Chapter Text
"Mom, how about this one?"
With a small sigh and briefly closing her eyes, Emily took the book in question from her son’s hands.
It featured a skull and blood on the cover, which was certainly the reason why it attracted Roark's attention, but it´s title strongly evoked "Dark Romance“.
Apparently the latest trend in bookstores.
Was it even possible these days to find a decent book to read?
"That’s definitely not what I’m looking for, sweetie." she murmured wearily, stroking the boy’s head and slightly mussing up his hair.
She appreciated his help, she really did. But this was the fifth time in just three minutes that she’d had to put back a book he’d picked out for her, hoping no one was watching them, because none of them had any business being in a child's hands.
On the other hand, was it really her fault that all the latest bestsellers contained violence or sex? In the worst case, both?
She had to admit that dragging him along to the library and then a bookstore probably hadn't been the best idea (and certainly not the kind of fun afternoon he would have chosen), but she needed to pick something out, and Frank, of course, had absolutely no time for the kids today. So she didn't have much of a choice.
"And this one?"
She took a deep breath, slowly turning from the shelf back toward her son.
She wanted to be that perfect, patient parent, described in all the motherhood manuals that she had read, despite all her grumbling about them - because more than anything, she wanted to be a good mom.
But sometimes, it was simply too much.
Too much work stress, too much pressure, too much rushing...
Not that she ever yelled at her children without reason. But that didn't mean she didn't feel a touch of weariness and a fraying temper as she took yet another book from Roark’s hands.
A flush rose to her cheeks as she examined the cover, which featured two very scantily clad people in an embrace.
"What are they doing?" Roark asked curiously, and she forced herself to take another deep breath.
"Um..." She hurriedly ran through all the suitable explanations in her mind.
In the end, she decided on the truth. Or at least a partial version of it.
"They're kissing."
She forced a smile as she hurriedly tucked the book back among the others.
Her son - smarter than should legally be allowed at his age - narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"And why are they naked?"
After this, I’m heading to the cookbook section, she promised herself, feeling her eye twitch.
She had absolutely no desire to spend her weekend reading recipes for the best way to prepare shrimp, but at least it was safe territory.
"Well," she murmured in reply "Maybe someone stole their clothes."
It was a stupid lie, hardly worthy of her intelligence. But after this afternoon, she didn't have the energy for anything more.
Not that it satisfied Roark.
She recognized it from the slight furrowing of his brows. A look she knew well from her own face.
She used it whenever it seemed someone was underestimating her brain function or abilities.
"Can I go check out the comic book section?" he finally asked, letting the subject drop. To Emily's big relief.
"Yes," she nodded, almost gratefully. "But don't go anywhere else, okay? The comics are right around the corner, over there." She pointed to the section a short distance away.
"Okay, I promise, mom." the boy beamed, immediately running off in that direction.
"No running!" she called out after him, but he didn't seem to hear.
Shaking her head, she turned back to the books in front of her, carefully running her fingers along their spines.
She was looking for something undemanding and ideally featuring a character whose life was a living hell, so that Emily’s own worries would seem small by comparison.
Something that wasn't dark romance.
She added that mental note to her criteria.
She had no intention of explaining to anyone why she reads books with suspicious titles and skulls on the covers.
She snorted at the thought.
Maybe she should just read a fashion magazine like she always does, or catch up on the emails that were waiting for her anyway.
You promised yourself you’d relax this weekend, she reminded herself. The kids are away. It’s the perfect time for baths, a manicure, those TV series you outwardly scoffed at but secretly watched and books that don´t have anything to do with work.
She pulled a smaller book from the second shelf, turning it over to read the blurb.
At that exact moment, the bell above the bookstore door chimed, announcing a new customer.
Her eyes automatically lifted from the book, glancing briefly at the figure entering.
She froze, a shiver running down her spine.
Oh no...
Not today, when every minute was already a struggle.
On top of everything else, she couldn't handle having an awkward conversation with Andy Sachs in a bookstore.
The brunette in the doorway radiated her usual good cheer and a spark that Emily could only quietly envy.
She immediately smiled at the staff, greeted two strangers in the history section - people she clearly knew - and then moved elegantly further into the shop.
In Emily´s direction.
The redhead abruptly set the book down. She’d surely put it in the wrong place, but there was no time to check.
She had to get away before the brunette noticed her.
She hurriedly ducked down.
I can't believe I am actually doing this, went through her mind.
How embarrassing.
Then, she cautiously peeked around the next set of shelves and headed, with head still bowed, toward the young adult section.
She didn´t think Andy would go there. Not really her type of books.
Once safely hidden behind a stack of the new Hunger Games edition, she allowed herself a soft exhale.
Now, a whole wall of books stood between her and the journalist she didn't want to run into.
There was no way she could be spotted.
Emily, on the other hand, had a pretty good view of her.
She couldn't help but narrow her eyes and quickly take in the other woman's outfit.
Andrea Sachs wasn't special, she reminded herself with a frown She criticized everyone´s clothes. No exceptions.
The brunette was wearing well-fitted dark trousers and a vest, looking almost unnaturally chic for this no-name bookstore.
