Chapter Forty-Seven: Lucy

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENLUCY

I drive home slowly. It’s dark, and the streets of Plumpton are empty. I almost roll down the windows like I would on a quiet night in L.A., but the humidity is as thick as ever.

When I stop at a light downtown, I look out to see Emmett decorating the window of the art shop.

A guilty voice in the back of my head reminds me that I never answered his last two texts. I also haven’t told him I’m going back to California.

The light turns green. He’s noticed me staring at him. He lifts his hand in a hesitant wave.

Shit. I press lightly on the gas and park the car on the side of the road. I step out.

“Hey.” I point to the big yellow sunflower he’s painting on the window. “That’s pretty.”

“Oh. Thanks. Some kids wrote ‘vagina’ over the last one, so the owner asked me to do one that’s less erotic.”

I bark out a laugh. “Was your last flower erotic?”

A grin spreads across his face. “Well, I didn’t think so, but apparently some kids saw something I didn’t.”

I lean against the brick wall next to the art shop. “They could have at least been more creative. Vagina isn’t very clever graffiti.”

“I agree. Put some effort in, kids.” He turns back to the window, brush poised.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts. It’s been…”

“Busy?” he guesses without looking at me. He sweeps yellow across the window, forming a petal.

“No. I’m never busy.”

He shoots me an amused look.

“Horrible,” I finish, trying for honesty. “It’s been horrible being back, reliving everything with Savvy and my marriage…” I take a deep breath, and I’m mortified to realize I’m about to start crying again. I thought I had gotten it all out at Grandma’s. I try to blink quickly enough to hide it, but tears slide down my cheeks.

Emmett lowers his brush. Men usually look terrified when women start crying, but he looks more intrigued than anything.

“Sorry.” I wipe my cheeks.

He steps forward and kisses me, which is the last thing I expect. Maybe he’s trying for comfort. I don’t love it.

I’m still against the wall, and he presses his body against mine. His lips are too rough, his tongue too eager. His saliva is all around my mouth far too quickly. No one asked for this.

I consider pushing him away, but it seems easier to just ride this out, smile politely, and then bolt while discreetly wiping my face off.

I don’t remember him being a bad kisser the time we made out in my house. My memory of that night is fuzzy; I must have been drunker than I realized.

He puts a hand on my breast over my shirt. Seriously, no one asked for this.

I put a hand on his chest, ready to push him away. His other hand is on my cheek. I smell paint on his fingers.

“Lucy.”

His hand is the one on my breast five years ago, I realize. The sounds of laughter and music drifting over from the wedding. He’d slipped one of my straps down, and his thumb was tracing circles over my nipple. He had green paint underneath his fingernails.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he’d said to me, his lips against my neck. He reached for his zipper, and I realized he intended to fuck me right there, with the smells of rotting food drifting over from the nearby dumpster.

What the hell, I’d thought. I’d been drunk. Not too drunk, but enough to think that fucking Emmett was a great way to get back at Matt, who probably had a woman bent over the bathroom counter right at that moment.

“Lucy.” Savvy’s voice was sharp, almost angry. I’d turned to see her standing a few feet away, hands on her hips. “Let’s go.”

Her voice, her look of disapproval, had snapped me back to reality. I’d quickly put my boob back in my dress and hurried after her.

“No, Lucy, wait.” Emmett had caught my hand, not gently. I’d yelped as he pulled me back to him.

“I’m sorry.” I’d apologized to the man who had just hurt me, in a baffling choice. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I’d run after Savvy then, and that’s where the memory fades.

In the present, I’m still kissing Emmett.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say that he’s kissing me. I’m mostly a statue at this point.

Someone loudly clears their throat, and we both turn.

Nina.

She’s standing near the curb, wearing light blue scrubs. She shoots me an icy glare as Emmett steps away from me.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks Emmett.

He sighs heavily but nods, and then shoots me an apologetic look. Nina walks inside the art store, and he follows. The bell chimes as the door closes behind them.

I walk quickly to my car, and then sit in the driver’s seat, breathing heavily.

Why did Savvy look mad about my making out with Emmett at the wedding? Did she have feelings for—

I freeze as the memory comes into focus.