“Keep hanging out with an insensitive jerk like me and your chances of success are slim,” he said, forcing a grin.
“Yeah, but I like spending time with you.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his lips parted.
“Yeah. You . . . you give me hope that I’m not as broken as I feel. It’s hard to explain, so I won’t even try, but . . . I’m comfortable with you.”
Chris smiled in spite of my nerves.
“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He kept watching me as we walked, and the longer he stared, the more I wished I hadn’t told him those things. To shake his persistent gaze, I settled on bringing the subject back to something safe.
“Was their romantic involvement—your grandmother’s and Theo’s—is that why she left the B&B to him and not you? Because they were together?”
“No,” he said. “I’m almost inclined to believe she didn’t want to burden me with it. She knew I had plans to leave, but I also had a strong obligation to the B&B. It was the one thing that would keep me here if there was no one else to look after it. And I think, by leaving it to Theo, she was trying to give me her blessing. She wanted me to have the life I wanted, not the life she’d made for herself.”
“But Theo didn’t want that,” I said, remembering the conditions he laid out when he inherited the business. Theo threatened to sell the place before he’d ever let Danielle take over. And Chris believed that his conditions had everything to do with Theo wanting to keep him around. “You didn’t have his blessing. He wanted to keep you here.”
“By that point, Gran was gone. We’d lost her, and he wasn’t going to let me run from my problems,” Chris said. “I didn’t have big dreams or concrete plans for the future, and after losing her, what little I had planned became more muddled than before. I wanted out. I wanted to leave, get away from this place, go to college like I’d planned all along. I’d leave. And I’d wander. But Theo knew as well as I did that I would lose myself out there. The B&B was a stable environment, especially after losing Gran. I think it was his way of looking out for me. He wanted to save me from myself.”
“And you let him,” I said. “You stayed.”
“I had to,” he said. “And I’m glad I did.” The minutes felt heavier the longer they dragged on, and Chris seemed eager to move passed the touchy subject. He stood a little taller as he walked, cleared his throat, and turned back to watching me. “Okay. Your turn. Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Anything, you name it,” he said. “Tell me something I don’t know about Sydney Emmons.”
I stumbled over my feet. I’d almost wiped out, falling to the sidewalk, and I was thankful I managed to remain upright; the last thing I needed was another lesion on my face. But he’d said it—he’d said that name. I hated that name.
Emmons.
“I hate lies.”
“Honesty’s good,” he agreed.
“It’s more than that, though,” I said. “It’s essential.” It’s why I hated that I had to lie to him. “Rosa always said that one lie can destroy a thousand truths, and nothing good ever comes from dishonesty.”
“I can see some truth in that,” Chris nodded. “It’s an admirable quality to have.”
In theory, yes. It was. But honesty wasn’t a quality I possessed anymore. Being in Morgantown, being on the run, it meant my life was built on a foundation of lies. I was a joke, thrust into a life of hypocrisy by a murderer. I had no right to take a stand on right and wrong.
“So this Rosa,” he said, and her name sounded dangerously unsafe on his lips. I shouldn’t have mentioned her. Why did I keep doing that? “Was she your—”
“I can’t talk about her,” I said, kicking myself. First Ohio, and now Rosa. The places and names were engrained in me—they were part of my life, and I was learning that I couldn’t erase them as easily as I was supposed to. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t keep making these mistakes and I had to try harder. But how I was supposed to go on pretending she didn’t exist?
“I hate pizza,” he admitted, cutting in. His voice was untainted by emotion, and his words were only meant to draw my attention back to him. He was trying to change the subject, to pull me away from my thoughts. He’d felt it; I was fading again, and he was saving me from a dangerous place.
“Wait, you . . . ”
“I hate pizza.”
“That’s not even possible,” I said. “We ordered one the other night. You ate it. I saw you.”
“No, you and Theo ate it,” he said. “I didn’t touch the thing.”
“You did,” I said, trying to recall the night at the dining room table. “Didn’t you? There were only two slices left when Theo showed up.” His eyes rounded and he looked to me with a grin. “I did not eat all of that by myself.” I kept racking my brain, trying to remember, but try as I might, I couldn’t drum up one visual image of him eating a slice of that pizza. It suddenly occurred to me how full I’d felt before bed that night. “Oh, my God. I’m a pig.”
“You hadn’t eaten all day,” he said, half-smiling.
“What did you eat?” I asked. “You were hungry.”
“I found something in the kitchen,” he said, waving a hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Chris, I’m sorry. You should’ve said something.”
“I’m the one who suggested it,” he said. “I wanted you to eat, and you wouldn’t leave the house.”
“Why do you do that?” I asked, taking his arm to stop him. We both halted there on the sidewalk and turned to each other, and even though I had no reason to keep touching him, I let my fingers linger on the sleeve of his coat. “Why do you go out of your way for me? I’m not your responsibility. Why do you feel compelled to take care of me?”
“Do you need a reason?”
