Chapter Text
Emma pours herself another glass of white wine, her fourth glass of the night. Alex knows he should stop her after this glass, as she’s already tipsy and over-sharing. But she’s curled up against his chest, her body warm and she smells like flowers—he doesn’t know what kind of flowers, because he’s a guy and can only identify roses as flowers that smell good—and she’s talking about every date she’s ever been on. It is, at the very least, enlightening.
His girlfriend, who he’s known for what feels like his entire life, continues to surprise him. Despite her seeming openness and predilection for talking, she can be rather coy about her own true feelings and thoughts. But get a little wine in her and she’ll tell you everything.
“Did I ever tell you about Dan?” she asks, glancing back at him.
Alex thinks a moment. “No, what about him?”
Emma drinks her wine, her other hand gesturing at what Alex can only assume is the thought of Dan. “He took me to that nice Italian restaurant for lunch, oh what is it called—”
“Olive Garden?”
She elbows him before continuing. “Whatever, you know what I mean. And I get all dressed up—dress, kitten heels, the works, I even wear Spanx for this guy—and he comes to the restaurant wearing shorts and guess what else he does."
Emma drains the last of her wine. Alex plucks the glass from her hand, setting it on the coffee table. “What, did he have three arms? A huge binder full of Magic the Gathering cards?”
Emma turns around, her face inches from his. “No,” she says, totally serious. “Worse. He wore socks with sandals.” Her brow is contracted, her eyes narrowed, her voice deep, as if she’s telling him Dan with his socks and sandals was actually a serial killer.
Alex can’t help it. He bursts out laughing. “Seriously? That was his worst crime?” When Emma looks like she’s about to leave his lap, he adds, “Okay, so what did you do?”
Emma rolls her eyes. “What do you think? I left.”
“What, no, you left?” Alex stares at her. She’s serious. “That seems kind of harsh, Emma."
Emma turns back around and begins to play with her hair. He knows she does this when she’s uncomfortable, usually with something she’s done that he disapproves of. “It was a sign that he didn’t care about what I thought or wanted. So what was the point of continuing?” She waves a hand. “He was wasting my time.”
Alex grimaces a little, glad she’s turned back around and can’t see him. His girlfriend—smart, funny, beautiful—can also be a total snob. He knows this. He usually can laugh her out of her snobbery and show her how illogical she’s being, but sometimes he worries that she’ll turn that snobbery on him someday. That she’ll see him wearing socks with sandals—metaphorically speaking—and leave, deciding he’s wasting her time.
He feels a little sad now. But Emma is still talking, describing her next date after that with Carl the fashion show director, and he just inhales the smell of her hair and listens to her chatter, enjoying her warmth and that, at least for now, she doesn’t think he’s wasting her time.
***
It’s after two weeks of dating Emma that Alex realizes they’ve never been on a real date. He’s staring at a spreadsheet at 3:39 PM on a Tuesday and suddenly it hits him. Emma has been on dates with Dan of the socks-with-sandals and Carl of the more-fashionable-even-than-Emma but not with him.
But they’ve known each other for…well, forever. Dates are for people who need to get to know each other. Alex knows pretty much everything about Emma.
He then remembers Dan and his socks. Well, maybe not everything.
But he knows she collected every Dooney and Bourke bag in high school and that she takes an average of 2.5 hours to get ready in the morning (they carpooled off and on for years), she went vegan for a month before binging on pizza one night—Emma always has a project she will do, but often doesn’t follow through on—she picks at her nail polish but always says it chips, the list is endless. And within the last two weeks he’s learned that she mumbles in her sleep and stretches like a cat moments before fully awake, her body lean and beautiful and he makes a point to watch her stretch every morning.
But he’s never been on a date with her. He wants, suddenly, to go on a date with her. He wants her to dress up for him, to wear her heels for him, to do whatever she does with her makeup that makes her look so gorgeous he wonders for the millionth time how lucky he is for even catching her eye. Emma Woodhouse, who could have anyone she wanted, chose him.
He stands up from his desk and goes in search of her. She’s in her office, talking to Harriet on the video chat—because apparently Harriet’s desk is too far for her to walk—and he just stands and watches her. She’s wearing some lacy, purple top with skinny black jeans and her hair is in large curls down her back. He can see her picking her nail polish on her ring finger as she talks to Harriet. “Yes, be sure to call the Coles as soon as you can. Oh, and did you order the flowers?” Harriet answers yes, the hydrangeas from the florist downtown, and then the chat ends and he enters.
“Didn’t you just get a manicure?” he asks by way of greeting. She may be his girlfriend now, but he doesn’t feel compelled to stop teasing her.
Emma turns, her face brightening into a smile. She then glances down at her fingers and hides them behind her back. “This polish chips easily,” she explains, her tone attempting to be suitably haughty, but her smile undercuts her tone. “Did you need something?”
Alex really wants to kiss her but refuses to kiss her at work. Everyone knows they’re dating, but he thinks PDA at work is always inappropriate. He wishes he’d never said that he wouldn’t kiss Emma at work. If he could kick himself in the ass, he would. But he can’t break his word now. He’d never live it down.
“I was looking at that spreadsheet Maddy just sent over and thought of you.”
Emma laughs and raises her meticulously shaped eyebrows. “I’m not sure how I should take that.”
Alex rocks back on his heels. Suddenly, he’s nervous. Why should he be nervous? This is Emma. Emma Woodhouse, who followed him everywhere when they were kids, whose dance recitals he attended, who he drove to school when Izzy didn’t want to drive her kid sister anymore. “I just realized,” he begins. “We’ve never been on a date.”
Emma bounces up, standing in front of him now. “Alex Knightley! I thought you’d never ask.” She pets his chest, looking up at him from under her lashes and he knows if she asks him to get her a diamond ring from the depths of the Pacific with only a snorkel and a net he’d do it. “Where do you want to take me?” she asks. “I have a few ideas—”
He covers her hand, which is pulling on his tie, one Emma chose for him and he wears just to make her happy. “No, it’s a surprise. I’ll pick you up at 1:00 on Saturday.”
Emma pouts a little but doesn’t argue. Instead, her fingers walk their way up his tie until she grabs it below his collar, bringing him down to her. She kisses him, her lip gloss slick and tasting of strawberries.
“Emma,” he chides, although his heart isn’t in it.
“Mr. Knightley,” she replies. “You only said that you wouldn’t kiss me. You never said I couldn’t kiss you.”
Then she kisses him again and he doesn’t care if everyone in the entire city watches them.