by Lisa Shelby
“Yes, she does. I’m gonna bring her out here with me over the holiday. She can't wait to meet you.”
“That would be wonderful, darlin’. I sure am sorry I won’t be able to make your big grand opening tomorrow. Be sure to take lots of pictures and make me one of those video times things you do and give me a tour when you get a chance.”
“I wish you could be there too, but it’s going to be busy, and I wouldn’t get much time with you anyway. I promise pictures and videos, though.”
My heart cracks with the knowledge that she’s not well enough to be there tomorrow or later in the week for Thanksgiving dinner. The realization that she’s unable to attend family functions means we may not have much time left with her, and that is not something I can even contemplate.
“Poodle, I’m so proud of you. You are beautiful, kind, smart, successful, and now on top of everything else, a business owner. I hope that Josh of yours realizes how lucky he is.”
I was really hoping Josh wouldn’t come up, but here we are.
“He does, Grammy.”
That’s not a lie. He appreciates me; I know he does.
I also know Max can hear our conversation, and I’m not so sure he would agree. Then again, it’s not his job to have an opinion.
“Emmett, enough small talk. Talk to me.”
“I am talking to you. We’ve been talking for close to ten minutes now.”
“Emmett Louise Ford, you know what I’m talking about. Why are you doing this?”
We’re at the local diner called The Jury Room, and Max is sitting in the booth next to ours. He’s behind Amelia, but I have full view of him. He’s been giving us privacy, sipping on his coffee, keeping his eyes trained out the window as if we aren’t even here. He’s good at giving me my space. He hasn’t mentioned my breakdown, or what he may have overheard at Grammy’s. He’s his stoic self. Minding his own business. But with Amelia’s question lingering in the air, his eyes have found me.
“Doing what?”
I’ve never been able to hide anything from her. I don’t know why I’m prolonging her interrogation.
“Emmett. Stop it. Why are you marrying Josh?”
I focus on Amelia, unable to face the man, with no opinion one booth over.
“Amelia, I don’t know how you always know, but you do.”
“Sweetie, I love you and Josh both. But I think we all know you two shouldn’t be getting married. So, why are you?”
“Melly, you know we always had our pact. Well, I’m thirty-one, and he turned thirty-six months ago. Everyone always knew the deal. If we were both single at thirty, we’d get married.”
“Sweetie, we all say things when we’re kids. I said I was going to move to New York and be a Rockette. We can all see that didn’t come to fruition. I blame my height or lack thereof, but back to you and your ridiculous reasoning.”
“I know, Melly. You’re right, but I saw my friend in need and didn’t think of the ramifications. I didn’t want him to lose everything because of some silly rumors if there was a way I could fix it.”
My whispered answer has her hissing back under her breath.
“He pays people to fix things like this for him. That’s not your job.”
“I know, trust me, I know that now more than ever. If I could go back in time, I would. But it’s too late. I signed a contract, and now, on top of lying to everyone, including Grammy, I mean who lies to Grammy, there are these stupid threats, and we have no idea where they’re coming from. But they know things, Amelia. They know where I’m going to be and if you saw the threats they’ve sent.” I shiver when the flash of the pictures of my decapitated head flashes through my memory. “Josh thinks it’s someone on his staff, can you believe that? All I wanted to do was make things better and all I’ve done is create more issues for him. I’m just making things worse.”
Her freckled face reddens with anger. She may be small, but when she’s upset she is mighty.
“Don’t go there. This is on Josh for agreeing to this crazy idea and especially for making you sign your life away. I am glad he’s making sure you're plenty safe though.” She jerks her ginger head toward Max.
“Oh, I am. It’s all a bit overboard if you ask me.”
“Emmy, what if you meet someone? Are you supposed to just isolate yourself and miss an opportunity at love if it comes your way?”
Without thinking my eyes shoot to Max and I feel it in my bones. I have met that someone. He holds my gaze. This is our norm since the plane. Eye contact that is held but nothing is said. No emotion shown.
