You Were The First Mile

By Luna

Chapter 3: Love in the Undertones


The real difficulty was how exactly to get Phil and Harriet together. In Emma's daydreams, they started out already in love and Emma continued from there. It was proving more difficult in real life to get her plan in motion, but Emma had an idea brewing.

She and Phil had never been close, but they did go out in groups together upon occasion. She knew there was a particular bar that he often went to on weeknights and meeting him there, unexpectedly, would be a perfect, low stress way to introduce him to Harriet. If, for some reason, he wasn't around, it wasn't a huge loss. They would get a drink and then leave; Emma would come up with a new plan. However, she had a feeling that Phil would be there. She needn't bother with a plan B.

Emma poked her head in Harriet's door and rapped on the frame with her knuckles. Harriet looked up from her magazine.

"Have you got any plans for tonight?"

Harriet thought for a moment and then shook her head no.

Emma smiled deviously. "Good. We're going out then. There's a bar I think we need to go check out."

"Did a new one open?" Harriet asked curiously. She and Emma never went out on weeknights and never unannounced like Emma was proposing.

"No, I was just thinking about how we needed to broaden our horizons and try something new. It's good for us. Let's go to Jeezy Pete's tonight."

Harriet looked seriously confused. She furrowed her brow. "But I thought you said to never go there. You said it was trashy, and didn't someone get stabbed there this summer?"

Emma waved her hand impatiently. Details. She didn't know why Harriet was resisting her obviously brilliant plan.

"It's fine. They got a few more bouncers. Plus, I know there's going to be a certain man there tonight, and I wanted to introduce you…"

Harriet smiled excitedly and dropped her magazine completely. She looked at Emma expectantly, her face aglow with excitement. "Did you find someone for me? Who?" she asked breathlessly.

Emma hesitated for a moment, allowing the suspense to build, and when she finally said Phil Elton, Harriet bit on her lip, looking pleasantly nervous. "Oh, he's cute."

"And single," Emma said loftily. "He's going to fall for you in a minute. He won't know what to do with himself."

Harriet clasped her hands together, scrambling forward to the edge of her bed. Emma hadn't seen her so worked up since the Lifetime movie marathon was on the television. "I'm so excited. He won't think it's weird that you're introducing us, will he? And what do I wear? You'll help me pick out something, won't you?"

"He won't care, and of course I'll help you."

They chose her jeans and shoes, and Harriet rummaged through her closet for a shirt. She dumped several on the bed for Emma to inspect.

"Emma, you're so good at this boy stuff. Much better than me. How come you don't date anyone?"

Emma laughed, nixing all the tops Harriet had laid out. Harriet rummaged again delving deep into her closet. "I've got no reason to chase after boys. I don't know why, but there's such a stigma around being in your 20's and staying single. All those books and movies make it seem like being single is abnormal, but I don't think it is. It's great; I love being single. I don't think I ever want to fall in love; it makes everyone act like idiots. I like my freedom too much. Who wants to have to call someone to say where you're going and who you're going with all the time?"

She'd seen Taylor do it with Mike many a time. She'd tried to look at relationships from many different angles, but had never gotten over the idea that having one would involve chaining herself down.

"I don't want to have to check in with anyone. Plus, I never meet anyone good enough. They always have some kind of annoying flaw. I guess my standards are too high, but I don't think I should have to lower them to find someone." She shrugged unconcernedly. Dating was something she didn't worry herself about.

"But don't you get lonely?" Harriet asked, looking surprised.

"Don't get me wrong, boys can be a lot of fun," Emma amended. "I'm not opposed to casually seeing someone. But once it gets serious they're always more trouble than they're worth. That one!" Emma cried, pointing to the low cut, black top Harriet held. "That's perfect."

Emma thought more about their previous topic. "I'm sure it'd be different if I found someone that I really liked, but there isn't anyone here at Pemberley for me, and why should I bother with mediocrity?"

Harriet nodded like she understood, but Emma could tell that most of what she'd said had gone right over her friend's head. She stretched and pushed herself off of Harriet's bed, where she had been lounging.

"I'll go get ready so we can leave soon. Don't worry; I'll drive."