She held the sunglasses she’d removed upon entering in her hand, and an Hermès handbag was slung over her shoulder.
Otherwise, she looked exactly the same as she had two months ago, when they’d last seen each other.
It was a lunch that left Emily in a strange emotional state for another three weeks. One she didn't quiet know how to handle.
She hoped it would pass and that she would find the courage to reply to the journalist’s text asking if she’d like to meet up again sometime, perhaps for dinner.
She didn't in the end.
She tore her gaze away from the woman, shaking her head at her own cowardice.
It wasn't like her at all. Not one bit.
Neither was hiding here like a teenager in this section, bacause she felt too embarrassed.
Andy’s arrival had stressed her out so much that she’d acted foolishly.
And on top of that, she’d completely lost sight of Roark now.
Amazing.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to figure out the best course of action.
She would simply wait here until Andrea left. She couldn't stay forever, after all. Then she’d grab Roark, and they’d leave as quickly as possible.
That sounded like a plan.
She’d only have to find a way to kill a few minutes.
She might as well see what today’s youth were reading.
It wasn't that she didn't know The Hunger Games. She was more intrigued by those over-the-top, bizarrely glittery pink covers.
Intrigued by their hideousness.
She reached out toward one of them, running her finger over the surface of the cover.
The page edges were pink too, as if there wasn't enough of that color already, complete with gold details.
And at that moment, she heard it.
Her son’s unmistakable voice.
She held her breath, trying to make out what he was saying.
She could only catch snatches of it.
"...I have to pick a comic with the best hero. The main character in this one is a cat... too childish. I don't read about animals anymore...“
Then followed a reply from the person he was talking to, too low for Emily to hear.
"...I don't know it. Is it any good?"
Again her son.
"Could you show it to me...?"
She was already moving.
Whoever was talking to her boy right now was trying to lure him away, and it filled Emily not only with sheer horror and alarm but also with rage and a readiness to deal with the creep immediately...
She strode out of the teen section with a deadly look on her face, heading toward the comics.
The person her son was talking to was behind the display rack, so she couldn't see them, but...
She stopped dead in her tracks.
The toe of a designer shoe and a bit of a dark trousers were peeking out from the side of the rack.
Those heels were Jimmy Choos. Emily would recognize them a mile away.
And there was only one person in this bookstore whose outfit those exact shoes would match…
On one hand, she felt a wave of relief. Andy Sachs certainly wasn't a dangerous predator trying to snatch her son.
On the other hand, she felt anger bubbling in her gut.
Of course her son would strike up a conversation with her of all people.
Naturally.
Just Emily´s luck.
She was considering a quick retreat to her hiding spot when the journalist’s light voice rang out:
"Are your parents around here somewhere? I’m sure they wouldn’t want you disappearing into another section without telling them."
Roark shook his head.
"You’re right. My mom is..." his gaze drifted to the shelf where Emily had been standing just minuts before.
Then he spotted her much closer, and his face instantly broke into a wider smile.
"Right here." he finished, pointing, and Emily’s heart instantly sank.
She had maybe three seconds to get ready.
To put on her usual calm expression and lift her chin slightly. And, above all, to suppress her unease and irritation.
The brunette shifted her stance so she could look in the direction the boy was pointing.
Her face instantly lit up with recognition.
"Emily?!"
She sounded almost excited, which was more than unsettling. And irritating.
"Andrea." the redhead murmured in reply, noticing Roark’s gaze darting back and forth between them in confusion.
"Is this your son?" Andy asked the obvious, a broad smile spreading across her face.
"Oh my god, of course he is. I see the resemblance now." she said, shaking her head as she studied Roark’s face.
"He has your eyes. And your nose." She winked at her cheerfully, and the gesture made Emily feel sick.
„Well,“ she cleared her throat. „Fortunately, both my children have my features.“
Andy laughed. Lightly, just as she always did.
"You won the genetic lottery, buddy." she declared to Roark, and Emily fought the urge to roll her eyes.
She wanted to make a quick excuse and say goodbye, but Andrea beat her to it - quick, as always, to strike up a conversation that was hard to escape.
It was some kind of a superpower of hers.
Very annoying superpower, must be noted.
"Back to red hair?" she asked with an interest Emily would have liked to dismiss as feigned, but she knew Andy well enough to know that the woman was interested in and fascinated by almost everything.
Even perfectly boring and normal things like a change in hair color.
"Yes," she replied slowly. "Bleaching it was a tragic blunder. Committed in a moment of weakness."
The journalist shrugged.
"I liked it," she declared. "But the red is iconic. Very Emily Charlton."
The redhead stifled the urge to say that "very Emily Charlton" is whatever Emily Charlton decides it is, but dragging out an argument over that small remark felt childish.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly.
"What are you doing here, Andrea?" she asked, using the professional tone reserved for small talk. A tone that usually vanished within twenty seconds of conversing with Andy Sachs.
The brunette slowly bent down toward Roark, handing him a comic book from the top shelf that he had been trying to reach, all while maintaining eye contact with Emily.
"I'm looking for a book for research and sources. I'm writing one very tricky article." she explained with a faint smile. "They’re supposed to have it somewhere around here."
