Ashton's POV
The things I do for this woman. Not that I'm complaining, I actually enjoying doing things for Emmie, even if it includes going grocery shopping, which is probably my least favorite activity.
Making our way inside the supermarket, I pull a shopping cart free from the rest and push it in front of Emmie. "Get in," I demand, pointing down to the metal basket.
Emmie glances from me to the cart and back to me again. "You do realize I'm a twenty-one year old who is capable of walking, right?" She raises an eyebrow, waiting for my response.
"I do, but that's beside the point. Now get in, Emmie." She continues to protest, saying that she's too old to be sitting in a cart when in reality she could pass for someone still in high school, but I don't dare tell her that. To make the situation easier, I lift Emmie into the cart, her loud squeal gaining the attention of the employees and customers.
She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. "I hate you." She tries to get into a comfortable position and settles on pulling her legs to her chest, hugging them so that there would be room to place the groceries.
"I don't think that's possible," I say, waiting for her to throw a sarcastic remark but instead she just tells me to shut up.
I push the cart, struggling a bit in the beginning; I'm not used to pushing around another person. "Maybe it's a good thing we're making something instead of eating out. Pushing you around is proving to be more difficult than I imagined." I tease. Her eyebrows knit together leaving creases in her forehead, and I can't help but to laugh. "I'm just kidding, Emmie. You're as light as a feather," I say, continuing to put a bit more effort in pushing the cart for it to move.
"Damn straight," she mumbles.
"So what should we make for lunch?" I ask, turning into the canned food aisle.
"What's your favorite food?"
"Probably spaghetti. My mum always made the best spaghetti back home. I don't know how she does it, but it's amazing. I've tried to follow her recipe to make it, but I always screw it up somehow." Emmie laughs, making fun of my failed attempts at cooking.
"Let's make it then," she suggests, sounding excited.
I agree and continue down the aisle, receiving several glances from other customers who are probably wondering why there is a young adult sitting in my cart. Ignoring them, we grab a few cans of tomato sauce and move on to search for the pasta.
"You'd really like her," I say.
"Who?" Emmie looks up and down the shelves in search of the spaghetti noodles.
"My mum." Her eyes beamed when she spots the pack of noodles. She stretches her arm out, grabbing two packs before tossing them into the cart with her. "You remind me a lot of her. You two have the same type of personality; quiet, stubborn and quirky."
She laughs. "I like her already."
"She really is great though. She was the one who raised me and my siblings when my dad left us. She worked so hard for us to grow up living a good and stable life, and she succeeded. It was difficult; she had to work several jobs, but we always pulled through." I look down in the cart to find Emilia resting her chin on her knees.
Fuck. Fuuuuck.
"Shitâno, I meanâ" I stop pushing the cart. "I'm so sorry, Emmie. I completely forgot about yourâ" I cut myself off before I dig myself an even deeper hole. "I'm sorry."
She lifts her head, unfazed by my ranting of my mum. "Ashton, it's really all right. It's been years since that happened, and I'm over it for the most part," she assures.
I nod, still upset that I had even brought up my mum at all. I continue pushing the cart through the aisles, tossing in random food items into the basket.
I felt so bad when she told me and the guys about how her parents had died. Emilia didn't deserve that to happen to her; no one does for that matter. The moment she told us, all I wanted to do was take her in my arms, hold her tightly, and tell her that she can be a part of our little Aussie family. I couldn't do that though. I'm pretty sure she received enough pity when she first lost them.
"You can ask me." Emmie speaks up.
"What?"
"You can ask me how they died. I don't mind answering." I stare down into her gray eyes that seem to have a hint of green in them today. I want to know what had happened but I don't want her to feel obligated to tell me. They boys wouldn't stop pestering me about it after she had left last night. They said that they couldn't ask her because they had only just met her. It would have been better for me to ask her since I have known her longer and we're closer.
"It was a freak train accident," Emilia reveals, never breaking eye contact. "I was spending the night at Julia's house, and my parents went out on a date that evening. Their car stalled on the tracks and were unable to get out in time. They died on impact, which I guess can be considered a good thing, but yeah, that's it."
I'm at a loss for words. I feel like such a dick for not saying anything after she just told me the story of her parent's death. There's nothing I can say to make this situation any less depressing. "I'm sorry." My voice cracks as I say the only two words deemed appropriate.