As they walked through the doors, Emma remembered why she never came to Jeezy Pete's. The air was thick with stale smoke, and the men all wore steel-toed boots and sullen expressions. Their eyes were greedy and they leered indecently at the two girls. Emma was sure hers was the only non knock-off purse to ever walk through the doors. She had the distinct feeling of not belonging, but she kept her head held high. She was here for Harriet, not to feel comfortable.

She and Harriet sat at the bar, and she ordered a diet coke for herself and rum and coke for Harriet. She didn't want Harriet's nerves to get in the way.

Looking around, she could see why this bar might appeal to some men. There were an awful lot of big screen TVs displaying football matches and in the corners there were pool tables and darts.

Harriet had already consumed three fourths of her drink from pure nerves. "Is he here?"

Emma had been wondering the same thing, but she finally spotted Phil on the other side of the bar. After a few minutes she caught his eye, and he wandered over to them.

He leaned his elbows on the countertop next to her stool. "Emma Woodhouse—you're the very last person I'd expect to see here."

Emma laughed, and Harriet swiveled around on her bar stool to face him. "We're expanding our horizons," Harriet quoted, sipping on her drink.

Phil gave a hearty laugh in surprise, eying Harriet with interest.

"Phil, this is my roommate Harriet Smith. Harriet, this is Phil Elton. He and I had a class together freshman year." They shook hands, and Emma happily noticed the appreciative look that he gave Harriet.

"So how have you been? It feels like I haven't seen you for forever. You look great," he said, leaning back against the bar.

"I'm good, thank you."

She suggested that they move over to one of the tables and managed to maneuver it so that Harriet and Phil sat next to each other. She'd noticed he'd put on a little beer weight since the last time she'd seen him, but he was still attractive. He was much scruffier than she liked, but she was sure Harriet didn't mind.

Some time later, Emma tilted her head, watching the conversation. She'd tried to stay out of it and let Harriet do most of the talking. She helped steer the conversation when necessary, but mostly she'd watched Harriet and Phil. Emma thought Harriet was being quite charming. She was sure Phil had noticed. They were busy talking about Harriet's upcoming soccer match.

"I didn't know you played."

Emma smiled. "Harriet's great. Their next game is home, so I'm going to see her play. They've been away for the last couple games."

Phil suddenly looked interested. "I'd love to come see one."

Harriet smiled excitedly. "You should—we always love to have people in the stands. It makes us play better when we have fans."

"I'll be there," Emma said, trying to persuade him. She knew he probably wouldn't want to sit by himself, although she was sure he was interested in watching Harriet play.

He nodded. "I think I'll go too. It sounds like a good time." He paused a moment. "Did you want a drink?" he asked Emma, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine with my coke, thanks. But I think Harriet's done with hers," she hinted, and Phil blinked.

"Ah—sure." He slid out of the chair and over to the bar.

Emma squeezed one of Harriet's hands on the table. "This is great," she said once Phil was out of ear shot. Harriet smiled brightly.

"I don't feel awkward at all. He's so friendly. Usually my dates don't go this well. I run out of things to say so I end up blabbering about something no one wants to hear. I haven't done that yet, have I? Do you think it's going all right?" she breathed, and Emma nodded vigorously. Phil returned, and so Emma couldn't say anything more.

"So, do you two know each other at all?" Emma asked innocently, and Phil shook his head. "You just seem like you get along really well. I guess it's not that surprising that you've never met; Harriet did transfer to Pemberley."

"Really?" Phil asked with interest, sipping on his beer, and Emma excused herself to use the restroom. She wanted to give them time to talk alone. She'd set up their conversation as best she could, and she was sure Harriet could continue it. She lingered in the bathroom, washing her hands thoroughly and fixing her hair. She meticulously put on more eye liner and lip gloss. She walked out and over to the jukebox and looked at every song before returning. She couldn't think of another reason for stalling, and she didn't want to be too obvious about leaving them alone.

She thought it was a very good sign that Harriet and Phil were still in conversation. She was almost tempted to think of another reason to stay away, but she couldn't come up with anything. She slid back in across the table from them.