“Well, with my track record I’ll meet someone and it will be one-sided. So, it won’t matter anyway. Besides, it’s only for two years.”
“Two years! He made you sign a contract saying you would be his fake fiancée for two years, meaning you can’t date anyone else that entire time?”
“Amelia, keep your voice down. Josh didn’t make me do it, his people did. He gave me the chance to back out and I didn’t take it. So, this is on me, not Josh.”
“So, no sex for two years?”
“Oh, God. When you put it that way...what have I done?” I chuckle doing my best to lighten the mood.
Luckily for me, she laughs too and I can only hope our conversation is taking a turn. I hate discussing this with Max in earshot. It’s so embarrassing.
“Em, seriously though. You deserve happiness as much as Josh does. Do you really think this will last two years?”
“I signed a contract.”
“Who cares! This is Josh, he can tell his people to rip it up. This is bullshit, Emmett!”
“I don’t have to actually marry him.”
“And that makes this okay?”
At a loss for words, all I can do is shrug.
“Em, this is a mess.”
“I know,” I say, chancing a glance at Max.
To an outsider his face holds no emotion, but I can see the empathy in his eyes.
Chapter 8
“Emmett, I love that you’re the girl who changes her hair color on a whim and you're brave enough to make crazy choices, but damn girl, it’s nice to see you with your natural color. You’re even more beautiful like this.”
“Thanks, Miles, it does feel good. We’ll see how long it lasts. You know I get bored.”
Miles’ opinion matters but it was the hitch in Max’s breath when I walked out of Tell Me About It, our local beauty shop, that confirmed I had made the right decision to go back to my natural color. Dark brown.
As I was leaving Grammy’s today she grabbed my face and said, “Don’t forget who you are, Emmy. I know you love Josh, but don’t lose yourself in his world. Keep a hold of that little brown-haired girl who used to wear wildflowers in her hair. You can change your outside to look any way you want darlin', as long as you don’t forget that little girl and all of her dreams still waiting to come true who lives inside you.”
Her words struck a chord. I was texting Cara to see if she had any openings as soon as I was in the car.
When Cara spun my chair around, I fought to hold back tears. It was the first time in months I recognized the woman looking back at me. It felt good.
“I agree with Miles; you look damn good, girl.” Parker kisses me on the temple.
“Okay, okay. I get it. You didn’t like the red. Noted.”
“There’s only room for one redhead in this group, lady. I was gonna give you another month, and then we were going to have words,” Amelia jokes.
“Leave the Night On” by Sam Hunt starts playing, and all discussion of my hair color is forgotten. This song describes our town to a T and became one that our Crew gravitated to. Audrey, Amelia and I break into song like we’re the only ones in the bar. Mason, being new to the group, cuddles up with Miles and enjoys the show.
Taking a bow at the end of the song, I take a discrete glance at the big man not so discreetly sitting at the bar. Strangers don’t blend in at The Verdict, and this stranger also doesn’t miss that I�
�ve snuck a peek at him. His nearly imperceptible nod isn’t needed when his eyes burn through me the way his do. I’m too chicken to nod back, averting my eyes quickly, focusing on my friends.
The moment only lasted a couple of seconds. Him simply nodding to let me know he’s there, watching. Doing his job. Me obsessing over the fact that his eyes were already on me when I looked up.
How long had he been watching?
My thoughts are preempted when my phone rings that funny ring that says Josh is on the other line and wants to video chat. I pick up, and his handsome face fills the screen.
“Hey, mister! Guess where I am?”
Holding the phone out in front of me so he can see the rest of The Crew, Miles yells, “What’s up, Hollywood?”
“Aw, man, are you all at The V without me? Holy shit, are Park and Audrey there too? I cannot believe I’m missing this! I wish I was there instead of freezing my balls off up here in Montreal.” He pouts.
