Red Light, Green Light
Chapter 14: Let's Flirt, Okay?

"You know what I like about you, Heather?" Emma asked that evening.

Heather Smith glanced at her curiously, tucking her clutch under one arm as they crossed the street. "My charming personality and laid-back attitude about boys?" she teased.

The redhead laughed, "Ooh, close. No, I love that you're not married. Or male. It's nice to hang out with a single girlfriend again."

"Aw, that's so sweet of you to say." Heather threaded her arm with Emma's and the two girls grinned at each other. "I have a question for you."

"Yeah?"

Heather peered up with skeptical blue eyes. "Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

Emma toyed with her long auburn braid. "I don't want one," she shrugged casually.

There was a heavy pause.

"I've dated," Emma explained. "Nothing was ever serious or extraordinary. I'm not in any hurry for a relationship, so why should I hunt after one?"

"Well, what about Luke?" challenged Heather.

"Luke could very well be a Fluke."

Both dissolved into snorts and giggles. Heather shook her head, "No, he has to be more than that. That boy is hot. Hot, hot, hot!" she spread her hands apart for emphasis.

"I know," Emma lamented. "But there was no…ba-boom!"

"Nuclear explosion?"

"Fireworks."

"Oh." Heather tilted her head thoughtfully, as they stopped to wait at a crosswalk. "That's a pretty dated concept, though. You don't have to throw somebody away because there's no instant spark."

"A logical perspective," Emma pointed out. "But I'm a picky girl. With him, I kind of expected the first kiss to be wonderful. And it was just…Quaker Oatmeal."

"What?"

"Bland," she explained.

"Hmm. Well, maybe Luke's just not for you. Like those really beautiful shoes you've been trying to break in for two weeks." Heather pointed to the Michael Kors heels.

"I like these," Emma pouted.

"Your ankles don't."

"They make my ankles look good."

"Not if you twist one!" Heather laughed.

"Point taken."

They had reached the double doors of Il Cantinori in Greenwich Village three minutes prior, but both girls decided to linger outside. The sky was darkening into bruised purples and pinks and Emma watched taxis cluster. "Maybe my expectations are too high."

"For the shoes?" asked Heather.

"For Fluke," said Emma.

"Duke Fluke."

"Archduke Fluke."

"Rebuked to Puke."

"Okay, I'm going inside."

Fifteen minutes later, the party Dara Bates had gathered was halfway through a plate of bruschetta and a giant epiphany: everybody was in love with Jane Fairfax.

"Tell them," Dara gushed, adjusting her glasses. "Tell them about the orphanage you helped rebuild in Mumbai." When Jane's cheeks turned pink, her stepsister chortled, "From scratch, my friends, they constructed it from scratch! It's beautiful, too—my Jane has such an architectural eye."

"Dara, please!"

"Sweetheart, you're too humble." Out popped the digital camera and Jack was quickly pulled into the loop, "You have to see the pictures. It's gorgeous! I transferred them onto the card from my Gmail account."

"Beautiful," Jack agreed. "Is that stained glass?"

"Yeah, we built a mosaic," said Jane quietly. She pushed some steamed broccoli across her plate. Her cheeks were still rosy.

"Wow," marveled Heather, looking over Dara's other shoulder.

"Of course, the staff was in for a real treat when the orphanage opened," continued Dara matter-of-factly. "Jane was asked to sing and play guitar for the children. Marcus told me you were glorious, as always."

"Marcus is my friend, he's been contracted to say nice things," Jane justified.

Emma laughed for the first time all evening.

"You're a musician, then?" asked Jack.

Jane turned and smirked, "Gosh, that's a pretty prestigious title."

"Not if I call you a bad musician," he corrected.

She giggled.

Emma stabbed at her salad.

"She has the most beautiful voice," Dara said. "Emma, didn't you sing in high school?"

The youngest Woodhouse looked up cautiously. "Um," she cleared her throat, "I was in choir."

"What voice part?" asked Jane.

"Jane sings classical, too," explained Dara with an infectious smile. "She was going to be an Opera Performance major at Carnegie Mellon—before the financial trouble, that is."

Both women looked at Emma expectantly.

"Oh—um, I was an Alto."

"Ah. Soprano 1 here."

Emma chuckled.

"What's so funny?" asked Jane curiously.

"Nothing. It's just…well, it's a commonly known fact that Altos get the reject parts. Sopranos are always the cherry on the sundae, you know?"

Jane's blank face offered no encouragement.

"I mean, even Mozart favored Sopranos," Emma rationalized.

"He probably nailed a lot of them," Jack muttered, twirling his fork into a mound of pasta. He paused when the entire table had grown silent. "Shit, I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

Heather burst into giggles.

"Oh! That reminds me, what else do you want on your mix CD?" Jane asked him.

"I like surprises."

Jane tapped her mouth with a finger. "Bach, then."

"No," Jack snorted. They grinned at each other.

"Luke likes Classical, too," Emma said conversationally—mostly to Heather. "And The Flaming Lips. He usually just blasts one or the other, it's really weird."

"Who is this?" Dara looked up.

"Lucas Churchill," Jack clarified with a wary look, "a guy Emma is seeing."

Jane's silverware accidentally clattered on the floor. "Sorry," she apologized, ducking underneath the tablecloth.

"Watch your head," Jack cautioned when she reappeared.

"Thanks," Jane smiled.

