Color Me Pretty

and bend low over the counter, but he stops himself and pulls back, waiting for me to turn around before holding out his hand.
    “Dance with me,” he says, brown eyes twinkling, face tired but happy. I think Emmett would slave away for me, if only so he could come home and see me smile. I don't want that for him, but it's a sweet thought. I reach out and curl my fingers in his, letting him spin me around and deposit me back in his arms, so we can press our foreheads together and slow dance to a song that isn't really slow at all.
    I close my eyes and rest my cheek against Emmett's shoulder, wondering what he's thinking right now.
    “Claire,” he whispers to me after awhile. We don't stop dancing.
    “Yes?”
    “I think I want to hold you forever.” I consider protesting, telling him that a month is not a long enough time period to make a decision like that, but I know that that would be a lie. Sometimes, you just know. Love at first sight really does exist for some people. I know that because it does for us.
    “I think I'd like that,” I say as I lift my face up and touch his lips with my fingers, sliding them back, cupping his face. Emmett reaches up and takes my scarred wrists in his hands, turns his head a bit so he can press kisses to them. I get jealous of my own arms and end up having to steal his mouth back, swirling wine and smoothie and love and all sorts of other strange emotions around in there.
    We kiss and behind my eyes, fireworks go off. I swear to it.
    Down below, a belly rumbles fiercely. I have no idea if it's mine or Emmett's, but it's enough to get us to pull apart and take a look at the food I've prepared. Now that I'm looking at it with a (slightly) clearer head, it seems like a lot.
    “Wow,” Emmett tells me as he examines the skillet and the medley of vegetables within. “You made this from scratch?” I nod. “From memory?”
    “My mom makes it a lot,” I tell him, wondering how much of my wild idiocy he saw before he stepped in. And then I start to cry. But it's okay. This time, don't feel sorry for me because I'm alright. I'm getting better, and I'm starting to remember what it's like to be happy. Emmett doesn't hesitate to take me in his arms again, and I'm glad I don't have to worry about him running away. There are not a lot of people who would take on a new girlfriend who had even half as many problems as I do. “I miss her,” I whisper, and he squeezes me tighter, so tight I can't breathe. I think he blames himself a little, but I don't. My family did the one thing they shouldn't do and passed judgment on him before they even knew him. They did the same to me. Still, it hurts, and much as I don't want to admit it, I miss the country twang of my family home, and the elk head, and the pink walls of my bedroom. I went from spoiled teenager to independent adult pretty quick. I don't know if I've ever realized that.
    “Claire,” Emmett begins, and his voice gets pretty serious. I interrupt him before he can speak, just so he knows how I'm feeling.
    “I want to eat tonight,” I whisper, and I think I hear him laugh. It's hard to say with the music pulsing in the background. The wine makes my head swirl and the smells of the kitchen make my belly rumble. I look up at Emmett and see that whatever is going to happen now, it's going to be big.
    “Claire, after I graduate this year, I'm going to go out and find a job, and I'm going to start a life.” He says this, but it doesn't freak me out because I know what's coming and I already know that I want to say yes. “And I want you to be a part of it. Would you?” Emmett stops and scratches at the back of his head, moving his hand around to tug at the fabric of his beanie. He pulls it over his eyes and peaks out at me from behind it. “I think I just screwed that up. Can we start over later?”
    “Do you have a ring?” I ask him, more as a joke than anything else. I figured this was just sort of spur of the moment.
    “Actually,” he says, pulling off his hat, tossing it aside. His chestnut hair sticks up every which way. “I do.” And then Emmett drags me into the bedroom and pulls a box out from the top drawer of his dresser. When he hands it to me, I can tell it's older than sin.
    “Whose is this?” I ask, not realizing that I haven't spoken my answer aloud yet. Emmett looks at the box as I open it and reveal a small diamond, pretty and perfect, pale and winking in a shaft of moonlight from outside the