Emily raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"An article about kids comics? Or Superman?" She nodded toward what Roark was holding.
Andy didn't look the least bit offended. She was more than used to Emily’s usual dry remarks.
That perpetual calm and smile of hers was infuriating.
"Nope," she replied, one corner of her mouth lifting. "One gentleman just stopped me here to compliment my sunglasses."
The redhead couldn't help raising her eyebrows again, shooting Roark a look that asked: You did?
The boy looked proud to be called a gentleman and set down the comic he’d been holding, now fully invested in the conversation.
"They're cool," he said with the tone of an expert. "Mom has a pair just like that at home."
Well, at least her son had a sense of style.
Not that it meant she approved of Andrea’s glasses. Of course not. That was a whole different matter.
She frowned.
"They're slightly similar," she muttered, emphasizing the "slightly."
Andy just gave her another smile.
"What are you doing here?" the journalist asked casually then.
"Picking out a book for a self-care weekend," Emily replied, trying not to drag out the conversation. "A much-needed one."
The brunette nodded understandingly, and then her gaze slowly drifted to the book Emily was still holding.
The one she’d wanted to examine because of how hideous it was and had forgotten she was still holding when she’d set off so abruptly.
She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a flush rise to her cheekbones.
"Cute," the brunette remarked, reaching for the book.
"As a journalist, you ought to know the saying about not judging a book by its cover, Andrea."
The other woman nodded and carefully took it into her hands, turning it over to read the blurb.
"A story full of magic, faeries, and fiery passion that transports you to a world where only lust and power exist." she read aloud, and Emily felt her face literally catch fire.
"It's for my niece." she mumbled.
"You have a niece?"
"Nope," Roark answered for her.
Those damn books on motherhood don't prepare you for a situation like this. For such a betrayal.
„Hey, Em, it´s totally okay to read fairy smut.“
Andy put on an innocent face, but there was an amused glint in her eyes.
Emily clenched her teeth so hard they almost ached.
"I don't read fucking fairy tales for teenagers!" she hissed, to the journalist's further amusement.
Realizing what she’d said, she glanced apologetically at Roark.
"Sorry, sweetheart. That was a very bad word. One that absolutely shouldn't be used, okay?"
Her voice softened, as it always did when she spoke to her children.
"It’s just that Andrea has such a bad influence on me."
Andy put on very hurt face.
"That’s not true, I..." She didn't get to finish, because Roark turned toward both women, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"What is smut?" he asked, very loudly and very innocently, and Emily felt a wave of utter despair about how the day was going.
This was truly the end.
"Well, I wouldn't know," she said, smiling with exaggerated sweetness, deciding to feign ignorance. "Andy can tell you, since she’s the one who brought it up."
She turned to the journalist with a mischievous look, expecting a blush or a moment of awkwardness.
The other woman merely smiled slightly.
If she felt embarrassed, she didn't show it.
"Hmm," she tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Imagine two people kissing and being very passionate about it." she said finally.
She didn't use any childish analogies, nor did she tell the boy he wouldn't understand, and Emily immediately noticed how much Roark appreciated that.
"Like that book Mom was looking at?" her son asked innocently. The very son she was now seriously considering disinheriting, as he dug her grave deeper and deeper.
"The one where the people on the cover had their clothes stolen?"
Could it possibly get any worse?
She was standing in a bookstore with her clever, yet still quite young son, who was just pointing out to - what even was Andy to her? - that she was browsing through inappropriate books.
Andy, of all people.
The woman whose message she had so cowardly failed to answer, even though she had been desperately waiting for it.
The woman who had forgiven her betrayal and offered a friendship that Emily had accepted but done nothing to maintain.
Nothing but torment herself with her own anxieties and thoughts until she convinced herself that Andy didn't mean it seriously anyway.
The journalist in question could no longer suppress her laughter, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
"What?" she managed to get out before another wave of giggles shook her.
"That’s not how it was at all." Emily pinched the bridge of her nose.
Further explanation seemed like an admission of guilt anyway, so she just gave up.
"You know what?" she sighed in defeat. "Why don't you show my son what you wanted to show him, and then go back to finding a source for your article?"
The brunette stifled the last of her laughter.
"Right."
The corners of her mouth were still twitching.
"Roark, isn't it?"
The question was directed at the boy, not Emily.
Another way Andy had managed to win her son over.
Treating him like an equal.
Such a simple thing that most adults tend to forget about.
He nodded, important expression on his face.
"Okay, Roark, follow me. Did you say books about animals are boring? I’ll prove to you that if they’re well-written, that’s not true at all."
She started leading him away from the comics toward the books, and Emily snorted.
Andy had misjudged this one.
Since learning to read, Roark hadn't voluntarily read a single page of a regular book.
It was always comics, or something with very little text.
She watched from a distance as the brunette reached for a book in the section for ten-year-olds and up.
A smart move, Emily thought appreciatively, even though it annoyed her. Just another way to signal that she believed he was capable of reading it. To give him a challange.
As she placed the rather thick book in his hands, Roark looked a bit suspicious, but he didn't object.
Emily had never managed to get that far before.
She narrowed her eyes in irritation.
We’ll see if he can manage more than a single page, she thought.