"Emma, I didn't know you had a boyfriend," Dara's eyebrows shot up suggestively. "Ooh-la-la!"

"A couple dates does not a boyfriend make," insisted Emma.

"Is he cute?"

"…Well, yeah."

Jane hiccoughed.

Dinner eventually ended in a flurry of cappuccinos and tiramisu. The tab was taken care of and all stepped out into the humid July air. Emma held the door open for Dara and then Jane, who accidentally bumped her shoulder.

"Sorry," Jane mumbled.

"It's okay," Emma said. She watched her back curiously.

Yoga class the next morning was interesting in the sense that it was less about sun salutations and more about heated gossip.

Heather puffed out her cheeks and struggled into a shoulder stand, back arched into a foam block. "Are you sure?" she sputtered.

"Oh please," Emma winced, realigning her shoulder blade. "It's so obvious that she has a problem with me. First the Mozart thing and then the shoulder snub?" Her legs swung back around. "Come on."

"Maybe you're overreacting." Heather flopped back down into Savasana pose with a sigh. She brushed her dark bangs out of her blue eyes. "Jane seemed like a total sweetheart to me."

"Pfft. Sure, she's nice to everybody but me!"

"Especially nice to Jack," Heather giggled.

Emma propped herself up on one elbow. "What?"

"I think you found your 'spark' sitting across the table, Emma. They were flirting."

"Yeah, but…you don't think…it's not like—"

"Shhh!" the yoga instructor glared from across the studio.

"Sorry." Emma ducked her head and lowered her voice to a whisper, "I thought they were just being you know, super friendly."

It was Heather's turn for incredulous glances. "Emma, I wouldn't be surprised if they were playing footsie under the table."

"No."

"She seemed into him," Heather cradled her knees into her chest for the next pose. "I used to giggle that much when I was with Robbie."

Emma's brow creased. She stared up at the ceiling tiles and voiced her thoughts softly: "Why is this bothering me so much?"

"Because you don't like her."

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"Can we postpone the romantic analysis for the next fifteen minutes?" whispered Heather. "The yoga instructor is giving me the stink-eye, and I don't think it means Namaste."

Emma and Luke saw each other nearly every day for the next three weeks. Breakfasts, coffee dates, shopping trips, escapades to the movies. It was indefinable. Not exactly dating, but not exactly exclusive friendship either. There was too much flirting and occasional kissing for that.

On a rainy Friday evening, both settled into her living room couch with a bowl of popcorn and Die Hard blaring on the television screen. Emma scrunched her nose and munched on a kernel, watching as Bruce Willis dragged his bloody self across a myriad of broken shards of glass.

"Ouch. God, antiseptic, anybody?"

Luke grinned, amused. "I don't know what's more entertaining here—the movie, or your constant reel of social commentary."

Emma laughed, "Sorry."

"You better be."

"It's a top complaint, trust me," she murmured, "Jack says I'm impossible to watch movies with. Then again, so is he. When The Dark Knight premiered, we wouldn't shut up in the second row. We got booed at."

"Serves you right."

"Mm." Emma sighed and rested her head in Luke's lap.

"I keep running into Jack, you know," Luke told her, glancing down. "The grocery store, Blockbuster, Central Park. I'm thinking about getting a restraining order."

She snorted, "That's so weird. He didn't mention that to me."

"Yeah well, I don't think he likes me very much. He's very uptight and awkward when we see each other. I thought he was so much cooler at the wedding."

"Jack's just…moody," Emma waved her hand. "He's really a great guy."

Luke shrugged.

She rested her head back down and closed one eye, tracing shapes in the air with her fingers. Then she propped herself up on her elbows. "Hey, do you want to hang out with my friends one of these days?"

"Sure," Luke murmured, fingering a strand of her auburn hair. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. Go see a movie, maybe. Dessert and coffee after." Emma sat up and crossed her legs, "I think you'd fit well in our group of misfits. I mean, Heather and Jack are pretty 'lax, you just need to know them better." She paused, "I'd probably have to invite Jane, too. Extend the ol' olive branch."

Luke smirked, "Another one of your girlfriends?"

"No," Emma sighed, "not so much. Family acquaintance is more like it; she just came back from a mission trip in India. I actually kind of hate her."

"And you want to invite her because…"

"Everybody else likes her."

"Oh, okay." Luke smiled his crooked sly smile. "Is she hot?"

Emma threw a popcorn kernel at him.

"Kidding. Let's Facebook stalk her." Luke reached over the side of the sofa and pulled out Emma's white Macbook from her bag. "You can leave her an obscene message if you want. And by you, I clearly mean me."

"Don't!" Emma lunged forward, laughing.

"What's her name?" Luke ducked, poised over the keyboard.

"No, no, no!"

"Let's search for her—"

In a speedy maneuver, Emma moved in and snapped the laptop shut. She laughed when Luke pouted, and slipped it back under the coffee table. "Troublemaker," she chastised. "I don't need any more reasons for Jane Fairfax to hate me."

Luke was quiet for a few moments. "Fairfax?"

"Yup." Emma dusted popcorn off of her jeans, "Look at this, you got popcorn all over the couch! You're going to vacuum all this, right?" she smirked.

"Of course I will," beamed Luke. "But for now, I think you should sit your beautiful self right next to me so we can pretend to watch Die Hard but not really."

By the end of the film, Mr. Lucas James Churchill confided to Emma that he would like nothing better than to meet the rest of her friends, but only if they proved to be "as interesting" as she was.