The Forbidden Throb Chapter 31

Emma's POV:

The silence stretched.

Grandma's gaze darted from Daniel to me, then back to Daniel, as if trying to reconcile two incompatible pieces of information.

*Say something, Emma. Fix this.*

"Grandma," I stepped forward, forcing brightness into my voice, "why don't we go inside? We can talk more comfortably there."

She blinked, seemed to shake herself from her stupor. "Oh. Yes. Of course."

Her hand finally clasped Daniel's, the gesture automatic. "I'm sorry, I just—you look so much like—"

"Nicholas," Daniel finished gently. "I've been told we share a resemblance."

Grandma nodded, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face.

"Well, yes, but..." She cleared her throat. "If I'm being honest, you're even more handsome. More refined, somehow."

Daniel's lips curved into a modest smile. "That's very kind of you to say, Mrs. Johnson."

Grandma released his hand and stepped back from the doorway, finally remembering to let us in. "Come in, come in. Don't just stand there in the cold."

The living room felt smaller with Daniel in it. He moved to the couch with easy grace, setting his stack of gift boxes on the coffee table with careful precision.

"Sit," Grandma urged, gesturing toward the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable, Daniel. Emma, you too—stop hovering like that."

I perched on the edge of the armchair as Grandma bustled toward the kitchen. "Let me get you both some tea. It's chilly out there."

"Mrs. Johnson, please don't trouble yourself—" Daniel started to rise.

"Nonsense." Grandma's voice drifted back from the kitchen, brooking no argument. "It's no trouble at all."

Within moments, she returned carrying a tray laden with her good china teapot and matching cups. A plate of golden-brown cookies sat beside them, still warm enough that I could smell the butter and vanilla.

She set everything on the coffee table, pouring tea with practiced ease. The familiar bergamot scent of Earl Grey filled the air.

"Try the cookies," I found myself saying as Grandma pushed the plate toward Daniel. "Grandma made them this morning. They're really good—her snickerdoodles are the best."

Daniel took one, his movements polite and measured. When he bit into it, something in his expression shifted—genuine appreciation replacing practiced courtesy.

"These are excellent, Mrs. Johnson," he said, and it didn't sound like flattery. "My compliments."

Grandma's face brightened, pleased. She settled into her usual spot by the window, teacup cradled in her hands, her sharp gaze fixed on us both.

"Now then," she said, her tone turning pointed. "Would one of you mind explaining exactly what's going on here?"

My stomach dropped.

Daniel leaned forward slightly, his expression open and sincere. "Of course, Mrs. Johnson. I understand this must be confusing."

"Confusing," Grandma repeated, her tone dry. "That's certainly one word for it."

Her gaze shifted to me. "Emma told me yesterday that Nicholas couldn't make it this weekend. Work emergency, she said." A pause. "Now his older brother shows up at my door, holding my granddaughter's hand."

Heat flooded my face. *Of course, she noticed that.*

"Nicholas and Emma did date," Daniel said smoothly, drawing Grandma's attention back to him. "For several months, actually. But they both came to realize they weren't... compatible."

I watched Grandma's expression shift.

"After they ended things," Daniel continued, his voice steady, "Emma and I began spending more time together. We discovered we had more in common than either of us expected."

His eyes found mine across the coffee table, warm and deliberate. "It developed naturally from there."

*Naturally. Right. As natural as a business transaction.*

But Grandma was nodding slowly, her sharp gaze moving between us. "And you didn't tell me because...?"

I cleared my throat, finding my voice.

"We were worried," I admitted. "About how the family would react. Nicholas and I were supposed to be—" I caught myself, adjusted. "Everyone expected us to work out. When it didn't, and then Daniel and I started seeing each other, we thought it might cause problems."

Grandma sat back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. The silence stretched, measured and assessing.

Finally, she made a small sound—half laugh, half sigh.

"Well, that explains why you kept making excuses every time I asked to meet Nicholas."

Her eyes fixed on me, knowing. "All those times you said he was too busy, or studying, or traveling for work. You were covering because it wasn't Nicholas at all anymore."

"Yes," I said quietly, letting myself lean into the truth of it—the part that was real. "I should have told you sooner. I just... I didn't know how."

Grandma's expression softened slightly.

She turned her attention back to Daniel, studying him with renewed interest. "How old are you, Daniel?"

I felt him shift beside me, just the slightest adjustment in posture. "Thirty-one, ma'am."

"Thirty-one?" Grandma repeated the number, her tone neutral. "Eight years older than Emma."

My hands clenched in my lap. *She's going to say it's too much. *

But instead, Grandma's expression softened, a smile touching her lips.

"My Henry was also eight years older than me. Best forty-three years of my life." Her eyes grew distant for a moment, fond with memory. "Age doesn't matter when you find the right person."

The tension in my shoulders eased fractionally.

She leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. "And what do you do, Daniel?"

Daniel's smile was genuine, warm. "I'm a cardiac surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital. I also teach at Harvard Medical School."

Grandma's eyebrows rose. "A surgeon. And a professor." She looked at me, then back to Daniel. "That's quite impressive."

"I'm fortunate to do work I love," Daniel said, and something in his voice made it sound humble rather than practiced. "Though the hours can be demanding. Emma's been very patient with my schedule."

*Have I?*

I found myself nodding anyway. "He works a lot," I offered, and it didn't feel entirely like a lie. Everything I'd heard about Daniel Prescott suggested he practically lived at the hospital.

Grandma studied us both for another long moment. Then she asked.

"I'm sure you had plenty of young women interested in you, Daniel. A successful surgeon, handsome, well-established." Her eyes glinted. "Why Emma?"

The room went very quiet.

I held my breath, waiting.