He opened his arms and she went to him, squeezing him because he felt good. Like a warm blanket you pull out of the closet on the first night of fall that feels perfectly cozy.
His hug enveloped her, and he squeezed her tight. She squeezed back, laughing a little, before she leaned away and ushered him in.
He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook as he looked around. “This is so not how I imagined your place. You used to hate clutter.”
“Still do,” she said. “I’m in between homes. This is my boss’s place, but she’s letting me stay in the guest room while she’s out of the country with a new boy toy.”
“Well, the view’s great, even if the rest of the place looks like a Versailles replica,” Joel said, strolling toward the window to take in the evening view.
“Right? Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Whiskey?”
Joel had never been a wine guy.
“Scotch? Neat. If you have it.”
“I do.” Well, Camille had it. But Camille had said to help herself. Hopefully the Scotch wasn’t ridiculously expensive. But, hey, even if it was . . . this could be counted as a work expense. Sort of.
“So, Ems, a story on ex-boyfriends?” he said, smiling his thanks as she handed him the glass. “That doesn’t seem like you.”
“Does it seem like anyone?” she asked, pouring a glass of iced tea for herself. “I’ll confess, it’s not exactly my idea of a good time, but it’s part of the job.”
“Right. Stiletto, huh? That’s what you said in your email? When we were together you were still at the fashion one—”
“Runway,” she said, picking up her notebook off the counter and moving to the living room.
“Right.”
“And you?” she said. “Still at the same firm?”
“Yup. Angling toward partner in the next couple years if I play my cards right.”
“Congrats,” she said, meaning it. Joel didn’t need to work. His family was richer than sin. But he’d loved his job as a corporate law attorney.
He sat across from her, dwarfing the chair in a way none of the other men had, and leaned forward, glass between his big hands, studying her intently. Curiously.
“You look exactly the same,” he said, sounding slightly awed.
She laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I assure you, we women like to hear it.”
“I’m serious!” he said. “Ever since I got your email I’ve been wondering how you’d changed. If you changed. But you’re still the exact same woman I remember.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that, seeing how we ended.”
His smile didn’t fade, but it did soften a bit. “Well . . . let’s just say one really shitty night doesn’t erase a bunch of great ones.”
Emma swallowed a lump in her throat. This was going to be hard.
She looked down at her notebook. “Okay, so . . . I’ve been asking all the guys—”
“All of them?”
She glanced up warily, but he merely gave her a playful wink and settled back in his chairs. “Sorry, go ahead. You’ve been asking all of us . . .”
Emma smiled. “The same three questions. Answer as honestly as you can. I promise not to put your name in it.”
“Yeah, but you promise not to cry?”
Her mouth opened, and he laughed at her expression. “Kidding. I’ve got no intention of being cruel, and even if I did, I cannot imagine Emma Sinclair shedding a tear.”