She scanned the list of bold subject lines with a sigh. She deleted many without reading them, filed others into the appropriate action folders, and typed short and to the point responses to the questions being asked of her internally. The last e-mail snagged her undivided attention, however, and when she read it, the world slowed down for her as if on cue.

Dear Ms. Owen,

Attached is the company profile you requested. Immaculate Home would very much like to take you up on your offer and put out a press release about our (fingers crossed) expansion. Just as soon as I get the go-ahead from management, I’d like to discuss the details of the release with you.

Best Regards,

Sarah Matamoros

Emory stared at the screen, her thoughts now free of the work chaos and stress she’d felt just moments earlier. Instead, they were right back in the entryway of her mother’s house where she’d last seen Sarah. Correction, kissed Sarah. Sarah, whose enjoyment in the simplest of things was so utterly disarming. Sarah, who saw past all of Emory’s bullshit bravado to just…her. Sarah, who had the most kissable lips she’d ever encountered.

This was dangerous territory. She was attracted to Sarah. Of course she was, but it wouldn’t be wise to let anything come of that attraction. Sarah was warm, wholesome, and sweet—pretty much everything she wasn’t. Anything further would just be a bad idea.

But she had to admit that she was proud of Sarah for following through and taking the much-needed step forward, despite the boundaries she’d stepped over the last time she’d seen her. Emory was confident she could get that little company some attention, maybe even a feature story in some of the smaller papers. She would handle this client personally. She owed her one.

*

It was after nine p.m. and Sarah settled onto the sofa, exhausted and content from a day at the zoo with Grace. It was the end of their week together, and Sarah would be going back to work at Immaculate Home the following Monday. She’d just tucked Grace into bed, and it wasn’t five minutes before she heard the rhythmic, even breathing indicating she was already fast asleep. She gave Grace one last look as she lay in the glow of her Harry Potter nightlight. As it should be, she thought, smiling to herself as she made her way to the living room.

The week had been an active one, and Sarah sent a silent thank-you to the heavens for Grace’s continued good health. They’d only had to cut the day short once, and Sarah had been proud of Grace for speaking up about her fatigue. It had been eight weeks since the initial diagnosis, and Sarah was finally starting to trust Grace and the doctors. With careful attention, things were going to be okay. They really were.

She grabbed the remote from her coffee table and set out to find a decent movie on TV to veg out to. She was jazzed to run into one of her favorite movies of all time, You’ve Got Mail. She snuggled up on the couch, eager to settle in to all the film’s goodness. But the activity of the day had definitely taken its toll, as twenty minutes later, her eyelids felt like they were weighted down with tiny sandbags and she struggled to keep them open. Just as she gave up the fight, surrendering to the onslaught of slumber, a distinct buzzing sound awakened her from across the room.

“Damn it, Carmen,” she muttered irritably as she crossed the room, searching through the overflowing bag for her stupid phone. “This better be good.” She glanced down at the phone’s readout, blinking several time to find her focus.

“Taken the plunge and talked to the boss yet?” the text message read.

What was she talking about—the boss? She carried the phone back with her to the sofa, racking her brain for understanding. It was as she began to type back her confused and somewhat annoyed response that the sender’s name snagged her attention. Emory Owen. She stood and walked the length of her small living room, immediately awake. Her heart rate accelerated at the thought of talking to Emory again, and she was grinning at the phone as she typed.

“Not yet. On my to-do list for tomorrow. Any advice?” She sat down again, waiting for Emory’s response, but then changed her mind and went back to walking.

“Go in courageous and with lots of numbers. Hard to argue with evidence.”

“Numbers I have. Courage I’m gathering.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

Sarah smiled as she typed. “Thanks for the confidence booster.”

“Not a big deal. It’s true.”

She hadn’t seen or talked to Emory since the Afternoon of Sexy Kissing. But she was feeling bold and decided to shift the conversation a little and ask what she really wanted to know. “So how have you been?” It took several minutes for Emory to answer this time, making Sarah wonder if she should have left it with a polite good night and thanked her again for the well-wishing. The text that arrived, however, stopped her in her tracks and tightened her stomach muscles reflexively.

“Mostly good. Busy. Miss seeing you.”

She grinned. “I miss seeing you too.”

“How’s the little one?”

“Feisty. But at the moment, sleeping.” In between text messages, Sarah moved about the room, examining random objects and straightening things as if this were somehow the perfect time to clean up a bit. She shook her head at the nerves that tickled her skin. This is just Emory, who you’ve talked to many, many times. Quit being a moron. Get it together.

“Oh. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

She decided to be a hardcore liar. “Nope, I was awake. What are you up to tonight?”

“At the office. Contract language review. Beyond boring.” Sarah was surprised. She’d pictured Emory at home for the night, settled in, much the way she was. Geez, it was well past ten o’clock.

“Is it possible you work too much?”

“I’ve heard that before, yes. You?”

“Sofa. Blanket. TV.”

“Jealous. Wish I were there instead.”

“Me too.” Sarah smiled at the idea, enjoying the exchange more than she was willing to admit.

There was another lengthy pause before the next text message came in. “Should we maybe talk about it…?”

There it was. Those three little dots that stood for so much more. She frowned as she pondered how to handle the situation, grateful for the fact that she had time to think before responding. Thank the beautiful universe for the gift of text messaging.

If she wanted to sidestep what could be a complicated situation, this was her opportunity. She could downplay the amazing kissing another woman thing, act like it was no big deal. Happens every day. Safety is your friend, she reminded herself and began to type a conservative albeit cowardly response. After all, this was maybe not something she was ready to deal with.

But her fingers stilled mid stroke.

Nope.

She just couldn’t let go of this new, other side of herself. It was scary as hell, and she wasn’t sure at all what she was doing or even if she should be doing it, but she had to find out about these feelings that had so boldly interjected themselves into her life. Was that such a horrible thing? Checking out what was behind door number two? She made her decision and hit the backspace, reconstructing her message.

Deep breath. “I was hoping we could.”

“Feel like I maybe crossed a line that day. Misinterpreted things. If I did, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” She hit the send button and waited for her phone to vibrate back at her, her heart pounding in her chest at the direction the conversation was heading. She knew she was pushing the envelope, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Minutes passed without any response from Emory, and that wasn’t a good sign. It was possible she’d made the wrong choice, and now things would be forever awkward between them. The beginnings of regret rippled through her.