Read Online By Design by Jayne Denker - Free Book Online Page A

staying out of the way of her pitching arm. He might have had a faint smile on his face, but he was all business.
    Trish was less cautious. She stepped in front of Emmie, grasped her by the shoulders, and said, “Emmie, honey— stop. ”
    Emmie stopped. As she stared at Trish and sniffled, stunned, Kyle straightened up, brushed himself off, and glared at her. “What the hell , Emmaline!”
    “I said don’t call me that!” Emmie lunged for the last of the shot glasses, but Trish held her back.
    Over her shoulder, Trish snapped, “Shut it, Kyle, or I’ll let her loose so she can go apeshit on you again.”
    Carl also spoke up. “Kyle, move it, you hear me? Go over there”—he indicated the bar—“and I’ll get you a beer.” To Emmie, he said, “Honey, you got every right to be upset. But you can’t trash my bar. And you can’t beat up my customers—at least not in here, okay?” he murmured with a wink. “I think it’s about time Trish took you home.”
    The commanding presence of the mountain-sized man before her got through to Emmie, and she visibly wilted. Trish put a comforting arm around her. Carl fetched their coats and handed them to Trish, who draped them over her free arm and guided Emmie toward the exit.
    Trish almost got Emmie out the door without further incident, but at the last moment, Emmie glanced over her shoulder at Kyle. The idiot had the audacity—and the stupidity—to raise his beer in a toast to her.
    With a last burst of energy, Emmie spun away from Trish, swept up the plastic bin of lime wedges, and flung it at him, a hailstorm of green and seeds and bitter juice. Only then did she walk out sedately, as dignified as she could wobble, and she allowed the tears to well up only when she was safely belted into the passenger seat of Trish’s minivan.
    Once they were on the road, Trish said simply, “It’ll be better tomorrow. I promise.”
    Emmie nodded and snurfled a little.
    “You okay?”
    Emmie whispered something toward the window.
    “What was that, sweetie?”
    “He had it coming.”
     
    “Trish, dammit! Where the hell are you?” Emmie hissed into her cell phone.
    Emmie had summoned up enough courage to get herself back to Juliet’s for the rescheduled cookie party. She had to, after Juliet sent her a Circle-O message late Saturday, expressing concern about Emmie’s wackadoodle performance at her house that afternoon. Of course, Juliet had put it in much nicer terms. She asked if “everything was okay” and said she was “kind of surprised” when Emmie “left so suddenly.” She even added a thoughtful PS: “I put your cookies in the freezer to keep them fresh and will defrost them in time for the party. Hope to see you there!”
    So Emmie had girded herself and entered the Hallowed Halls of Winslow a second time. Juliet, gracious as always, had acted delighted, not put out, when Emmie told her that she had asked Trish to come along. Then she had confiscated Emmie’s jacket and purse and hidden them somewhere upstairs, making her a party prisoner for the rest of the evening.
    Emmie glanced around furtively for the first few minutes, on the lookout for Graham, but she didn’t see him. Maybe he had made himself scarce, and who could blame him, with a house full of women talking baked goods? Emmie was relieved that he wasn’t there, but a little disappointed as well. She tried desperately to ignore that last feeling. Inappropriate, she reminded herself.
    She waded into a crowd of vaguely familiar-looking women who were squealing whenever they recognized one another. All she had to do was socialize with people she hadn’t seen—and hadn’t missed—in years. Luckily, she’d have Trish alongside her. Right?
    But when Trish didn’t show right away, Emmie retreated to the powder room to rail at her missing friend with some degree of privacy. She got voice mail, but that wasn’t going to stop her from freaking out if she wanted to freak out.
    “The place is