"—is okay, but I like spiced rum better. Whiskey too. I think whiskey is my favorite," Harriet said animatedly, and Emma had to resist rolling her eyes. She had imagined they were talking about something a little more substantial than types of alcohol.

"I'm a whiskey man myself," Phil responded pleasantly and Emma sighed happily. It was all too easy.

After Harriet and Phil each had another two drinks, Emma decided it was a good idea to go home. She wanted to leave Phil wanting more, and she didn't want Harriet to get drunk and then vomit in her car on the ride home.

When she motioned for Harriet to get ready, Phil looked surprised.

"You're not going already? No, you should stay and have more drinks."

Harriet all but melted and got ready to sit back down, but Emma shook her head. "Sorry. We've got to go. But this was fun. We really should hang out more."

He stood up to let Harriet slide out. "Definitely. Let me get your number."

"My phone's broken," Emma lied easily. "Dropped it in some punch."

Phil had been looking skeptical, but he nodded with understanding now. "That's the worst."

"Why don't you get Harriet's number?" Emma asked innocently. "We live together, so you'll be able to reach the both of us." She smiled brightly as they exchanged numbers.

In her mind, the night was a total success.

After the goodbyes were said, Emma drove Harriet home.

"Emma," Harriet said as soon as they were in the car. Her eyes were bright. "He's amazing. He's so nice! He bought me a drink. Did you see he got my phone number? Oh, and while you were gone in the bathroom and we were talking he kept tapping his foot on mine, and then he looked down and gave me this smile and said "Sorry". Do you think he knew? And was just doing it for fun?" Harriet was frequently turning in her seat, trying to make out the bar in the distance. "Should I call him when we get home just to say we made it? Or do you think I should text him instead?"

Emma laughed. "I think you should put your phone away. You don't need to contact him for a few days at the least. You don't want to seem so eager. Let him have a few days to think about you. Then, either he'll call you or he'll be really pleased when you contact him."

Harriet nodded, absorbing the information. "Right. Okay, I can do that." She turned her wide eyes on Emma. "How do you think it went? Tell me I'm not imagining things. He's just so cute."

Emma smiled at her friend. "You did great. I think he was blown away by you. I imagine he's probably at that bar thinking of you this very moment."

Harriet turned again in her chair and giggled. "Didn't you love the way he has his hair? Oh, and I just loved his cologne…"


Emma was pleased with herself and the way things were going. She'd made the right choice for her friend, she was sure. Now whenever she saw Phil around campus she waved and took a moment to ask how he was and to mention something about Harriet. She wanted to keep her fresh in his thoughts. She'd instructed Harriet to act very cordial if she ever ran in to him, but again, not too eager. She felt that Harriet had the tendency to smother the people she was interested in. When they were at the apartment, Phil was all Harriet could think or speak about, but with Emma's help she managed to play it cool in front of him.

Emma knew she had to think of another way to throw Harriet and Phil together. They couldn't go back to the bar; she thought it would be too obvious. Plus, she really didn't like Jeezy Pete's, or any establishment really where sometimes patrons got stabbed.

What Emma really needed was a party, and what better way was there to get Phil and Harriet to interact than to throw one herself?


"And mommy went out to get the paper and she said I had to eat all my cereal before she got back inside. The paper comes early. Why does it come so early? Why don't people bring it at night? How do the reporters get everything ready every single day? I still had three Cheerios left, so I ate them one-two-three. Mommy goes to get the paper because she says the neighbors will steal it. I really like Frosted Flakes better than Cheerios. Cheerios get so squishy. The Frosted Flakes have got the tiger and sometimes a prize. Their prizes are the best, definitely. One time I got a spoon. It was in the box. It was green, but when you put it in the milk it turned pink. We put it in the dishwasher and then from then on it wouldn't turn colors any more. It just stayed green. I liked when it turned pink. Why would the neighbors steal the newspaper? Do you think the delivery boy just forgot? My neighbors have a really big, black dog. My mom says I'm not supposed to pet him because he'll bite off my fingers. Can dogs really bite fingers all the way off? If I went to the hospital, would they glue my fingers back on? Miss Emma, how do they get spoons to turn pink? Why won't mine turn any more? My mom told me to stop asking so many questions because they give her a terrible headache, but I just want to know. How does that work? Do you get headaches too? You never said you got headaches, and I ask you a lot more questions than I ask mommy. I always know when she starts sighing. I think to myself, 'it's time to stop asking questions'. I still think them; I just don't say them out loud. You don't ever sigh like she does. But she works two jobs, and maybe that's why."

