No! I want to cry out. That’s not what I meant!
But Emerson is glowering at me, his chest rising and falling quickly with his barely-contained temper. I stare back, and for a moment, we’re frozen there, neither of us willing to back down.
Finally, Emerson exhales. “So much for civil,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“What?” I ask cautiously.
He gives me a wry shrug. “I told myself, I’d at least try to be civil to you.”
Civil.
His words send a fresh ripple of pain through me as I realize the bleak truth behind his words. If that’s the best he can hope for—if he has to force himself to even say a polite word to me—then this is so much worse than I ever imagined.
“I have to go!” I blurt, lurching away from him. I stumble in the sand, and nearly fall. Emerson puts his hand out to steady me, reaching for my arm.
I freeze, feeling heat course through me from the contact of his hand on my bare skin. I look up, helpless, into his eyes. Emerson gazes back. Something ricochets between us, that undeniable flood of desire and longing and memories of his skin, hot and damp against mine…
I pull back like I’ve been burned.
“Bye,” I tell him quickly, before I come undone right in front of him. “Take care of yourself.” I add, and my voice comes out so clipped and distant, I sound like a stranger.
Emerson blinks. “Uh, sure. You too.”
I don’t stick around to humiliate myself any longer. I take off, scrambling back up the dunes as fast as my legs will carry me. My thighs burn as I clamber up the sand, but I don’t stop, even for a second. I know this is the last time I’ll ever see him, but force myself not to turn back for one more look. Not that I need to: I have the image of him burned onto my brain now, more permanent than any photograph. Face set with disappointment, harsh and angry to know what I’ve made of myself.
His judgment stings, and I feel my protests rise up in me, all the drive home. I didn’t quit anything! I made the right call, I reassure myself. I had to. I picked myself up after his cruel rejection, and did what I could to mend my broken heart. The life I’ve chosen is solid, and real—not some flighty dream of art school, and God knows whatever would come after. After everything I’ve been through, I couldn’t face the insecurity that comes from that kind of life: living paycheck to paycheck, never knowing what’s around the corner. I’d had enough poverty and instability to last a lifetime—enough grief, at the tragic curveballs the world could fling my way.
I was done with reckless, I wanted safe and sure and true.
Emerson made sure of that.
CHAPTER FOURBy the time I reach the beach house, a storm of emotions are whirling through me. Pain over Emerson’s anger, defensiveness at the way he judged me, and a fresh wave of regret over everything else I lost that summer.
Part of me wishes I never came back to Cedar Cove at all. I remember my stupid confidence on the drive out, so sure I could make it through without even seeing Emerson, let alone falling into a hundred shattered pieces with just one look, one touch… Now look at me, fleeing the scene of our meeting like I’m running for my life. If only my feelings could be packed away as easily as the house: wrapped up in tissue and plastic bubble-wrap, and stacked neatly in a box. No messy breakdowns, or treacherous longing, tugging at my heart every time I look at him. I could throw the lot in storage, bolt the door, and never have to think about him ever again.
I drag my thoughts out of the dark past, and turn down the drive. There’s another car parked up by the house: a battered VW yellow Beetle, with fluffy dice and dream-catchers hanging from the rearview mirror.
Right away, my heart lifts. I shove the Camaro into park and leap out of the car, racing across the lawn to where the person I need most in the world right now is waiting on the porch.
“Lacey!”
I hurl myself into my best friend’s arms and hug her tight. Relief sweeps through me. For the second time today, I have to swallow back tears, but this time, they’re tears of gladness.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” I say, still hugging her.
“Mneugh! Boobs! Crushed!” Lacey manages, against my neck.
I release her, grinning. “Sorry, I just missed you so much!”
“You’ve been gone, like, two days!” Lacey points out. Her choppy blonde hair is pushed back with a pair of oversized shades, and she’s wearing an oversized guy’s singlet over a red bikini that matches her smear of bright lipgloss. Bright, bold, brash—that’s Lacey.
“But what are you doing here?” I ask, the surprise wearing off. “You didn’t say you were coming.”
“You need me.” Lacey announces. “To deal with all this ex shit.”
How does she know? I haven’t even told her about last night with Emerson, or what just happened this morning.
I bite my lip. “I said I was fine.”
Lacey rolls her wide blue eyes. “Yeah, with like five exclamation points. If that isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what is.”
I pause for another moment, still tense, but then I relax and laugh. Only Lacey could read between the lines like that. She can always see through my bullshit. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” I decide.
“Me too,” Lacey leans in the open window of the Bug, and lifts out a brown paper bag. I can hear the clink of glass inside, and see the top of a bag of chips peeking out the top. Cool Ranch, our go-to comfort snacking. “And I came prepared. Come on, you’re going to tell me everything!”