“I do,” I said. “I guess I don’t understand, that’s all.”
“Sometimes it’s better not knowing,” he said. “Besides, if I told you, I’d run the risk of scaring you, and I don’t want to do that; you’re too jumpy.”
“I can’t argue that.”
“Look,” he said, nodding up ahead. “We’re here. So what do you say we put all this heavy talk on the back burner for the morning and try to enjoy ourselves while we have some time away?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said, turning to look at the view up ahead. “So this is it, huh?”
“Yup,” he said, his chest swelling with a deep breath. “This is it. You think you’re ready for Morgantown?”
“You think Morgantown’s ready for me?”
“I do,” he said. “Come on.”
Chapter Eleven
Chris sprinted toward the center of town. I tried to keep up, not to let him get too far ahead of me, but he was moving too fast. There was a childlike essence to his gait, a movement I wanted so desperately to mimic—to be carefree, to let go, to stop feeling all the heaviness and enjoy myself. If only for a minute . . .
“What do you think?” he said, giving me a chance to turn and look at the town.
“It’s . . . wow, I mean, look at this place,” I said, breathless, and not from keeping up with him.
It was my first glimpse at Morgantown, and it left me speechless. Only a few blocks away from the B&B, I felt like I’d stepped into a completely different time and place, where everything was quiet. Simple. Uncomplicated. Stopped in the town square, I stood in place, turned a full 360 degrees, and took in the sight of every piece of old, brick architecture that made up the small community.
Looking straight ahead, only a few blocks north was a large suspension bridge, spanning the width of an icy river beneath it. A majestic clock tower stood at the city limits on the other side of the overpass.
To the east side were a few streets of large brick buildings, the mom and pop stores—Esther Ann Consignments, Pugsies Grocery, Lucas Pharmacy . . . the list went on and on. Each business name was carved into a wooden sign, hanging above the st
orefront door. Everything was consistent. Crisp. Clean.
On the west side, across the town square from the other businesses, were dozens of antique shops and diners, a small pizzeria, and only one abandoned storefront.
“What do you think?”
“Is awe-inspiring too much?”
“No,” he said.
I spun in a circle again, trying to get the full effect. When I stopped spinning, I turned and caught Chris staring at me, his lips wide with his usual smile.
“I wish I could see it the way you’re seeing it.”
“The town?”
“For the first time,” he said. “When you grow up here, you don’t get a chance to have that initial experience. It’s all there—it’s home, it’s nature.”
“But how fortunate you are to call a place like this home,” I said, wondering what it must’ve been like to grow up in a town so slow-paced and simple. It was storybook—untouched by the commercial society I was so used to.
“So what do you want to do?” Chris asked. “Breakfast first? Or you wanna check out the place and do a little exploring?”
“We don’t have time. Danielle said—”
“Forget Danielle,” he said. “Now, believe it or not, you can see a lot more of the town if you leave the square.”
“Then let’s explore.”
“What do you want to see first?”
“The bridge,” I pointed north. “Can we walk it?”
“Walk it?” he asked, his head snapping to me. His face drained of color. “You mean walk across it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Isn’t that what they’re for, crossing?”
I used to do it all the time. We had a bridge like that one back home, one only for pedestrian use. Stretching the width of the local river, it connected our city to the border of the neighboring towns. So many times I walked that bridge with my Dad. Dozens of times we’d hopped on our bikes, set across the water, and found ourselves enjoying warm summer days on the levee.
“You want to walk across the bridge?” he asked again, reeling me back to reality. Despite the fact that it was cold outside and the wind was blowing chillier by the minute, a sheer layer of sweat beaded on his forehead.
“If we’re allowed?”
“It’s really only for cars.”
“I haven’t seen one car come or go since we walked up here,” I said. “I think we’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s safe.”
“If it’s safe enough to drive, it’s safe enough to walk.”
“Sydney, let’s stick to land.”
“Why?” I asked. He hadn’t taken a single step in my direction. He pulled his gloves off and jammed them in his pocket, clearly warm in spite of the cold. “Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it possible you’re afraid of heights?”
He groaned, dropping his head back to look at the sky. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“Why? Is it the actual height part that gets you, or is it the fear of plummeting hundreds of feet to your death?”
He forced his eyes shut and muffled a guttural noise. “Please, I’m begging you. Can we talk about anything else?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, walking under a large banner that dangled above Main Street. Each end tethered to a light pole, the banner was on display so that it couldn’t be missed.
“Morgantown Winter Festival. That’s the one you were talking about?”
“Yeah, it starts next Friday,” he said. “You think you’ll be around?”
“Hard to say,” I said, knowing that Chris suspected I’d go home for the holidays. “I could be gone. One can hope.”
“Well, hey, if things don’t work out and you’re still around,” he said, “maybe we can go to the festival.”
“Together?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“The two of us?”
“Does that scare you?”
“Everything scares me.”
“Including me?”
“I’m jumpy, remember?” I asked. “You said it yourself.”