Emma smiled as she finished lacing Heather Bates' shoes. Heather's little fingers weren't quite nimble enough to do it herself yet. Her hazel eyes were still looking quite inquisitively at Emma, and she chewed on a hangnail, waiting for a response.

She hadn't been listening to most of Heather's prattle, too busy planning the details of her upcoming party, but she'd heard some of the middle. "I'm not sure what makes those spoons turn colors," she responded as she zipped up Heather's rain coat. She smiled wickedly. "But I bet Knightley will. Let's ask him."

Emma led Heather outside to where Grant was standing. He waited with the children while their parents picked them up every evening. Heather was the last child for the day. She was Emma's other favorite child apart from Henry. She spoke steadily, giving Grant the same distracted speech about spoons and the neighbor's dog until her mother pulled up ten minutes later, and he was spared from having to come up with an intelligible answer for the young girl. Emma and Grant waved to her in the backseat and then went inside.

Grant raised his eyebrows and Emma laughed. "I've never heard her be quiet for more than a minute at a time. I bet she even talks in her sleep. And all those questions…Where does she get it all?" he asked, laughing. "I don't think I could come up with all of that even if I tried."

"I don't know," Emma responded, shaking her head. "Do you think she'll always talk so much?" Emma mused.

"I hope so. No one who knows her will ever be bored," Grant replied as they started the familiar task of closing for the day.

"You're coming to my party tomorrow, right?" Emma asked, changing the subject away from Heather. She had told Grant about her party the day before.

He nodded. "Who all did you invite?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, mostly just close friends. I wanted to keep it small. I'll let the frat houses throw the big parties on campus. Taylor and Mike are coming. Harriet will be there of course. I invited my neighbor from downstairs. Phil," she mumbled after a pause. She looked over to see his reaction and wasn't disappointed. His face plainly said, 'oh come on'.

"Emma," he began, his tone disapproving.

"Yes," she replied shortly, challenging him to say anything negative in response. She had her hand on her hip, and she was more than ready for a debate. He hadn't seen Harriet and Phil together at the bar. They had had a great time together. He still thought they were so incompatible.

He looked at her for a long moment before sighing. She imagined it was the type of sigh Heather's mother often made. "What time should I be there?" he said resignedly.

Emma beamed at him, completely surprised but happy. She relaxed her defiant pose. He was finally coming around to the idea that she was right. "9:45. And bring something to drink."


"He's here," Harriet hissed as the apartment door opened and Phil walked in.

"Well go say hello," Emma murmured, nudging Harriet a little. She had wondered when Phil was going to arrive. The party was going well and she wanted Harriet to get to interact with him in an environment she was comfortable in, instead of a place like Jeezy Pete's.

Emma looked around the room. Harriet was bringing Phil inside the room, Taylor, Mike, and Grant were having a conversation on the couch, while John Willoughby, her neighbor from downstairs, sat with his new girlfriend on the floor by the coffee table. She'd invited him because he seemed friendly and always spoke to her when they both got their mail or when they passed in the building, and also because she knew he was good friends with Phil. She wanted to keep Phil from feeling awkward.

Willoughby had brought a date, but Emma didn't mind in the least. She was a petite redhead name Marianne Dashwood. She was even shorter than Harriet, and Emma took an immediate liking to her after she complimented one of the impressionist paintings she had on her wall. Marianne obviously had good taste, and Emma really admired the dress she was wearing. It was distinctly vintage and looked expensive, and Emma was sure she hadn't purchased it at American Eagle.

Emma greeted Phil as Harriet brought him into the apartment and then backed her way to the kitchen using the excuse of finding more wine. Emma busied herself in the kitchen. She didn't want to distract Phil or Harriet.