"There’s a reading area over there." Andy told the boy, pointing to a cluster of armchairs nearby. "You can try the first few pages and see if you like it. I’ll have a chat with your mom in the meantime. Sound like a good plan?" She gave Roark one of her smiles.
The kind that even seasoned Runway employees weren't immune to. Let alone Emily’s cute son.
He nodded with smile.
Of course he did.
Emily clenched her hand into a fist.
She wasn't sure she could handle another conversation with Andrea.
The brunette was already heading her way, looking triumphant.
"Lily's daughter didn't put that book down for two whole days until she finished it." she said, sounding as proud as if she were the author of that "miracle" herself.
"I give him about two minutes before he runs over here complaining that he's bored." The redhead replied coolly, watching as he settled into the largest armchair and opened the book.
The journalist’s eyes lit up, as they always did when she got excited about an idea.
"Let's make a bet!" she suggested enthusiastically.
Emily smirked.
"That he won't even finish the first five pages? Sure. I love winning. What are the stakes?"
Another one of those clever smiles - the kind most people found charming but Emily found incredibly irritating - spread across Andy’s face.
"If I win, you’re coming to dinner with me next week."
Emily paused, slowly raising an eyebrow.
So this was Andrea's plan? To make a bet with her about how well she knew her own son? Just to get her to come to a dinner she had already ignored an invitation to?
But surely, she couldn't lose this one.
"And if I win?"
"Then I’ll give you these sunglasses. Since you like them so much." She winked, and Emily snorted, somehow forgetting to pretend that she didn't like the glasses at all.
"Get ready to lose them." she muttered, holding out her hand.
The journalist cheerfully took it and shook it.
"Can I help you pick something out for yourself in the meantime?" she asked then. "That is, unless you’re actually planning to read this..." She held up the pink book.
Emily rolled her eyes.
"If I wanted to read literary disaster, I’d just have to open one of your articles."
The brunette raised one of her (in Emily´s opinion: absolutely terribly unkempt, literally crying out for professional care) eyebrows, unimpressed by the remark.
"Haha, Em, very funny."
Then she looked back at the book in her hand.
"I think I’ll buy it." she declared suddenly. "Lily absolutely loves this kind of thing. I don't know how we're still friends." she joked, though she didn't actually put the book back.
"Are you looking for anything specific?" She asked then Emily.
"Not really." The redhead turned to her son, expecting him to tear his eyes away from the page and get bored at any moment.
"Something with as few fairies as possible, I guess."
Andy chuckled, her eyes instantly lighting up with an idea.
"Okay, don't go anywhere!"
In the blink of an eye, she vanished toward the back of the bookstore, leaving a slightly taken-aback Emily waiting, with a hint of apprehension, to see what she would bring back.
The brunette reappeared just a minute later, clutching a green-and-black book, its cover details still indistinguishable from that distance, and gazing at it as if it were sacred.
"I absolutely love this one," the journalist confided, handing it to Emily. "It’s an easy read. Not very long. But I won't lie - I cried about three times."
Emily snorted again .
"That doesn't surprise me." she muttered. "From what Nigel says, you usually cry at Disney movies, too."
The other woman pouted.
"What a betrayal. He has absolutely no right to spread such rumors about me." she declared, feigning irritation.
"No, seriously," she added. "Give it a chance. Please."
"The only information I gave you was that I didn't want any fairies in it, and suddenly you have the perfect book for me?" Emily asked skeptically.
"Well, there aren't any fairies. And yes, I’m confident in my judgment."
Emily sighed, reading the title aloud:
"'The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo'? That sounds awful."
This time, the hurt on the journalist's face seemed real.
"It isn't," she said firmly, with a bit more force than Emily had expected.
"What’s it about, anyway?"
She decided not to tease the brunette any further.
"Evelyn Hugo's eight weddings." Andy smiled, her enthusiasm returning.
"Eight? Andrea, that makes no sense."
"It will." the journalist said, patting her on the shoulder with great confidence.
"I didn't find anything else anyway." Emily agreed with a sigh, watching the brunette's face light up.
"I guess nothing could be worse than this." she added, pointing to the pink book still in Andy's hands.
The journalist lifted the right corner of her mouth as she opened the book on a random page, somewhere in the middle.
"‘The Dark King rose from his throne. Tall and tanned. His antlers and tail had no right looking that hot in the morning sun‘."
"Reading this sounds damaging."
The brunette bit her lip.
"It probably is." she agreed, amused.
"Mom!" Their conversation was interrupted by Roark, who excitedly grabbed Emily’s hand. "We have to buy this. It’s so good!"
He was clutching the book so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
The redhead looked highly unconvinced.
"Are you sure? Did you actually read any of it?"
The boy nodded importantly.
"Seven pages." he announced proudly, raising the book triumphantly above his head.
Emily’s shoulders slumped.
"Smart boy!" Andy beamed. "I knew you could handle advanced reading."
She smiled and playfully ruffled Roark’s hair.
To Emily’s utter shock, the boy didn’t pull away, just simply returned the smile.
"Let's go, then." Andy said casually, nodding toward the checkout. As if they were out on a family outing together.
Which they definitelly weren't.
