Seeing Emmy genuinely worried about him, James’s frustration faded, replaced by a rush of warmth that caught him off guard.
He reached out and took her hand, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles across her skin, but when he spoke, his voice was all sincerity.
“Relax. Mr. Nelson isn’t nearly as scary as you think.”
“At least he let us spend the whole night here in peace. Didn’t send anyone to bother us. That’s not something a bad guy would do.”
Emmy thought about that and realized he was right.
No matter what, Mr. Nelson really had helped her out.
Now she and James were doing him a favor as a couple, so maybe this was just her way of paying him back.
With that thought, all her awkwardness seemed to melt away.
After breakfast, a server showed up with their freshly washed and dried clothes.
Emmy grabbed her black dress, but noticed right away that the button at the waist had been ripped off, a little mess of threads sticking out.
She shot James a playful, accusing look.
All his fault for being so impatient last night.
James looked a little sheepish, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat.
He slipped out for a minute, and when he came back, he was holding a sewing kit.
“Let me fix it for you,” he offered.
Emmy stared at him, half disbelieving. “You actually know how to sew?”
She barely knew how to do it herself.
One time, she’d tried cross-stitch after watching her mom, but ended up stabbing her own fingers over and over until they were dotted with blood.
James had already sat down, his broad shoulders hunched over the dress. His big, steady hands looked surprisingly skilled as he threaded the tiny needle. He started stitching, every movement smooth and practiced.
His eyes were lowered, long lashes casting a shadow across his cheekbones, his whole face focused and serious.
“Back in training, we only had one set of uniforms,” he said quietly, eyes still on his work, voice low and steady. “With all the drills and rough missions, stuff tore all the time. We had to sew everything ourselves.”

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