“We wish you were here too,” Parker shouts over my head.
After everyone says their hellos and has given Josh a significant amount of crap, I sneak off into a corner booth so I can hear him better. He updates me on filming being behind schedule and the fact that the crew is going to have to work through the holiday. Jace went home for Thanksgiving, so he’s bored on his downtime. His bodyguard, Reeves, is the only one of his team still there with him, and he sounds lonely.
“Maybe I can come visit after Thanksgiving?” I offer in the hopes of lifting his spirits.
“You know you’re always welcome, but Jace will be back Friday, and he’ll snap me out of my funk.”
My heart plummets. I may not be his real fiancée, but he’s still my best friend even if he doesn’t seem to need me in that capacity anymore.
More doubt creeps into my psyche, but I push it aside when I feel Max’s stare from across the room. I pretend I’m looking around the room for someone so he doesn’t catch me again, because you know, I’m smooth like that, but when my fake room scan catches him watching me, I lose all my cool.
The corners of my mouth lift, and I smile at him.
As per usual, he nods. Not smiling back.
Cue the mortified blush heating my face.
“What’s goin’ on there, Emmy?”
“What? Oh, nothing. Why?”
“I see that blush.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Whatever. I’ll let you go have fun. Call me later, okay?”
“I will, and you try not to miss Jace too much.”
“I’ll do my best. Love you, Emmy.”
“Love you.”
As I make my way to the little girl’s room, there’s no way I can avoid Max. I give him a shy grin plastering my happy face on, but don’t stop to chat.
Finding myself alone in the bathroom my disappointment with Josh not wanting me to visit turns to anger when brown hair catches my eye. Josh didn’t even comment on my hair. Not that I need compliments from him, but the entire call was, as always, about him. It’s always about him, including the next two years of my life.
Enough. It’s not Josh’s fault. You agreed to this knowing him better than anyone, and you still offered to help. Now, go have fun.
The Crew is out on the dance floor, and I head right to them, avoiding the hazel eyes at the bar.
Ten songs later, when a slow song begins to play, Amelia, our resident dancing queen, and I leave all the lovebirds to slow dance and steal some kisses.
“Hey, we’re gonna get another round. Can I get you anything?” I ask Max on my way to place an order.
He lifts his glass of water. “No, I’m fine.”
“You bored?”
“Nope, all good. Don’t worry about me, Miss Ford.”
All it takes is hearing him call me Miss Ford, and I move along.
Yes, I know. You’re just doing your job.
“You guys need another round?” Beau, the best bartender in Eastern Oregon, asks when he sees us headed his way.
Before I can answer, my ex, Brandon, cuts me off.
“C’mon, Beau. I was up here waiting to order before her. If I had a pair of tits, would you have taken my order first?”
“Brandon, don’t start,” Beau warns.
“What is it, Emmy? You think because you’re marrying that fuck head, you can roll back into town, and everyone is just gonna bend over and take it up the ass because you want a drink? Fuck off.”
“Hey, Beau, will you just send those over to the table when they're ready?” I yell over Brandon, who has clearly already had plenty tonight.
“Sure thing, Em.”
Amelia links her arm with mine, turning me away from my asshole of an ex-boyfriend still going off at the bar. Before we get two steps away, Max is up off his stool, ready to take care of things, but I give him a thumbs-up letting him know I’m okay.
Everything would have been fine if Brandon had been smart enough to just let it go.
“Really, you’re too good to speak to a lowlife like me?” Grabbing my wrist, he pulls on me to stop me from walking away.
The next thirty seconds goes by in blurry slow motion.
Max grabs Brandon by the back of the neck, and his hand releases me instantly. My personal protection associate gives Beau a look over his shoulder, and he points at the hallway just past the bar. No words are exchanged. Like Max and Beau had already planned for this, and Max manhandles Brandon down the hall.