The boy obeyed immediately, setting off, and Emily followed a moment later, shaking her head.
On the way, Andrea stopped at a shelf of specialized literature and, with unerring precision, pulled out a massive book. Its tiny title illegible to Emily.
Then she continued right behind them.
Before they could say a word at the register, the journalist gently but quickly took both books from their hands, placing them alongside her own for purchase.
"Will that be all?" the cashier asked, over Emily’s loud protests.
"Two bags, please." Andy said, flashing another smile. As if she never ran out of them.
Then, without batting an eye, she paid with her phone and divided the books into the bags.
She handed the Charlton bag to Roark, noticing that Emily was already carrying a bag from the previous shop.
"Take good care of them, okay?" she said earnestly.
„Of course.“
She bent down to his level.
"And I think we should officially introduce ourselves, by the way. I like to be friends with cool people. I'm Andy."
She held out her hand.
The boy accepted it, lifting his chin.
"Roark" he said, shaking it.
"I hope to see you again soon, young man." Andy gave him a gentle pat on the back.
"And don't tell Mom there's blood in that book." she added in a whisper. Loud enough for Emily to hear.
Then she winked at the boy.
Roark beamed an even wider smile, if that was even possible.
Emily rolled her eyes once again.
That woman was unfairly good with her son.
The journalist straightened up, hesitating for a moment.
Then, with a smooth motion, she slid her sunglasses out of her hair and handed them to the boy’s free hand.
"Here, take them. They’ll look even cooler on you." she chuckled at Roark’s stunned expression and wide eyes.
Then she sighed. Almost disappointedly.
"I'll have to go. Miranda doesn't wait, and..." she glanced meaningfully at the contents of her bag, "...neither does the article." She said, immediately dropping the subject of the sunglasses. Something the redhead hadn't yet gotten over yet.
"You just handed an eight-year-old five hundred dollars." Emily stated dryly.
"But he’s your eight-year-old. And a very bright one, too." Andy said, looking at the boy with a soft expression.
Then her gaze met Emily’s.
"See you next week, Em. Hopefully, you’ll answer my message this time."
The redhead felt a twinge of embarrassment and lowered her eyes.
"It looks like I owe you that dinner." She glanced pointedly at everything Andy had just bought or given them.
"Only because of the bet." the journalist clarified, opening the door for both of them and stepping out into the late afternoon sun.
As they all stood on the sidewalk, she immediately shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand.
"You’re going to regret giving away those glasses."
"I’ll manage."
Of course.
Emily suppressed the urge to scoff.
"Goodbye, Andrea." she said instead, taking Roark’s hand.
"Goodbye, Em." the brunette replied softly. Then she waved at the boy and turned away.
For a moment, Emily just stared as her figure vanished around the bend in the street, wondering if it had just been some damn terrifying apparition come to haunt her.
"I like Andy. She's cool." Roark announced, dispelling her suspicion.
"Of course you do." she sighed.
Everyone does, apparently.
"Let's go."
Then they headed off in the opposite direction.
…
It was two in the morning she finally forced herself to close the book, though she was left with a restless, unresolved feeling and an urgent need to find out what happened next.
Andy certainly gave good book recommendations.
But she would never ever admit that in front of her.
She carefully placed the book on the living room table, quietly turned off the lamp, and headed to the kitchen for a drink.
The cold water felt refreshing on her tongue, and she hummed with satisfaction.
She had to get up early tomorrow to get the kids ready for the trip they were taking with Frank, but after that, she could sleep or just stay in bed and read for as long as she liked.
With that satisfying thought in mind, she headed upstairs to the bedroom.
On the way, she tried to make as little noise as possible so she wouldn't wake the children.
She was almost at her bedroom door when she noticed a faint light spilling from Roark’s room through the gap between the door and the floor.
She raised her eyebrows slightly, changed direction, and slowly approached.
"Sweetie?" she called out softly as she carefully opened the door a crack.
Her gaze immediately fell on the boy's bed, where a yellow glow was shining through the white fabric of the duvet.
"Roark." she murmured, fighting back a smile. "I can see you."
After a brief hesitation, the boy threw the duvet off his head, shining his flashlight directly at Emily.
She winced at the harsh glare, gesturing for him to lower it.
"Why aren't you asleep yet?" she murmured gently, settling onto the edge of his bed.
He glanced at her with slight apprehension, as if expecting her to get angry.
"And why aren't you sleeping, Mom?" he tried, switching tactics.
"I was reading." Emily replied truthfully, gently stroking his hair.
"Me too." he admitted after a moment, lifting the book he had been keeping hidden under the covers.
Judging by the bookmark, he was already halfway through.
He didn't put the book down for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
"I really like Andy." he said with a small smile.
"Yeah, you already said that." Emily nodded tiredly, the corner of her mouth lifting.
"But Andy certainly wouldn't want you to be completely exhausted for the trip tomorrow. She’d tell you to get some rest and read again the next day."
The boy furrowed his brow.
"You don't know what Andy would say." he objected.
"Oh, but I do." Emily frowned a little. "I worked with that woman almost constantly for a year. When you go through hell together, like being Miranda´s assistant back then, it feels like you’ve known each other forever."