Emilia smiles understandingly. "Now let's hurry up and finish here. I'm hungry!" She giggles, lightening up the mood completely.
_____
I've learned that Emilia can be a bit bossy when it comes to organization. When we arrived back to my place from the supermarket, she completely took over with putting the groceries away. She rearranged all the canned foods in the pantry by size and type before placing the cans we bought in their new order. She did the same thing with the boxed and frozen food. When I had tried to help, she almost bit my finger off because I was going to mess everything up. For my own protection, I decided to just sit and watch as she finished organizing my kitchen.
"Hey Ashton," Emmie calls out to me. "Where do you keep your pots?"
"They're in the bottom cabinet next to the stove. I'll get it for you." I pull out a large stainless steel cooking pot from the cabinet. Emmie takes the pot and moves over to the kitchen sink, filling it with water and placing it on the stove to heat up.
"We can start chopping up the vegetables until the water starts to boil," she says. I agree and pull out two cutting boards and knives for us. I begin slicing the mushrooms while Emilia chops the spinach into small pieces.
"I'm curious," I start, Emilia humming in response. "What were you and Michael really talking about in class today?" Her hand stops moving the knife for a moment, glancing at me for a split second before returning back to chopping the spinach. I'm not an idiot. I know they were hiding something from me; I just didn't want to be too obvious about it.
"Um..." She paused. "We talked about you." Her voice is quiet, like the time when I first met her, her eyes avoiding mine.
I cock my head. "What about me?" I finish slicing the mushrooms and retrieve the cans of tomato sauce from the pantry. I grab a saucepan from the bottom cabinet near the stove, placing it on the burner on a low heat before pouring in the sauce and mushrooms. Emilia followed after me, dropping in the spinach and adding different spices.
"Michael told me that I was the first girl you've brought over here, and I was curious as to why which led me to ask questions about your love life," she explains hesitantly. "He didn't tell me anything; he just said that you haven't dated in a while."
Oh. I need to remind myself to kill Michael later. My past relationship isn't something I really like to talk about to anyone. The only ones who know about it are the guys. Part of me wants to tell Emilia what happened back home, but the other part of me wants to forget it ever happened and bury the memories.
"I don't have a lot of trust in women anymore," I reveal. Lines form on Emilia's forehead. It takes a moment to realize what I had just said. "No, Emilia, you're the exception. I trust you. I'm not sure why, but I've always felt I could trust you since we met." I stir the pasta as it softens. "You see, a couple years ago back in Australia, I was actually engaged," I say. "Her name is Natalie. She and I had dated all throughout high school and I proposed to her in our first year of college. That was probably the stupidest decision that I have ever made. We were engaged for a few months before I found out that sheâ" I pursed my lips. "We had gone to a party and I was looking around for her. I went upstairs and found her in a room sleeping with my friend that she would always go study with." Emmie softly gasps next to me.
I turn the stove burner off and drain the water and pasta in a colander before returning it back to the pot. I place a serving of the hot noodles onto two plates and let Emmie pour sauce over them.
"It wasn't the first time she had slept with him," I continue once we sit together at the breakfast bar. "Apparently, she had been sleeping with him months before I proposed."
"I don't mean to be rude, but she sounds like a bitch," Emmie comments, making me chuckle.
"I agree with you." I paused for a moment, twirling my fork in the pasta. "But I really did love her. Sometimes I still think I do. It's hard to let something like that go. That's why I moved over here; I had to get away. I didn't want to be in the same city, let alone country with that woman. I thought it would help, but it's still not easy to let it go." I take a bite of the spaghetti and it tastes almost exactly like Mum makes it. "I think you may have just beaten my mum with your cooking skills," I tell her, shoving more in my mouth.
She smiles. "You deserve better," she says. "No one should have to suffer through that kind of heartbreak. I really want things to get easier for you so that you can be happy."
"That's where you come in." Her eyebrows furrow. "Ever since becoming friends with you, you've helped me regain the trust that I had lost in women. Maybe not completelyâexcept with youâbut there is some trust."
Her gray eyes lighten as she grins wide with satisfaction. "I'm glad I could be of some help."
You've done so much more than that, I want to say. I want to tell her that she has made me so happy over the past month. That she brightens my day with just the sound of her voice. That my stomach flips whenever I'm with her. And even in my days of melancholy, just the thought of her smiling face lifts my spirits, letting me forget about my past, even just for a moment.