Two texts from my sister, Greer, and one from my mom, both wanting details about my arrival home the next day.
The drive from Portland to Sisters—where I grew up—was just shy of three hours. The plan was to attend the party, crash in Portland for the night, then drive home in the morning. I’d be home by lunch, and I couldn’t wait.
With a couple of taps on the screen, I answered them both and said I’d see them tomorrow.
Greer replied immediately.
Greer: You never sent me a picture of the finished product. Did you go for the lip??
Me: I did go for the lip. And I have stories.
Attaching a picture I’d snapped in the hotel mirror before I left for the party, I laughed when my sister responded with seven flame emojis.
Greer: HOT. Are they good stories or bad stories?
Me: A little bit of both. I’ll tell you tomorrow.
Me: Love you bunches.
Greer: Drive safe.
No texts from Emmett, but there wouldn’t be. As far as I knew, he didn’t have my phone number. In fact, there was only one social media channel where he followed me. And on that app, when my eye strayed toward it, there was a little red notification signaling a message.
“Don’t be a coward,” I whispered. My thumb tapped on the app, then opened up the message section. His name was at the very top.
Emmett: So … maybe I should have warned you this was going to happen.
Emmett: It was my idea. Parker had nothing to do with it.
Emmett: I’m sorry if it was a terrible surprise. I thought
Emmett: Damn it. My stupid thumb hit send before I finished. I thought you’d recognize me, and then when you didn’t … I don’t know. I’m sorry. Can I talk to you? I’m staying at The Heathman until tomorrow.
My cheeks were a thousand degrees, and I tried to imagine meeting him. In my pajamas. With his face and his tux and the shoulders, and I couldn’t do it. We were at the same hotel, for crying out loud. He could be down the hall for all I knew.
Something about Emmett had always thrown me off-kilter. Which, as previously established, was not normal for me. Hell, if I thought really hard about it, spontaneous confessions of feelings were something I swore never to do again after the first time I’d crashed and burned at his very large feet. With Nick, I kept the “I love you too” locked the hell down until he said it first.
Professional athletes and I are not a good mix, apparently. And it was good for me to remember that. I needed someone normal.
A lawyer maybe. Or a teacher. Or a builder, like my brother, Cameron.
As I thought it, a green circle popped up by his picture, indicating he was online.
I blew out a deep breath and tapped a message.
Me: I’m sorry I ran. I don’t do very well with surprises.
Emmett: Hey. I was worried.
Emmett: Where are you staying? I can come to you.
Me: I’m already in bed for the night. I think I’m too mortified to show my face in public tonight if that’s okay.
Emmett: Why are you embarrassed?
Me: I plead the Fifth on that. I’m driving home to Sisters tomorrow morning and plan to hit the road around eight. But if you can be up earlier than that, I’ll meet you in The Heathman lobby for coffee.
Emmett: Can I call you?
Behind my ribs, my heart thrashed. It was like being a teenager all over again. I settled my hand on my chest, grew some lady balls, and carefully tapped out my phone number.
Immediately, an unknown number popped up on my screen, the phone buzzing in my hand.