A few minutes after Phil got settled next to Marianne, Mike excused himself to smoke a cigarette, leaving Grant and Taylor together on the couch. Through mutual friendships with Emma, they'd come to know each other well.

"So what do you think of Harriet?" Taylor whispered. The wine they'd been drinking made her less discreet than normal, but she spoke softly enough that no one but Grant could hear.

"She seems nice," Grant said, shrugging. "I haven't talked to her much. Why, do you disapprove?"

"No, I think she's great. I've been a terrible friend lately. I know I have. I'm happy Emma has someone to keep her company. I'm sure Emma has been enjoying herself, arranging all the pieces for her grand plan. I was just sure you'd disapprove of Harriet." She took a big sip from her glass, and he gave her a wry smile.

"I think Emma's scheming is only going to hurt Harriet, and that the very last thing Emma needs is someone to constantly flatter her and believe every word that comes out of her mouth without question. But that's just me," he finished, drinking from his beer.

Taylor laughed. "I knew I'd get the truthful answer eventually. You never were one to mince words." She paused, eyes glinting mischievously. "You should let Emma in on the truth too. Tell her exactly what you feel." She gave Grant a knowing look, but he was busy playing with the label on his beer. He made a noncommittal response. They both knew she was no longer speaking of Harriet, but very different feelings instead.

She gave him a playful nudge, and he was finally goaded into replying. He looked surreptitiously around the room, but everyone was engrossed in their own conversations, paying no mind to him or Taylor. Emma was still busy in the kitchen.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," he said, looking up to meet Taylor's eyes.

She tilted her head. "I know that Emma is kind of oblivious, but." She lowered her voice down to a tiny whisper, leaning closer to him. "You're one of her closest friends. She's gotta feel something for you, right? There's no way she doesn't."

Grant snorted, looking almost amused. "Don't be so sure about that." He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "We're not even on a first name basis…"

Taylor laughed and gave his shoulder a light push. "It's a term of endearment. You're the only person she calls by their last name."

"Lucky me."

Taylor laughed again, and Grant joined in this time. He shook his head and took another sip of beer.

Taylor sobered and gave him a look. "I really think you should say something. You know how Emma is; she'll need some time to get used to the idea. She'll react badly when you tell her your feelings, and she'll definitely reject you, but after enough time…"

Grant laughed, rolling his eyes. "Such encouraging words, Taylor."

She was about to respond, but Emma came in from the kitchen, so no more could be said.

"More wine?" she offered Taylor and Marianne, topping off their glasses as Mike returned from smoking.

Harriet brought Phil over. "Look, he brought whiskey!"

Emma could tell she was touched by the fact that he had remembered her favorite drink, so she gave him a bright smile.

"Who's up for shots?" Phil asked jovially, raising the bottle.

Taylor said she was tired and Mike was driving, but everyone else assented. Emma hurried to find all the shot glasses she could. She scrambled through the kitchen cabinets. She owned just enough for everyone to get their own glass. She placed them on the coffee table and lined them up so that Phil could pour.

They all held up their glasses, amber liquid sloshing slightly. Emma's fingers were sticky and damp with the whiskey.

"Here's to friends—old ones and new ones," Marianne said cheerfully. In unison, they swallowed the drinks.

The shot made Emma's eyes water slightly and she grimaced at the taste. It'd gone down smooth, but she always forgot about its bite. She didn't mind liquor when it was in a martini, but straight shots had never been something she enjoyed. She didn't understand the appeal.

Everyone's faces showed different levels of distaste. Harriet gave her head a slight shake, Marianne stuck her tongue out in disgust, Grant squinted one eye and swallowed again and again, Willoughby smacked his lips, and she laughed at them all.

"Another!" Willoughby suggested, and Emma raised her eyebrows. He, Marianne, Harriet, and Phil refilled their glasses, but Emma and Grant refused. She had already consumed a lot of wine, and she could still feel the first shot, warm and bubbly in her insides. She'd learned her limits long before, and she knew more would only lead to bad things: the spins, vomit, feeling like death, more vomit. She was more than happy to pass.

