My Cheating Mate (Emma and Jeremy) novel Chapter 80

Chapter 80

My Cheating Mate

Jeremy pov

I was at the stove, scrambling eggs for lunch we’d slept through most of the day after our emotionally exhausting morning- when I heard Emma’s footsteps behind me.

“Smells good,” she said.

“Just eggs. Nothing fancy.” I stirred the pan, grateful for something to do with my hands. “Should be ready in

Her lips touched mine.

For a moment, I couldn’t process what was happening. Emma was kissing me. Actually kissing me, not a quick peck or accidental brush of lips but a real kiss.

I froze, the spatula still in my hand, my brain struggling to catch up with reality.

Then her hands moved to my back, pressing gently, and I realized this wasn’t a mistake. Wasn’t an impulse she’d immediately

regret.

She was choosing this. Choosing me. Right now.

The spatula clattered to the counter as I turned off the stove, my hands finding her waist. I kissed her back carefully, tentatively, terrified of doing something wrong, of pushing too hard, of ruining this moment.

She tasted like the coffee we’d had earlier. Felt warm and solid and real against me. Her hands moved up my back, fingers threading through my hair.

I’d forgotten this. The simple perfection of kissing her. The way she fit against me like we’d been designed for each other. The soft sound she made in the back of her throat when I deepened the kiss slightly.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I stared at her. “Emma

“Don’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t analyze it or ask if I’m sure or apologize for something. I just–I needed to do that.”

“Why?” The question came out hoarse.

“Because last night, I thought you might die. Thought I might die. And I realized-” She paused, her hands still on my shoulders. “I realized I didn’t want to die without kissing you again. Really kissing you. Not the careful, therapeutic distance

r we’ve been maintaining.”

“Emma, I don’t want to rush you. Don’t want to pressure-

“You’re not.” She met my eyes. “Jeremy, I’m choosing this. Choosing you. Right now, in this moment. I’m not saying I’ve forgiven everything. Not saying we’re back together or that everything’s fixed. But I’m saying “Her voice softened. “I’m saying I miss you. Miss this. Miss feeling close to someone who knows me.”

“I know you,” I whispered. “Better than anyone. And Emma, you’re-“The words caught. “You’re everything. You always were I was just too stupid to see it.”

She kissed me again, softer this time. Tender instead of desperate. Like she was memorizing the feel of me, relearning what we’d lost.

When we broke apart again, I kept my arms around her waist, afraid to let go. Afraid this moment would disappear like smoke if I moved wrong.

“The eggs are going to burn,” she said, a small smile crossing her face.

#

+15 Bonus

“I don’t care about the eggs.”

“I do. I’m hungry.” She pulled back slightly, but her hands stayed on my chest. “Make me lunch. Then we’ll—we’ll figure out what this means.”

I nodded, reluctantly releasing her to return to the stove. The eggs were salvageable, barely. I focused on finishing them, hyper- aware of Emma watching me from across the small kitchen.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” she said.

“Sorry. I’m just “I plated the eggs, added toast. “Emma, I don’t want to mess this up. Don’t want to assume this means more than it does.”

“It means I wanted to kiss you.” She took the plate I offered. “It means I’m tired of pretending I don’t still have feelings. It means” She paused, sitting at the table. “It means I’m done running from what I feel. Even when it’s complicated and messy and terrifying.”

I sat across from her, my own food forgotten. “What do you feel?”

“Love. Anger. Hurt. Hope.” She took a bite of eggs. “All of it, all at once. It’s exhausting.”

“I’m sorry. For making it complicated.”

“Stop apologizing.” But her tone was gentle. “Jeremy, you’ve apologized enough. Now you need to show me. Through actions. Through being present. Through-” She gestured between us. “Through moments like this. Honest. Real. No hiding.”

“I can do that.” I forced myself to eat, even though my stomach was doing flips. “Emma, what does this mean for us? Are we

“I don’t know,” she interrupted. “I don’t have labels or definitions right now. We’re stuck in a cabin together for potentially weeks. We’re both traumatized from last night. We’re both trying to heal from months of pain. So let’s just–be. See what happens. No expectations. No pressure.”

“Just being.”

“Just being,” she confirmed. “Can you handle that? Not knowing exactly where we stand?”

Could I? The uncertainty terrified me. But the alternative–pushing for definitions and scaring her away-

“Yes,” I said. “I can handle that.”

-was worse.

We ate in comfortable silence. The kiss hung between us—not awkward, but present. A shift in the dynamic we’d been carefully maintaining.

After we cleaned up, Emma curled up on the couch with a book from the cabin’s small collection. I tried to read too, but mostly I just watched her. The way she tucked her feet under her. The slight furrow between her brows when she concentrated. The unconscious way she bit her lip when something in the story surprised her.

All the little things I’d forgotten. Or taken for granted. Or never properly appreciated.

“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t say stop.” She turned a page. “Just pointing it out.”

“I’m trying to memorize you,” I admitted. “In case

17

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