“Well, the offer’s there,” he said. “If you want to go.”
“Breakfast,” I said quickly, hoping to change the subject. I couldn’t commit to anything, and worse, I couldn’t explain why I couldn’t commit. So I waited for his answer, hopeful he would forget what we were talking about.
“Breakfast? What about it?” he asked.
“You said we could go,” I said. “It’s getting cloudy, and the wind’s picking up. I’m cold, and I’m hungry. So let’s go. Let’s duck in somewhere and grab something to eat.”
He grinned. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I was saying . . . because you said . . . I thought that we could—”
“Sydney.” He placed both of his hands on my shoulders. “Take a breath, okay? I’m messing with you.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because,” he said. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“Then I must be super-cute all the time.”
“You are,” he said, his smile growing wider. “You absolutely are. Now let’s get you fed. I’d hate to have you starve before I could take you on a real date.”
***
I was in trouble.
I liked Chris. I couldn’t deny it because the signs were there. I’d turned to him when I needed comfort. I’d let my guard down. I’d openly shared things with him, not only because I’d needed saving from myself, but because I wanted him to know. And there was a giddiness, a weird and unusual flutter I felt in my stomach every time he teased me. Every time he touched me. The thought of going on a date with him scared me, but not in the same way that everything else scared me. It was terrifying because I wanted to believe that I could amount to everything he saw in me.
Boy, oh, boy, was I in trouble. I wasn’t in any kind of position to have a crush on this guy; it was the most inconvenient time in my life to have feelings for anyone.
I had bigger things to worry about. I needed to focus on getting better, healthier—finding a way to be well again. I couldn’t do that if I was focused on anyone else but myself. I needed to heal, not indulge myself with thoughts of boys.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Chris asked.
“I’m sure,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “I’m hungry.”
“Okay, then I feel like I should warn you one more time,” he said, stopping me outside the diner door.
I tried to listen to Chris as he talked, to focus on the warning he rambled off, but his words faded into the background. I couldn’t quit looking at him—staring at his pink nose and his wind-burned cheeks, wondering how in the world all of his goofy features added up to something so beautiful and—
God, I had to snap out of it.
“You think you can handle that?” he asked, but he didn’t give me a chance to respond before he turned and took hold of the door.
I hadn’t heard him. I had no idea what he’d just said to me.
We stepped into the noisy diner and the chatter stopped in a snap. Every head in the room turned in our direction, and every eye narrowed. Some people were looking at him, but most were looking at me.
“Chris?” I whispered.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “Danielle wasn’t kidding. You’re new, and they’re going to come at you like vultures.”
“Huh?” I asked, my heart sinking to my stomach.
After a quiet moment of pause, the collective chatter began—customers talking to customers, customers talking to workers, workers talking to workers. And it didn’t matter who was talking to whom, the one thing that each conversation had in common was that they were all talking about me. It’s her. She’s here. She’s so small. Poor thing, is that all she has to wear? Look at that bruise. What happened to her face? Should we get up? Offer our seat? Talk to her?
“Chris, hi.” A waitress met us at th
e door. “And Sydney, hello.”
“Hi,” I said, hating that Danielle was right; Theo had told everyone about me. They already knew my name.
“Oh, we’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “It’s so nice to have you here. Rumor has it you’re starting MHS in January?”
“That’s the plan,” Chris said.
“What’s MHS?” I asked, turning to him.
“Morgantown High School.”
“Oh, right.” I shrugged. I wouldn’t give her a definite answer. I didn’t know where I’d be by the time January rolled around.
“I’m Laney. My younger brother’s in your class so you’ll have to find him on your first day. Connor Welch. He can show you the ropes and help you survive the place.”
“Oh,” I said, shaking the hand she offered. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Where do you want us, Laney?” Chris asked.
“Oh, grab a seat anywhere,” she said, as if we actually had some say in the matter. We didn’t. The place was packed. We found bar stools at the counter, and within moments the young waitress took our drink orders.
“Oh, my goodness, Christopher! Is this her?”
At the sound of a high-pitched voice, Chris’s shoulders raised to his ears. A middle-aged woman rushed up from the booth behind us, juggling her oversized purse with a stack of papers and a to-go cup of coffee.
“This should be fun,” he mumbled before swiveling around in his barstool. “Franny!”
“Sweet boy,” she said, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. The muscles in his face tensed as she pressed her lips hard against his skin. “And Sydney.”
She turned to me, looking as though she might force a kiss on me as well, and Chris leaned over to stop her before she had the chance.
“How’s life at the salon, Franny?” he asked.
“Never better,” she said. “Business is booming now that we have the new chairs.”
“Good to hear,” he said, sipping at his coffee. “And how’s Paula?”
“Oh, same ole, same ole,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Booking appointments left and right. Always moving, always has another client. One of the ladies down at the salon started calling her The Blur, and you know what?”
Running Scared (Letters From Morgantown Book 1) Page 10