As they disappear from sight, my pulse is throbbing in my ears, and I’m not quite sure what happened.
“C’mon, honey. Let’s go sit down.”
“What the hell was that all about?” Miles asks when the loved-up couples meet us at the booth.
“Brandon was being Brandon. And then Max happened. You guys, it was amazing! Max grabbed him by the neck and took him out back just like that!” Amelia explains with a snap of her fingers.
“Miss Ford, are you ready to go?”
All eyes focus over my shoulder. Cautiously, I turn toward his deep and always serious voice only to find a storm brewing in Max’s eyes, and his twitching jaw muscle is working overtime. I’ve never seen him this way before, and even if I wasn’t ready to leave just yet, I am now.
“Yep, just one sec.”
“Whoa,” Amelia mouths.
“Hey all, I have to get up early tomorrow, so I’m gonna head out. Mason, I’ll see you at the store at noon to prep for our big day.” Not prolonging the goodbyes, I turn on my heel with a wave.
Much to my surprise, Max places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the exit while my stomach cartwheels all over itself. When he moves his hand to open the door for me, I inhale a deep breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding since the moment his fingertips touched me.
The bite of the cool night air sends a chill up my spine only to be blanketed with the heat of his hand on the small of my back once again.
My thoughts are scattered with the massive swing in his demeanor, leaving me even more rattled after he carefully assists me into the passenger seat. It’s not the first time I’ve sat in the front seat with him, but this time, it’s because he wants me in the front seat. This much is very clear.
I only get the time it takes for him to get around the front of the car for my brain to struggle to figure out why he’s so upset. His job isn’t to have an opinion about how I live my life, but it most certainly is his job to protect me. You would think getting to deal with Brandon would add a little excitement to his usually dull day. Sitting at my kitchen island day after day must bore him to death, so what in the world has gotten into him?
If I thought the walk from the bar to the car was out of character for him, the vibe that follows him into the car has me thrown for a loop. Shutting the door, he pushes the button to start the car and waits for a beat before putting the vehicle in drive. The streetlight outside illuminates a face full of contemplation as though he’s warring with himself.
Giving him his space, I foc
us my attention out the passenger side window, trying to clear my head. The car has just pulled away from the curb when his fingertips brush the back of my hand, seeking permission without words. Turning my hand over, I unfurl my clenched fist, letting him slip his fingers through mine. When I feel the heat of his palm pressed against mine, it sends the cadence of my heart into overdrive.
Worried I’ll ruin the moment, I continue watching my hometown glide by as we drive down the streets I grew up on. Felt safe on. Dreamed on. Now, driving down these same streets, I realize how vulnerable I was before I had Max’s hand in mine. His touch stabilizes me somehow, calming the same nerves his touch excites.
There’s a strange juxtaposition of emotions bubbling up in my chest. Calm and excitement. There’s also a sense of relief that I may not be alone in my feelings. Yet the prospect that he could feel more for me is terrifying, given the situation.
When we turn onto my street, my anxiety spikes, knowing not only will he have to let go of my hand in a moment but also because we’ll soon be alone in the house.
Walking from the driveway to the house, I shiver visibly. Not from the late November breeze whipping through the night air and not even from his hand guiding me once again. No, I’m shaking from the inside out with anticipation of what’s to come once we cross the threshold.
Closing the door behind us, he locks up, leaving us both standing in my tiny living room. His eyes search mine, but for what, I have no idea.
“You okay?” I finally have to ask him.
“Fine.” And just like that, whatever had taken hold of him back at the bar is gone. His eyes no longer search mine. His back straightens, his professional demeanor back in place. “Do you need anything else, Miss Ford?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
With a nod, he walks away, his fists flexing at his side as he strides down the dark hallway. The only sound is the click of his bedroom door closing shortly after he’s out of sight.
I lied. I’m not fine. I’m far from fine. I’m confused, and just as his fists would indicate, I’m frustrated, just like Max.
