chapter 2- hurricane emma (part 3)

“What’s that supposed to..” Paul began to ask, as he sensed Emma was throwing a little shade his way.

“Where’d you two meet again?” Emma blurted between big bites, as she mercilessly cut him off.

“At a bar I used to work at on University avenue.” Paul answered honestly, as he tried to keep up with this odd conversation.

“Oh right, you were that ‘hot bartender’ she told me about.” Emma said with a smile and punctuated with a suggestive wink.

“She said that?” Paul muttered a little surprised.

“I’m paraphrasing.” Emma shrugged, as she managed another big bite of Claire’s breakfast. With her cheeks full of food again, she proudly admitted, “I added the ‘hot’ part.”

“Oh, umm.. Thanks?” Paul hesitated, as he felt an odd sensation. Was Emma flirting with him? It kinda felt like it. Maybe his face gave his concern away, because once Emma swallowed her food, her volume blasted loud again.

“Gees Paul! Don’t look so flustered! I’m just busting your chops! Can’t you take a joke?” Emma teased, as Paul wasn’t sure he got the joke.

“Haha, good one.” Paul laughed anyway.

“I know.” Emma smiled, as she picked up her breakfast sandwich to continue munching and talking, “So, Claire-bear told me you’re turning twenty-six in October?”

“Yeah, on the 18th.” Paul nodded, while he began to feel a little transfixed on the way Emma was eating. He loved watching Claire eat because of how slow and methodical she was, but Emma’s approach to eating was.. blitzkrieg!

“So, you’re twenty-five? And Claire-bear is what? 21 now?” Emma mumbled, as she continued working through what remained of the massive omelet sandwich.

“Yeah?” Paul nodded trying to figure out where Emma was going with this.

“Quite an age difference there don’t ya think?” Emma pointed out in a concerned, yet playful sort of way.

“It’s only like, a four-year difference.” Paul calmly defended himself. Maybe she didn’t like him, or maybe she was trying to get a rise out of him. Either way, she was making him feel a bit uncomfortable.

“Four and a half, but who’s counting? Age is just a number, right?” Emma appeared to joke, as she hungrily stuffed what little remained of the bagel and omelet between her lips.

“Right.” Paul gulped. He couldn’t believe she’d eaten that whole thing.

“So, tell me Paul. What bar you work’in at now?” Emma mumbled, as she joyfully picked up one of the chocolate donuts Paul had placed on Claire’s plate and began stuffing it into her mouth. She got about a fourth of the donut into her mouth before she bit it off and chewed the large morsel she’d taken. Paul tried to hide his growing interest in her gluttony and keep his mind on their conversation as best he could.

“Actually I’m not a bartender anymore. I’m a.. freelance artist at the moment.” Paul reluctantly admitted.

“At the moment?” Emma raised an eyebrow, as she munched away at the scrumptious donut.

“Still trying to figure out if living off my art is a viable career option.” Paul self-consciously explained.

“Let me save you some trouble, it’s not haha!” Emma burst, as she bellowed out a genuine belly laugh.

“It’s what makes me happy.” Paul justified, as Emma got herself under control once she recognized she might have upset him.

“You know what? I’m sorry for laughing. I can respect that.” Emma sincerely expressed, as her tone turned to what Paul considered serious for the first time. Letting out a knowing sigh, Emma revealed, “I made a ton of money in accounting since college, but if I’m being honest. I fucking hated that desk job. So many stupid rules. It was always the same shit day in and day out. Quitting that hell-hole has been the one good thing that’s come out of my fiancé being a two-timing cheating son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry you’ve..” Paul began to try and comfort Emma now that he sensed an air of vulnerability to her.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not.” Emma stopped him, as her voice regained its former strength and confidence, “It’s batshit insane how happy I am right now. That omelet was banging! And this donut is fucking heaven! You sure you aren’t a chef?”

“Cooking’s a hobby.” Paul smiled, as it felt good knowing she appreciated the meal he’d spared no expense in preparing.

“Amen to that. That’s a quality I look for in a roomie.” Emma happily said with a wink. This time, as Paul watched Emma’s antics, he didn’t feel so uncomfortable.

“I mean we are not gonna be roommates. You’ll have the front bedroom all to yourself. Wanna see it?” Paul offered kindly.

“After breakfast. I’m in no rush.” Emma shrugged her shoulders, as she tilted her head and wondered, “So, how much you expecting to make a year being a freelance artist?”

“Umm.. I don’t know. 15 or 16 grand? I’m just starting out so it will be a little low for a while.” Paul frankly admitted.

“Wow, so dating a cute little ivy league prospect is a real good investment for you long term.” Emma voiced with a suspicious look toward Paul, as she put the last bite of her first donut into her mouth and blissfully savored the chocolate taste.

“Claire’s not an investment. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Paul honesty countered Emma’s accusation.

“You’re a sweet talker. You know that?” Emma chirped, as she licked her chocolaty fingers clean.

“It’s the truth.” Paul insisted, as he watched the way Emma’s tongue greedily wrapped around her fingers to ensure every possible scrap of chocolate was consumed.

“I believe you. I can see why Claire likes you so much. She’s a sweet little angel, isn’t she?” Emma sweetly admitted, as she sent Paul an angel-face to mimic Claire.

“She is.” Paul nodded, as he felt quite skeptical of Emma’s expression.

“I’m just letting you know up front..” Emma began to declare, while her voice growled into a more protective tone, “that I’m not. You better not do anything to hurt her while you’re living with me or you’ll regret it. Understand?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Paul assured her, “I love her.”

“Good answer.” Emma barked, as she reached over to the table, grabbed Claire’s glass of milk and took a drink only to hurriedly turn toward the sink and loudly spits it all up, “*Psstthh!* Fuck! What is this skim milk?!”

“Yeah, Claire doesn’t like whole-milk.” Paul responded, as he tried to conceal his perplexed expression. He couldn’t believe Emma’s messy behavior, but what was stranger to him was that he was kind of enamored by it.

“Well, do you have any REAL milk? I’m dying of thirst.” Emma groaned impatiently, as she literally tapped her foot.