Be the Girl(49)

I shrug. “Maybe.” That whole concept of unconditional love seems to have evaded him.

“What about your friends?”

“They’re still there.” I shrug. “My mom and I needed a change. This was a good one.”

Emmett nods slowly. “I can’t imagine leaving Zach and Mower, and all those other guys. I guess I’ll know what that feels like next year, though.”

Eastmonte without Emmett. Just the thought brings an ache to my chest.

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem making new friends.” Plenty of Hollys and Patricias to chase after you. A sour taste fills my mouth.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and I feel an overwhelming urge to know what Emmett’s bottom lip between my teeth would be like. “I keep telling myself that it worked out, having things end with Holly now, before I’m gone. Long-distance relationships never work.”

His words are a sharp needle to this intoxicating bubble I imagined growing around us last night. The last thing he wants is to get into another relationship.

He dips his head. “So, about last night, in the House of Horrors—”

“That was scary, right? I don’t know what the hell happened. And honestly? I don’t think wiping wet sponges on people’s faces is sanitary.” Topic change now, please. So I don’t have to stand here and listen to Emmett tell me that I’m a great person and he likes me as a friend but it was a mistake almost kissing me and blah, blah, blah.

He sighs. And then smiles. “No, it probably isn’t.”

Murphy whines and burrows his nose deeper into a bush then, his tail wagging. A deep growl responds and a second later, a gray-and-black-striped cat springs out and tears off across the street. Murphy goes after it, wrenching my arm and jerking me forward with his burst of strength.

Emmett’s reflexes are as swift as the cat’s. He dives in, seizing the leash to keep Murphy from running in front of a small red hatchback as the driver slams on the brakes and the car comes to a jarring halt.

Adrenaline races through me as the car rolls by, the lady giving me a dirty look on her way past. “Oh my God, that was close.”

“Yeah.” Emmett is well within my personal space, much like he was at the carnival. It hurts, knowing last night was a freak occurrence, never to happen again.

I take a calming breath. “Did the cat make it?”

We both peer to the opposite side of the street just as the striped furball bounds over someone’s front lawn.

“Little asshole is fine.” He peers down at me with those warm, deep-brown eyes. “You good?”

“Yeah. Thanks. He’s stronger than I thought. He never pulled that hard when we were at the shelter.” I take a step back into safer, more platonic territory. Where Emmett wants to stay. “I should get him home. Pat said to keep the walks short because of his hip.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Emmett’s lips press tight. If I were a fool, I’d mistake that look for disappointment.

We head back, the leash wrapped twice around my fist in case of more kamikaze cats.

“What do you have planned for the rest of the weekend?”

“Not much. Homework, probably.” I frown at the red pickup truck that turns onto our street. “What does she have him doing now?”

“Is that the handyman?”

“Yeah. My mom is, like, renovating Uncle Merv’s entire house. I don’t know if it’s because she’s bored, or because she feels guilty for not visiting all those years and this is how she thinks she can make it up to Uncle Merv. But it’s Saturday.”

By the time we round the bend in our street five minutes later, Mick is parked and standing casually on the porch with my mother, cradling a mug in her hands. She’s wearing her favorite mustard-yellow cable-knit sweater and, even from this distance, I can see the way her hair spills over her shoulders in fat waves.

“Hot rollers.” Things begin to click like puzzle pieces. The soft laugh to cap off the “please call me Debra,” the Mick-this and Mick-that, all the projects … “Oh my God. My mom has a crush on the handyman!” I don’t mean to sound appalled by the idea.

Emmett and I linger on the sidewalk, watching the exchange—the way Mick shifts his body, his crinkle-eyed smiles at the porch floorboards, the way my mom giggles and fusses with her sweater collar, her gaze holding his intently, her smile effervescent. She has a thing for him and I think it’s reciprocated.

“Now we know what Mick’s working on today.” My mom.

Emmett chuckles. “And you’re not okay with that?”

“No, I am. At least I think I am?” I pause to consider it for a moment. “It’s just weird. I’ve gotten used to the idea of my dad being with someone else. But my mom?”

“I can’t picture my parents apart, let alone dating other people.” Emmett peers over at his house, as if trying to imagine it at that moment. “It’d be weird,” he finally agrees. “Is this guy nice, at least?”

I shrug. “Seems like it, but I haven’t talked to him. I don’t know anything about him. Like, has he ever been married? Does he have kids?” Is he a closet drinker? A serial cheater?

One thing’s for sure—my mom is going A-to-Z opposite from my partner-at-a-busy-law-firm dad if she’s chasing after Mick. But wouldn’t that fit with this new life she’s taken on? It’s like she’s making a concerted effort to become the exact opposite of who she was in our old life.