Undeterred, the others all raised their shot glasses again. Emma quietly excused herself to the kitchen to avoid the temptation, and Taylor followed her.

"I think Mike and I are going to leave soon. It's been great seeing you though; we needed to catch up."

Emma readily agreed. "Thanks for coming. I was glad to spend time with you. I just hope everyone is enjoying themselves. I wasn't sure. I don't know if Knightley did…"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Grant's been laughing the whole night. I'm sure he had fun. I think he might even have a little crush on that Marianne girl," she said, smiling mischievously.

"What?" Emma snorted loudly. "You're nuts. There's no way…" Emma hadn't been able to stop herself from laughing at Taylor. The whole idea was absolutely ridiculous. Grant would never be interested in someone like Marianne. To be sure, she was an interesting person, and Emma wanted to get to know her better. She had unique style and she was clearly intelligent, but Emma was sure she wasn't the right kind of girl for Grant.

"Why not? She's pretty; she's like a pixie. They talked about movies for at least half an hour. She's cool. He seemed like he liked her."

"Don't get me wrong. I know she's pretty, but Willoughby is right there. They obviously have something, and Knightley wouldn't try to get in the middle, even if she were his type, which she isn't." Emma shook her head. "I'm one hundred percent certain that you're wrong. There's not a chance. She's not the type of girl for him." She would have gone on, more vehemently, but Taylor held up her hands, laughing.

"Okay, okay. It was just an idea."

"A crazy one."

Taylor laughed again, giving her friend an understanding look that went unnoticed by Emma. Taylor led the way back to the living room, but Emma was still thinking about it. The very idea was absolutely absurd. The thought of Grant with a girlfriend was disgusting to her.

It would ruin their friendship. They wouldn't be able to talk the same way any longer, without any reservations. The girl would always be jealous and Emma would never get to see him outside of the daycare. It was out of the question. He couldn't be interested in anyone. What would happen to their friendship?

She was glad she didn't have to find out, that was for sure. She walked back out to the living room, looking him over. Grant was his same old self in that grey sweater that she liked so much. It matched his eyes. His light brown hair was a little disheveled, but his posture was as straight as ever. He was lounging on the couch, his long legs stretched out and an unaffected smile on his face as Taylor said something to him. He definitely was not mooning over Marianne. Taylor was in denial: that was for sure.

Taylor and Mike left soon after that, and Marianne turned up the stereo so that she and Willoughby could dance in the living room. Emma watched them, laughing and enjoying Marianne's free spirit. She liked seeing someone so unreserved and unconcerned with the opinion of others. Marianne looked at Willoughby like he was the only man in the room. Emma thought it was romantic, in the best and oldest sense of the word.

Phil joined her on the couch, his arm heavy around her shoulders. "Want to dance?" he asked.

She smiled, certain that he was only asking her because she was the hostess.

"Oh no, my feet are tired." She pointed to her high heels. "I bet Harriet will when she comes back from the bathroom."

Emma slid off the couch to stand. Phil stood too, and Harriet returned. Before Emma could mention anything, Phil was already talking. He was done, apparently, with the idea of dancing.

"Who wants to go to the bar? We could go to The Lounge." He named one of Emma's favorites. It was in easy walking distance from the apartment and the atmosphere was nice and classy. She knew it wasn't one of his favorite establishments, and Emma thought that it was very gallant of him to offer to go there. Harriet had obviously been working her magic.

Willoughby, Marianne, and Harriet all agreed and began gathering their things, slipping on coats and grabbing purses. Phil turned to Emma and Grant. "What about you two?"

Emma was torn. It was her favorite night spot by far, but then again she didn't want any more to drink and she didn't want to distract Phil from Harriet. If she didn't go, they'd get to spend the whole night together.

She looked at Grant. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak. She turned back to Phil and shook her head. "I'll stay and clean up. I'm done for the night."

"And I'll help," Grant said a moment later. Phil looked put out and tried to convince her for another minute to come with them, but was forced to give up. She thought it was sweet that he didn't want to break up the group. He obviously wanted Harriet to feel comfortable.

Marianne waved on her way out. "Nice to meet you! Thanks for having us."

