Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(30)

And I hate it.

It’s all wrong. It feels like the town has chosen my side over Emily’s—and in the past, I might have enjoyed that. Strived for it even. But right now, it’s oddly eating me up. I have no idea when I started caring what Emily wants. I just know that keeping the town in line to shun me is now my top priority. I refused the coupon. I sent the stack of pancakes back. Phil hand-delivered several boxes of nails to my house earlier, and I told him I didn’t want them.

I think this is what officially losing your mind feels like. My actions are the opposite of logical. It’s all mayhem.

Currently, I’m leaving the town parking lot on my way to the coffee shop where the teenage baristas don’t care if I live or die as long as they get a paycheck. And I’m wearing a hat with my head ducked as I move swiftly down the sidewalk—hoping to fly under the radar so townspeople don’t pop out of nowhere and try to gift me nice things.

And that’s probably why I slam right into a woman whose arms are full of various shopping bags. I mumble an apology while grabbing her around the waist to steady her, but she probably can’t even hear me over the soundtrack of crinkling paper bags. “Sorry! I didn’t see—”

“Jackson!” Oh, it’s Emily. And she does not look happy.

It’s history repeating all over again. I’m back in college, looking down at the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, and she looks like she wants to slap me. At least there’s no coffee involved this time. And I definitely won’t be hitting on her either.

“Emily, sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was—”

“Why are you not accepting everyone’s kindness?” She’s wearing white shorts, a tan button-up tank top blouse, and that same clip in the back of her hair, holding it up off her neck. Her bangs are styled today, though, swooping purposely to her temples to frame her face. Her face that looks mad as a hornet.

“I . . . what?”

She adjusts her stance to fold her arms saucily while wearing big paper shopping bags like bracelets. The pop of her red polish against her white and tan clothing draws my eye and then forces me to connect the dots all the way up to the matching color on her lips. I’m having trouble focusing because of it.

Her cherry mouth moves. “I have it on good authority that Mabel brought you a tray of homemade cinnamon rolls yesterday morning and you refused them. Do you not like to eat delicious things?”

“I very much love to eat delicious things.”

“Are you gluten intolerant?”

“No.”

“Lactose intolerant?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you kindness intolerant, then?”

“Well . . . I’ve never been officially tested but I suppose anything is possible.” I smile as her scowl only deepens. An angry little fireball. That’s what Emily is ninety percent of the time. Why the hell do I enjoy stepping right in her path so much?

There’s that tug again. The one that keeps drawing me to her.

“You’re supposed to accept their gifts,” she responds, like this is a fact.

“I am?”

“If you actually want to live in this town, then you’re supposed to accept them. Promise me you’ll accept them from now on.”

“Okay,” I promise even though I’m at somewhat of a loss to what’s happening at this moment. “I thought . . . I thought you hated having me here.”

“I do,” she says primly while adjusting the bags on her arm an inch to the left.

“And I thought you were trying to get rid of me.”

“I am.” She looks to her left. “I was.”

I cock my head, eyebrow lifting. “Was? That’s an interesting word.”

Emily’s green eyes snap to mine. “I’ve decided to have pity on the town. It’s killing them to exclude you, and Harriet is dying to have you on the softball team. No matter how I feel about you . . . I love my town. I’m willing to let you be part of it for their sake.” She pauses. “So . . . I told them I wanted you to be included from now on.”

“Huh.”

Her eyebrows drop. “That’s all you’re going to say? Huh? I thought you’d be happier.”

I take a step to the right, out from under the awning, and look up at the sky.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for flying pigs . . .”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but I still catch the curve of her lips before she smothers it.

“No, seriously? Has hell frozen over? Because I never thought I’d see the day that Emily Walker wanted me to be happy.”

She holds up a finger. “I never said I wanted you to be happy. I said I thought you’d be happy. There’s a difference.”

I’m grinning and she obviously hates it. “This is such an unexpected turn of events.” Not an unhappy one, either. Because I’ve always enjoyed teaching here in Rome, but now actually living in the town and seeing how it operates, I can really see myself living here happily for a long time. I like its quirks. I like the way I feel here.

And . . . I like getting to know Emily in a different way too. I thought that by coming back and seeing her again, I would prove to myself that I really and truly hated her with no room for any other feelings toward her.