My whole body locks up.
Adam stands back up, arms crossed, his face giving away nothing.And nothing means everything because I once could have written a medical thesaurus cataloging each of his micro-expressions.
“Wait.”Claire’s inhale could rival any dramatic podcast reveal.“Is he—”
“Right here?”My voice hits a high pitch only a dog could hear.I clear my throat.“Oh yeah.He’s right here.”
“Ohhh… plot twist,” Julie murmurs.
“I swear I didn’t realize it until that picture on the website,” Claire rushes to explain.“I was going to tell you last night, but you said you were done looking backward, that you needed this fresh start more than anything, and I thought...”She trails off, realizing she’s only making it worse.
“You thought ambushing me was better?”I hiss through clenched teeth, aware of Adam watching this unfold with that unreadable expression.
“It’s the perfect job and they don’t care, about… your issues.And I thought maybe it was fate,” Claire admits quietly.My best friend, the one who held my hand through scans when Chuck wouldn’t, the one who helped me pack after I found Chuck in that supply closet. “And that if I told you, you wouldn’t go.”
And there it is.The truth I can’t even argue with, because she’s right.I wouldn’t have come.
Seven years since I stood him up, convinced he deserved someone whole, not a girl with radiation burns and scars who couldn’t guarantee a future and who lied to him for months.And now he’s standing here, not the vet student who’d read to me when I couldn’t sleep, but a full-grown man who’d make even Dante from my audiobook raise an eyebrow.
“I…”
Adam’s eyes narrow.“So, you didn’t plan to come here?”His voice is too controlled, too measured.
“I thought I was going to the Jersey Shore.”Like that explains anything.
“Eve, babe.”Claire clears her throat.“I never said The Jersey Shore.You’re in Pine Creek, close to Jersey Shore, a little town in Pennsylvania.”
“Find out if he still makes that sound when he—” Harper starts.
“—We can still hear you!”I interrupt, my face burning.
“I love you.You’ve got this,” Claire says softly.
“Yep.Love you, bye!”I hang up before my voice betrays me further.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if I can manifest a sinkhole right under my feet.
“The chihuahua?”Adam’s voice pulls me back like a crash cart during code blue.Unwanted but necessary for survival.
I nod.“He’s here.He’s safe.He seems fine.”
“Good.”
“Did he bite you?”Great callback to seven years ago, ladies and gentlemen.I’m here all month, apparently.
“Really?”I really hate how even his tone remains a black hole.I once memorized everything about this man: the way he likes his waffles (crispy on the outside, melting deliciousness on the inside), that he’s not a fan of peanut butter and chocolate (but loves snickers!), that he used to play hockey, that when he laughs, it’s the type of laughter that had the clearly magical power of thawing the Ice Queen—aka me.“No, he didn’t bite me.And I can tend to my own wounds.Got plenty of years to learn.”
Ouch.“Yep.Good.Hmmm.”
From the backseat, my dogs are on a mission to remind me they’re here.
Dorothy is rustling behind me which usually means she’s plotting a soap opera where she's the main character.
Nope.She’s halfway into my tote.
“Dorothy.Don’t you—"
She emerges victorious, dragging Dickle—my half-crocheted Santa pickle ornament—by the yarn string.It looks more like something fromMartians Have Big Dick Energy,too than an ornament, but hey, stress crocheting for the win.