Roark tilted his head slightly.
"Why aren't you friends then? She likes you. I can tell."
Emily sighed softly.
"A lot happened. First she did something wrong, then, twenty years later, I did, but..." She weighed her words for a moment. "We kind of are. Friends, I mean."
"Really?"
"Well, officially," she smiled faintly. "I just sort of ignored her after that."
Roark looked almost scandalized.
"Why would you do that, Mom?“ he frowned. „Andy is nice. She bought us books and gave me sunglasses." He held them up like a trophy from the nightstand where he’d set them down.
"About those..." Emily carefully took them from his hand and placed them back. "Take good care of them, okay? They’re really expensive and rare, all right?"
Roark smiled slowly. Then he picked up the sunglasses again and held them out toward Emily.
"I want to give them to you, Mom. They’ll look better on you anyway."
Emily felt a treacherous sting in her eyes. Her heart so full of love for the amazing boy she had raised.
"That’s so sweet of you, honey." She stroked his cheek with her knuckles. "But Andy gave them to you, so you should keep them."
The boy shook his head.
"But in reality, she wanted to give them to you." he insisted. "She knew I wouldn't wear them. They're too big for me."
Emily’s expression softened.
It was true. They looked almost comical on her son’s small face.
"Here, take them. I want you to have them." Roark continued, holding his hand out to her again.
This time, she carefully took the glasses from him, smiling and immediately hugging him.
"You can borrow them whenever you want." she chuckled into his hair.
Roark snorted.
"I won't. They're for girls anyway. The shape, the decorations, and all that..." He looked up. "Not that I mind, but I think I'd rather pick out my own pair. Ones where you won't go crazy if I break them."
Emily hid another smile.
"We'll pick some out as soon as you get back from your dad's." she promised, then carefully got out of bed.
"But seriously, go to sleep now. It's late, and you need strength."
She gently took the flashlight from him and turned it off, then gave him a light kiss on the forehead.
„Goodnight.“
"Goodnight, Mom."
She turned to leave but paused in the doorway.
She didn't really know what had come over her, but she whispered into the silence, unsure if her son was even listening:
"I don't even know why I did it," Emily said quietly, answering the question she had previously sidestepped by bringing up the sunglasses.
"I think I was scared. Because you're right. Andy is truly lovely. Almost too lovely. And I'm afraid I'll disappoint her once she really gets to know me. That she won't like me as much anymore, you know? If she found out I'm not just the sarcastic, funny, strong girl she met twenty years ago. That I'm often afraid and that I withdraw into myself. And that my emotions drive me crazy..."
She fell silent.
"I was afraid she’d leave."
I AM afraid she'd leave.
She swallowed hard and began to slowly close Roark's door.
A moment later, just as she was certain she wouldn't get an answer, the boy's quiet voice spoke up.
"Sorry, Mom, but that sounds a bit silly. Why would Andy do something like that? You're the most amazing person in the world. Of course she'd want to know who you really are."
This time, she truly couldn't hold back the quiet tears.
She didn't answer. She simply closed the door until it clicked shut.
Emily thought about her son's words for most of the rest of the night.
…
"Do you have your pajamas?" she asked anxiously, handing the children their lunchboxes.
"And your toothbrushes?" she continued, as both children nodded patiently.
"Dad said we shouldn't take them. He said they take up space and one day without brushing our teeth wouldn't hurt us." Bronwyn remarked, clearly unconvinced by her own words.
Emily narrowed her eyes in annoyance.
"Who has nicer teeth - me or Dad?" she asked, giving the children an inquiring look.
"You." they answered almost in unison.
She nodded, satisfied.
"Exactly. And I’m telling you to take your toothbrushes and brush your teeth properly tonight. The choice is yours."
Then, with a hint of more smug satisfaction, she watched as the children packed their toothbrushes into their backpacks.
A minute later, her phone, which was sitting on the counter, rang.
It was Frank, calling to say he was already waiting outside the house.
She did one last quick check to make sure the children had everything.
"Sunscreen?" the thought suddenly struck her just as they were standing in the doorway.
Both children’s eyes widened.
"I forgot it." Roark admitted.
Emily hurried back into the house and returned with a bottle of sunscreen.
"Here. Put some on."
Frank, waiting and leaning against the car, snorted.
"Surely that won't be necessary. A little sun never hurt anyone."
Bronwyn wore the same skeptical expression she’d had earlier regarding the toothbrushes.
"Remember how badly you got sunburned last summer?" she murmured. "You were red all over."
"I mean, Mom has a lot better skin than you, Dad. I think I’ll put some sunscreen on." Roark added a moment later with a childlike innocence that even Frank couldn't be angry at.
Emily nearly burst out laughing.
She managed to stifle it just long enough to say goodbye and close the door.
After a moment, she took a breath, deciding that such gloating was beneath her, and headed back to the kitchen.
She considered ordering breakfast, as she didn't feel like cooking today and she was just browsing for a restaurant on her phone when she remembered a colleague mentioning a nearby bistro a few days earlier. A place that supposedly served the best cappuccino in town.
