Love, Emma

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

"S-should w-w-we he-head b-back?" He nods to the door, awaiting my reply as he clutches my hands, warming them up.

"Maybe, I don't want anyone to get worried if they can't find us."

Nathan leads the way back through the hall, his staggering frame drawing attention as we pass other guests and staff, their eyes widening when they meet his eyes.

Squeezing his hand in mine, we push our way through the doors into the hall, immediately overwhelmed by the flashing lights and deafening music. We make our way back around the dance floor to our table, pausing only to talk with Helen and Owen, before searching the throngs of people for Matteo, Enzo, Peyton, Mia and Antonio.

It doesn't take long to find them, submerged in the crowds of people on the dance floor. Little is said in words, more so just an acknowledgement of presence before we join in on the fun, dancing until my feet ache.

Keeping his hand in mine, even Nathan participates a little, swaying with me to the beat and, ever so slowly, loosening up.

By the time the DJ plays the last song of the night, the number of dancers on the floor has significantly dwindled to a mere handful of people, most of which are in close knit groups like ours.

The song brings out the few remaining guests not dancing to the floor, everyone pairing up for the life-long classic, some even going as far as to mouth the words. Elvis Presley's, I Can't Help Falling In Love With You, seems to have that effect on people.

Turning to Nathan, I tug him towards me by the hand, smiling shyly at him.

"Mind sharing a dance with your girlfriend?" I guide his hands to my waist, and stretch my arms to reach his shoulders, still too short, even in heels, to wrap them comfortably around his neck.

"N-not a-at all."

The hall staff is cleaning up all around us, the clinking of plates and voices muffled as background music, and even though I can see Matteo gawking and making various gestures behind Nathan's back, it's still perfectly imperfect, the best end to the best night.

As the song comes to a close, Nathan lifts me up, hugging me tight to his chest. Leaning down over me, so his breath tickles my ear, and his forehead brushes mine, he speaks against the ending notes of the song, softly, almost melodically.

"Th-there is n-no whe-where el-el-else I'd r-ra-rath-rather b-be r-right n-now."

.    .    .    .    .

Tip-toeing down the small set of stairs, I make a mad dash down the hall to the boy's room, strategically avoiding the creaky floor boards as I go.

Knocking softly, I lean against the wall, praying no one walks by right now. I should be in the clear, with the adults still drinking coffee and teas in the kitchen, and Mia and Peyton already sleeping in our room. As far as I know, the boys are all just behind this door, and one can only pray that everyone is asleep but-

"Emma?" scratching his chest, Matteo frowns down at me in curiosity, obviously not having been expecting me so late.

"Can I see Nathan please?" My words bring out his sly grin as he leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

"Late night booty call?" Flustered by his statement, I try not to stumble over my retort, watching his grin grow wider and wider as the seconds tick by.

"He's here, calm down Em, I'll get him." Winking as he turns around, his final words are thrown over his shoulder as he enters the room. "You two try not to make too much noise though, I want to sleep."

I'm still a blushing mess when Nathan joins me in the hall, closing the door behind him. He looks adorable in his pajamas; long plaid flannel pants and a white t-shirt, his hair all ruffled, eyes hazy with fatigue.

"E-emma?"

"Hey," I shift my hands out from behind my back, offering the box to him with a smile. "Your Valentine's Day gift, I didn't want to forget."

He takes it with shaking hands, staring down at the blue box with his name on it.

"It's not as good as your gift, but...I hope you like it." He waves away my warning as he opens the lid, trying to hide his confused expression as he looks down at the mason jar surrounded by tissue paper.

Carefully pulling it out, he reads the label I'd wrapped and taped around the jar, staring in wonder at the tiny slips of colored paper inside the glass.

"It's 180 things I love about you. 180 because that's- roughly- how many days we've been friends." I swallow hard, terrified at his lack of reaction and yet feeling like I need to say more to explain it to him.

"I figured if you're ever having a bad day, or you need a pick me up, or even if you just want a compliment, you could read one."

The jar is crushed between our bodies as he hugs me, lifting me up off my feet as he murmurs thank you's in my ear, his arms shaking.

"There's a lot more reasons than that, but, I figured 180 would do for now."

His lips find mine quickly, shutting me up almost as soon as the sentence leaves my mouth and rendering me speechless. This one is so different than the other kisses we've shared; while most have been soft and sweet, slow, this one is all urgency, all need and all emotion. It's physically hurting my heart it's so wonderful.

"E-emma Da-dawn, th-there ar-aren't en-enough trees i-in th-the wo-world to m-make all th-the pa-paer I'd n-need if I w-w-e-were t-to wr-write d-down ev-everything I lo-love ab-about y-you."