done in the colors of a rich autumn sunset, a strapless number in reds and golds with a sweetheart neckline and flaring skirt. He’d had a hard time keeping his eyes off her, but he’d been with Livia, and Max was not a man who cheated. By the time he’d broken up with Livia it was time for him to leave once again for college. Between earning his doctorate in optometry, his internship and residency, and learning from Jonathon how to run the Pride during his summers off, Emma had been quickly forgotten.
Going out of state for college had been the right choice for him, and he’d been lucky that Jonathon agreed with him. Now, with his partnership with Adrian and Jonathon’s official retirement he could finally start looking for his Curana. And he had a feeling he knew just who he wanted for the position.
She’d been sweetly innocent back then; slightly overweight, but with serious curves. It had been that innocence, and Livia, that had held him back.
She didn’t sound so innocent now, and Livia was nowhere in the picture.
It was definitely time he got better acquainted with little Miss Emma.
Emma watched as Simon’s shiny red pickup truck pulled up to the curb of Wallflowers. She grinned, knowing Becky had hidden in the back office to avoid meeting up with Simon. Simon was the only person on the face of the planet who made Becky lose the power of speech. In an odd, karmic sort of way, Emma had no problem handling the hunky Simon, laughing and chatting with him with ease.
Emma watched Simon climb out of the truck. The passenger side opened up as well, and a familiar tall blond got out, a grin on his face, his unbound hair blown about by the cool autumn breeze.
Emma was horrified. Oh, no. Not him! She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She was no longer the shy teenager he’d once known; she was a grown woman with a shop of her own. She could handle Max Cannon.
Then he grinned at something Simon said, and her hands began to shake. She took another quick breath and blew it out, trying desperately to steady her racing heart.
The two men wrestled the stained glass window out of the flatbed of the truck. With care, they got it to the door of the shop. Emma rushed to open it just as the reverend arrived.
Reverend Glaston smiled at the two men. “Hello, Simon, Max. Is that the church’s window?”
Emma smiled at the reverend. He was a kind soul, with smiling whisky brown eyes and balding gray hair.
He never failed to make Emma feel comfortable, and she was counting on that now to get her through his presence.
“Sure is, Reverend. Let’s get it inside so I can show it to you.”
Simon’s deep voice reverberated through her, making her shiver a little. If she weren’t so hung up on the blond hunk behind him, she’d have made a play for Simon a long time ago. Although, considering how Becky had always reacted to him…
“Becky? Can you come give me a hand with this?” Emma yelled into the back, struggling to hide her grin when Simon’s gaze glued itself to the curtained off area that led to their office. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t have gone after Simon.
She heard Becky’s muttered oath as she stomped into the front room. Simon’s gaze never left Becky as he and Max maneuvered the window into the store. His dark brown eyes heated as Becky scowled at him and took a step back.
“Becky?” Emma asked, waving her forward. With a false cheerfulness, Becky smiled at Emma, then joined her by the propped up window.
“Emma?” Emma turned to Simon, who was staring at her now. “You remember Max, right?”
He’s kinda hard to forget, Emma thought as Max stepped forward.
“Hi, Emma.”
She looked up, getting a quick peek at the face that had starred in every single one of her naughty fantasies before lowering them to the scar next to his nose. “Hi, Max.”
He cleared his throat, a sound filled with amusement. She glanced back up at him to see him staring at her with a raised brow. Looking down, she noticed he’d held out his hand. With a false smile she took it, pumping it up and down twice before dropping it like a hot potato.
Her heart fluttering from just that simple touch, she turned to Simon, the lesser of the two threats. “So, Simon, are you ready to unveil your masterpiece?” Her smile for him was genuine; she truly liked Simon.
His work was exquisite. On top of that, he had one of the best senses of humor she’d ever seen. It felt like having a brother, something she’d never had the pleasure of experiencing, being an only child.
He lifted one brow, grinning at her. “Yes, Little General. Right away, Little General.”
Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. Although, from the twitching of his lips, he wasn’t all that impressed. “ Now , Simon.”
She could hear the reverend coughing on a laugh behind her. Simon just rolled his eyes and began unwrapping the window.
When it was finally unveiled, Emma was astonished. It was easily one of Simon’s finest works. The Madonna sat, her blue robes gently waving around her, a small Mona Lisa smile on her face as she stared down at the dark-haired baby held gently in her arms. The Madonna was beautiful, but it wasn’t a classic beauty. It was the gentleness in her face, the love she so obviously bore her child that made it so special. He’d managed to capture that special smile that new mothers everywhere gave their newborns, and it took an otherwise normal face and made it radiant.
“My God, Simon. It’s gorgeous,” Max breathed from right behind her.
“Thanks.” Simon’s eyes didn’t rest on the Madonna, though; they were on Becky, who stared at the Madonna with something akin to awe. “Becky?”