And even though Emily has never drunk her coffee any way other than pitch black, without a drop of milk or sugar, she figured she could at least test the quality of their other offerings.
So, she decided to sacrifice a lazy morning in bed for a good breakfast and hurriedly got dressed.
She didn't put any special effort into her outfit, yet she didn't neglect the touch of elegance and grooming without which she would never have left the house.
Before leaving, she grabbed the nearest handbag, shoes, and sunglasses, then stepped out into the crisp morning air.
It was unusually early for a Saturday, the streets still empty, and the chill more noticeable than was typical for this time of early autumn during the day.
She pulled her rather thin coat tighter around herself and quickened her pace, checking the bistro's location on Google Maps.
The screen showed a distance of just three hundred meters.
So she kept going until she reached its pale pink door and turned the handle.
The bistro was open, just as the internet had said, and the air inside smelled of fresh coffee and pastries.
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then offered a quiet greeting to the staff.
She sat down at a corner table, as there were no other customers yet.
Clearly, they didn't have crazy ex-husbands forcing them to get up at six in the morning on weekends.
At least she had a whole free day ahead of her now, with no rush or stress.
Her work computer had stayed on the desk in her office.
Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to resist checking her email and then spending six hours dealing with matters that could easily wait two days.
She draped her coat over the back of the chair and settled in, waiting for the young woman in the apron to bring the breakfast menu.
When the waitress appeared at the table, she looked cheerful. Almost suspiciously, for someone having to work so early on Saturday.
"Good morning." she said with a professional smile. "Since you're our first customer of the day, we would like to offer our specialty: a caramel cappuccino with whipped cream. Completely free. We offer it every day to the first person to arrive."
For a moment, Emily wished she’d brought along someone who would actually want such a sickeningly sweet-sounding drink.
"I'll have an espresso, but thank you." she replied.
"Sure thing. If you change your mind at any point, the offer stands." the girl said with a wink.
"Anything to eat?"
"The avocado bagel, please." she decided, scanning the menu items. After a moment's hesitation, she gave a soft sigh. "And the cinnamon roll, too. A small one, if possible."
The waitress smiled broadly.
"It just came out of the oven. Let me tell you, it's amazing." she called out over her shoulder, hurrying to pass the order to the kitchen.
Emily would have liked to say she immediately regretted ordering the sweet treat, but the aroma was just too tempting.
Still better than having a caramel cappuccino with whipped cream and like a thousand calories.
Empty calories were a thing. But there were important differences among them.
She unlocked her phone, quickly scanning the morning news headlines before closing them again, realizing she had absolutely no desire to spoil this morning with politics.
Instead, she looked out the window at the small garden area, where two tables with chairs stood. Spots that, on a warmer morning, would have been ideal for brunch.
Beside them, a flowerbed held colorful, exotic blooms that looked slightly dangerous.
And somewhere beyond that, the noisy city hummed, slowly waking to life.
Just as her coffee arrived and she was told her bagel would be ready in a minute, the bistro door opened.
Two giggling figures slipped inside, leaning against each other.
She raised an eyebrow, determined not to let them disturb her enjoyment of the otherwise peaceful start to the day.
Then, however, she caught the flash of teeth in a familiar smile.
It seemed the other person had spotted her at that exact same moment.
"Emily!"
Andrea looked surprised but pleased, immediately heading her way.
"Good to see you again. Though you’re here surprisingly early, I have to say."
Emily gave the journalist a casual look.
She was dressed in an elegant turtleneck today, accented with gold accessories and simple jeans.
An outfit that was just right for breakfast at a nice, but not overly fancy, bistro.
"Frank has evidently turned into an athlete." she remarked dryly, giving a slight nod of greeting. "He’s taking the kids hiking. I can only pray they come back safe and unharmed."
Andy gave he understanding look.
Then she turned her gaze toward the man standing a few steps behind her.
"We are heading to the museum for an early tour today. Apparently, it is on Saturday at nine in the morning, right when it opens, the quietest in the whole week. Peter swears by it."
Oh, right.
Peter.
The Australian guy with the good-natured smile and the warm look in his eyes.
The one Emily felt a deep, inexplicable aversion to.
"Emily, hi. We’ve met before." Peter said, smiling one of those kindly smiles of his as he held out his hand.
Unlike the ease and charm Andy usually radiated with that same kind of expression, his smile, in Emily’s opinion, looked a bit foolish.
Still, she briefly shook the offered hand.
"Are you waiting for someone?" Andy asked warmly, striking up a conversation with her usual ease.
"Not really. I was hoping to enjoy a quiet morning."
It came out sounding much worse than she had intended, but she was too proud to try and walk back her statement.
Andy’s expression fell slightly.
„Oh, right. We won´t disturb you. Enjoy your quiet morning."
Then she gestured to Peter, indicating a table further away at the other end of the room, giving the redhead just small smile before turning.
Emily wasn't sure whether that pleased or annoyed her.
She gave a slight nod, watching the brunette sit down opposite her boyfriend, then quickly shifted her attention as an avocado bagel and the pastery was placed in front of her.
The next twenty minutes passed quietly.
She ate her breakfast and drank her coffee in silence, with the low murmur of Andy and Peter’s voices barely audible in the background.