"No problem. You guys have fun," Emma said, and she waggled her eyebrows at Harriet and led them all out the door, closing it quietly behind them.

She took a deep breath and looked around. Without all the people, the apartment seemed much larger. There wasn't quite as much carnage as she'd expected, but her living room was fairly trashed. Empty glasses and bottles littered every surface. Grant stood and stretched.

"Thanks Knightley," she said, as he started taking the empty beer bottles to the trashcan in the kitchen. Emma brought the empty wine glasses to the counter and filled the sink with warm soapy water.

"That was fun," she said. She was pleasantly drunk and everything seemed nice. She watched as Grant leaned against the countertop near the sink. "I'm glad you could come see everyone."

"And by everyone you mean Harriet and Phil," he said, handing her a glass. She washed it out and gave him a devilish look over her shoulder.

"So you noticed how well they go together, then."

He laughed, handing her another glass. He leaned in and caught her gaze, making her look up from the glasses. Her nose itched, but she couldn't touch it with her soapy hands. She wiggled it and looked at him.

"The only thing I noticed was Phil hitting on you the whole night."

"Me?" Emma cried, shocked. She dropped the washcloth she'd been holding. "Knightley, you've got to be kidding. Don't you think I would have noticed if he had been? Phil knows he doesn't have a chance with me. Why would he bother?"

Grant gave her an incredulous glance, still leaning close to her. "Are you sure he knows that?"

"Of course," she said quickly, refusing to even entertain the idea of it. She decided to make a joke out of it instead. After all, the idea was completely absurd. "How could you even suggest it? Are you jealous? Because Phil can actually pull off that scruffy, mountain man look?"

Grant gaped, looking completely caught off guard. "No, I was just—"

"'Cause I think you could pull it off too. Maybe even better than him—he's getting fat and you're still fit. Look, just don't shave for the next week. I bet you've even got stubble now. Lemme feel." She raised her soapy, dripping hands from the sink, but he dodged his head away from her.

"Emma—" He was laughing again.

"Okay, I'll stop." She gave him a serious look. "Phil wasn't trying to hit on me," she said, after a pause. He was interested in Harriet, not her. He had to be. He had been nice, friendly, polite, and nothing more. Grant was reading in to things. She was certain she had a better sense of the situation than he did.

Grant shrugged and handed her the final glass. She cleaned it and then turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. Grant was leaning against the counter, his arms stretched to either side of him, his legs crossed. Emma settled against the counter next to him, letting herself rest comfortably against the length of his arm. She felt content and at ease. It was warm where they touched. She could finally itch her nose.

"I know I'm right," Emma said. "Maybe they aren't quite sure about it yet, but they like each other. There's obviously something between them. Sometimes it's hard for people to recognize their feelings. I'm sure they just need a little push to see what's right there in front of them."

Emma was determined to be that push. She looked up and to the side to see what Grant would say, but he was looking away from her, staring intently at one particular tile on the floor.

"You know?" she prompted, leaning in, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. She couldn't tell if he had been listening or not. He finally looked up from the tile, locking eyes with her for a few moments. She was close enough to see the tiny, nearly invisible scar near his chin from some childhood accident. His mouth was right at her eye level.

In the kitchen lights his eyes looked gray, and she couldn't read his expression. Something in the region of her stomach twisted, and for some inexplicable reason she found herself blushing uncomfortably. She felt tongue-tied, and blinking in confusion, she looked away after a moment. He moved suddenly from the countertop to the center of the kitchen, far from her.

"I know what you mean," he finally said. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "I think I'm going to go now, if you don't need any more help cleaning." He sounded cheerful, but Emma had known him long enough to see that he was covering something else with it. The cheer kept falling flat.

"Okay," she said slowly, completely puzzled. He was no longer making eye contact with her. It did not bode well. She didn't want him to leave so suddenly, but she couldn't think of anything to say to make him stay. "Be safe," she finally said.

He nodded. "I'll just show myself out." He gave her a brief, fleeting smile before grabbing his jacket and walking out the door.

In the sudden and resounding silence around her, Emma felt extremely bewildered. She couldn't help wondering what on earth had just happened.


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