Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

“Well, what do you know?” I mumbled as I scrolled through Pinky’s numerous texts. Really, that woman. She could have said in one sentence what it took twelve messages to deliver. Half of them were emojis and gifs. I chuckled to myself. Emma scoffed at emojis. She never understood them. In fact, she shunned technology as much as a twenty-first century woman could without joining an Amish commune. I’d talked her into online video games a few years ago, and she had her mobile. Other than that, she didn’t do much with her social media accounts except post pictures of her food. And even that was only because she was an unmitigated foodie. Every meal to her was like a birthday gift, the way her eyes would light up before digging in, the way she savoured every morsel, licking her lips as not to waste a single bit.

Blast. Now wasn’t the time for my mind to go there. I was already running on empty from the previous sleepless night. I should have passed out the minute my head hit the pillow. But who was I trying to fool? I was doomed to trudge through my workday on Monday like a zombie.

I don’t know how long I lay there. Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. Only that once I finally started to doze off, the creak of my bedroom door roused me to find Emma tiptoeing toward me. I almost thought it was a dream until I heard the coo of her sweet voice.

“My back hurts.”

Without waiting for a reply, she lifted the covers and slipped in next to me, jarring me awake. My body tensed, awareness striking every cell, every inch of my skin on alert. Emma was in my bed, wiggling herself around on the mattress, burrowing her head on the pillow. The rational part of my brain tried to remind me that my California king-sized bed was big enough for a family of five; she was so far away on the other end of the mattress, she might as well be in another zip code. But it didn’t feel so very far away to my hammering heart and racing pulse. She had to know… had to… what position she was putting me in. And yet I couldn’t turn her away. It felt so right, having her near, just sleeping. Just sharing the same air. Her back was to me, but I could still make out the profile of her soft features cast in moonlight. Long, dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, soft lips parted ever so slightly, hair cascading in waves along the pillow, a study of Venus in the flesh. I watched her adoringly for a full five minutes while she drifted into slumber, enraptured by her delicate form, feeling a mixture of longing and benevolence. It was oddly familiar and soothing, the nearness of her, so perfectly befitting. The restlessness from earlier somehow lifted and melted away, and I found myself relaxed in her presence, my breathing in concert with hers. She was my home. Before I realized my eyes had closed, the welcome heaviness of sleep overtook me.

Several hours later, I awoke to find her entwined in my arms. Her ankle tucked over mine, toes tangled in my flannels, her face buried in my chest, arm wrapped around my torso while I held her to me like a lifeline. Her skin was warm along my bare chest, her breathing even and heavy on my neck. She was cuddled into me so sweetly, easeful, and peaceful. I felt equal parts blissful and spooked. Why oh, why had I not built a barricade of pillows between us? There was no way I could get back to sleep now.

The first promise of dawn teased the stillness of the hour. Darkness held on, not quite giving in to the sunrise, but slowly fading as the first chorus of swallows welcomed the new day. Who knew how much sleep I’d gotten, but I felt restful and contented. Happy.

But I knew that with the dawn came the sobering reality of our lives. Emma wasn’t mine, and I couldn’t let her wake to find my hands on her, especially if her memory was foggy. Prying myself from her snug embrace inch by excruciating inch tore me up inside. With every nudge away from her, I was met with the coolness of morning and a mental slap in the face.

Stay. Just stay with her, cocooned in warmth and credence. She sighed and flopped onto her side, tugging the covers along with her, helping my resolve to slip out of the bedroom and ride out the rest of the night in the spare bedroom. I smiled at that. So that’s how it would be. She was a cover hog.

She was also a sound sleeper, not even so much as stirring when the floorboards creaked under my weight or at the high squeal of the door hinges. I took one last peek to be sure she was still sleeping before shutting her in, the little bed thief she was. But she was unfazed, snoring softly in dreamland with a slight curl to her lips. And I hoped against hope she was dreaming of me.

17

Elephant In The Room

Emma

I remembered there was mist… but instead of a boat, my dark knight brought me to his lair in a Tesla. The details of how I arrived were spotty at best, but I had vague moments of lucidity in which he swept me into his arms and carried me to safety. I also knew where I was with succinct clarity. I’d felt alone in that cold spare bedroom and had climbed under Jaxson’s warm covers and easily fell asleep, enveloped in his scent.

As I padded around the sunlit bungalow in search of him, I found him outside, hosing the residue of my vomit from his car. Unfortunately, the memory of how it got there didn’t elude