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Chapter Fourteen
Emma cruised down the freeway, the stiff shocks of her Honda jouncing her with each rut and ripple in the road. She didn't care. Nor did she care about the red Porsche that seemed to find her car a direct challenge to its manhood, passing her with deliberate, finger-flipping speed.
She was lost in the memories of the night with Russ. Again she felt his hands on her i
Her i
Even better had been the wash of relief that had flooded through her, as if she had set down an immense burden. No more holding back, no more putting her own desires secondary, no more keeping her wishes secret from him, as if asking him to touch her here or there was too big a demand. She had opened herself completely to him. She had surrendered to her own desires, confessing wishes she hadn't even known she had.
And it was glorious.
Euphoria shimmered through her body, the whole world golden and filled with possibility this morning. Her mind floated free, random images of Russ and the landscape around her filling her head.
As if from a source beyond herself, an image began to form in her mind, composed of the streaming sunlight and tall dark firs around her. Planes and angles appeared, mimicking where sky met water and water met the upward thrust of a rocky, fir-covered island. Graceful curves swirled through it, like the cupped sail of a boat, the beat of a bird's wing. They became ramps easy to drive upon, easy to walk upon. And at the bottom edge of this growing vision were the multiple hatched lines of sandpiper tracks on the sand, becoming train tracks cutting through the station.
Excitement coursed through her and she traced over the building that was forming shape in her mind, solidifying it in her memory, adding details to cement it into place. She captured it wall by ramp by window, ensuring that it would still be with her later.
This was it! This was finally it! A vision of pure imagination that would be the train station she would want to visit, that she would want to welcome people to her city, that would be her vision of Seattle and the region.
It would unquestionably be too expensive to build; probably impossible from a structural standpoint. It was completely impractical.
And she didn't care. It was what she wanted. She, Emma Mayson.
Ahead, the Porsche had zipped into the right-hand lane and been trapped behind a semitruck, a poky RV on its left locking it in fume-sucking position. Coming up behind the RV, Emma moved into the passing lane to get by. As she moved past the RV, a space opened up between the RV and the semi and the Porsche shot in front of the RV with barely a foot to spare, causing the RV to rock on its shocks as the driver overreacted in surprise.
What type of asshole was driving that penis car?
The red Porsche gave a single flash of the turn signal and pulled forward, barely enough to get ahead of Emma. The jerkwad was going to cut her off!
Before she knew it, Emma's hand found the red button to the nitrous system of the street-racing Honda and her rebellious thumb hit the button. A moment later she was on the space shuttle, rocketing forward in a roaring burst of speed that knocked her head back against the headrest. Her wild scream of glee echoed in her head, drowning out the motor.
The Porsche disappeared in her rearview mirror, and she screamed all the way to her exit, a mile later. She drifted up the exit ramp to the light, the car now surprisingly docile in her control, as if it finally understood who was boss. A cool flush of receding adrenaline loosened her muscles.
She was still sitting in dreamy contentment at the light when something red moved up beside her. She turned her head and saw the Porsche in the lane on her left, waiting to go the opposite direction. Still buoyed by confidence, Emma rolled down her tinted window, letting the bastard who was driving see the girl who'd just whupped his ass.
As her window lowered, the driver of the penis car lowered his. With a smirk of satisfaction, Emma looked into the Porsche.
And saw a ponytailed blonde, not much older than her, who was looking at Emma with the same surprised embarrassment that Emma felt. They were women, behaving like asshole guys. In unison they turned away from each other, windows going back up to hide their shame.
Emma looked up at the light and willed it to turn green, fingers clenched on the steering wheel. When it finally did, the Honda and Porsche made their turns with ladylike decorum and headed off in opposite directions, well under the speed limit.
Chapter Fifteen
How many cloves of garlic?" Russ asked. "Three."
"They're worse to peel than onions. The skins keep sticking to my fingers." He held up hands covered in white shreds.
Emma laughed and took the clove from him. "I'll show you a trick." They'd started cooking together a month ago, after her creative breakthrough about the train station. She'd had only two weeks to put her idea on a foam poster board before the deadline. When Russ had seen how frantically she was working to get it done, he'd volunteered to do the cooking.
One awful meal was enough to persuade Emma that a better solution was to e-mail him a grocery list; then, when he arrived at the apartment with the food, to prepare the meal with him as her sous-chef. It would have been simpler to buy takeout, but she enjoyed working side by side with him.
Over the past month an easy familiarity had grown between them; a comfort that hadn't been there before that night at the hockey rink. It felt as if a few of the walls between them had been removed. They cuddled up on the futon couch to watch The Daily Show or Letterman together some nights, and on Fridays he stayed until dawn, his arm over her as they slept spooned together.
But they hadn't again gone out together in public.
Emma set the clove of garlic on the cutting board, put the flat of her chef's knife over it, and gave the blade a solid whack with the heel of her hand.
"Careful!" Russ warned.
"Look." She held up the clove, now fissured and easily rid of its skin.
Her cell phone started ringing before Russ could respond to her culinary feat. She looked over at the phone, her heart tripping.
Russ raised a brow, understanding in his eyes. "Are you going to answer?"
Emma wiped her hands on a dish towel and went to the phone. It was now two weeks since she'd turned in her design, and today was the day that the finalists in the train station contest were to be notified. She'd been waiting for a call all day, pacing her apartment and staring out the window.
She picked up the phone with a shaking hand and looked at the display.
"Is it them?" Russ asked.
"I don't know. I don't recognize the name or number." She flipped open the phone and put it to her ear. "Hello?" she croaked.
"Hello! This is Mavis Hunter from the City of Seattle 's Pla
"This is she." Emma met Russ's eyes and nodded, her own eyes wide and her heart kerthumping in her chest.
"Ms. Mayson, I'm pleased to tell you that you are one of the ten finalists in the King Street Station design competition. Congratulations!"
An "eep" escaped Emma's throat and the phone slid out of her hand, landing on the floor. Emma followed it down, sinking gracelessly into a sprawled sitting position.