During those few minutes, three more customers arrived, all equally quiet, maintaining the atmosphere of a slow morning.
Emily decided there was no point in staying any longer if she wanted to visit a few shops before her manicure.
So, at eight o'clock sharp, she rose from her seat and asked for the bill.
"I'll be right back." the waitress promised, hurrying off to take drinks to Andy’s table.
Emily raised her eyebrows slightly as she watched the waitress place cups of black tea with honey in front of both Peter and Andy.
If she remembered correctly, Andrea Sachs drank nothing but coffee for breakfast.
She didn't know exactly where she’d picked up that detail over the last twenty years, but she was certain of it.
Her suspicion was confirmed by the slight, disapproving pursing of the journalist’s lips as she glanced at the drink in front of her.
Peter ordered it, the redhead assessed the situation precisely. And he chose poorly. Minus points.
She didn't know why that realization pleased her so much.
"O-key," said the waitress appearing in front of het, hurriedly tallying up the bill.
"One espresso, a bagel, and a cinnamon roll. That’ll be 18 dollars."
Emily paid, leaving a generous tip (for the atmosphere) and said a quiet bye.
She was just about to leave when something made her stop.
"That free caramel cappuccino," she said, prompting the waitress to look up.
The girl smiled.
"Do you want it to go?"
Emily shook her head slightly.
"Could you give it to that woman at the table next to the door? The tall one with brown hair. "
The girl followed her gaze.
"I was thinking the same thing. She looks definitelly more like a coffee girl.'" she murmured.
"She is." Emily replied before she could stop herself. "The fact that her boyfriend doesn't know, speaks volumes about her terrible taste in men."
The waitress burst out laughing, immediately calling instructions back to the kitchen.
"Wait. We have to see the look on her face." She whispered to Emily conspiratorially. The redhead, for once, not minding the friendly interaction.
She turned slightly to the side, keeping a surreptitious eye on the table.
A moment later, the waitress picked up the cappuccino, winked at Emily one last time, and headed toward Andy.
At first, there was a moment of mild confusion at the table: Andrea opened her mouth to say she hadn't ordered a cappuccino, while Peter quickly added that it didn't matter and he’d been meaning to order one anyway.
Bravo. Even he had realized his mistake and tried to fix it.
Too bad Emily had beaten him to it.
The waitress said something to the couple and pointed at Emily, who looked away just then, pretending she was still waiting for the bill.
She turned back just in time, however, to catch the soft, knowing smile on the journalist’s face and Peter’s raised eyebrow.
That sight really shouldn't have been as satisfying as it was.
Andy said something to the waitress, who, looking clearly surprised, handed her a pen from her apron pocket.
The brunette took a napkin from the holder on the table, wrote something on it, and handed it to the girl.
When she returned to the register, back to Emily, an excited smile played on her lips. It was a bigger smile than a routine customer interaction would warrant.
"She sent this to you." she announced, handing Emily a napkin folded so the message inside was hidden.
When she realized the redhead didn't intend to unfold it right then and there, she sighed.
"I'm a fan of yours." she whispered as quietly as possible. "That guy doesn't stand a chance."
Emily’s eyebrows shot up.
"What did you say?"
"That you’re a better match for her." the girl said, looking completely innocent.
"Oh, I..." Emily frowned. "I’m not competing for her. That’s ridiculous."
The waitress winked knowingly.
"Of course not. Have a nice day."
"Likewise." Emily snorted slightly, recognizing the type of person who forms an opinion on a situation and whom nothing in the world could sway to change it.
As she walked out the door, she glanced back at Andy’s table briedly.
The brunette was already watching her, an inscrutable expression on her face.
When their eyes met, she silently mouthed: "Thank you," and offered her usual smile.
Emily didn't reply, slipping quietly out the door, stubbornly tucking the napkin with the note into her coat pocket, determined not to look at it…
The morning dragged on, and the napkin seemed to burn a hole in her pocket the entire time.
Sometime during her lunch break - while sitting contentedly on the couch eating the pasta she’d ordered (she would never let herself be caught eating that much of carbs in public) - she finally gave in, using fingers with a fresh manicure (which, in her opinion, looked more than acceptable), to unfolded the napkin.
The note was brief, written in a hurried yet neat, elongated script. Handwriting she recognized from the millions of notes she and Andy had exchanged twenty years ago in the office. Usually just messages left by callers.
One time, Andy handed Emily a scrap of paper with the words: "After-work drink?" and the redhead just stared at it in disbelief for about two seconds before crumpling up the note and tossing it away.
In return, the next day she left a similar note on Andy’s desk: "Blue suits you, but for God’s sake, never pair it with that hideous green again."
"Friday, seven o'clock, a restaurant downtown?" it read this time. Almost twenty-one years later.
Emily rolled her eyes.
How childish. Like something out of elementary school.
So why had she kept the napkin instead of tossing it out the moment she’d so harshly dismissed it?
She had no idea. But if she tossed it away, she almost certainly wouldn't have noticed - at nine o'clock that evening, with a glass of wine in hand and an inexplicable urge to read the note again - the small, additional remark in the corner that she’d missed before.
"The sunglasses look good on you." it said.