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16
Emma
Finn comforted me on the way back from Cherry Valley yesterday, but as soon as we got to the house, I headed straight for my room. I barely thanked Bree and Jackson, which I felt bad about, but I just wanted to be alone. There were several reasons for that.
First of all, I felt like a complete idiot. As a grown woman, I had mindlessly accepted a lift from a man I barely knew. Yes, I know I’m innocent and naïve, but still. It’s basic training from childhood: don’t get into a stranger’s car. The kinder side of me had tried to argue that he wasn’t exactly a stranger, but I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t know Nick Fenton at all, a point that had only been proven with full clarity.
Being such a fool led right to my next reason for wanting to be alone. I was humiliated. I don’t mean because he had turned from the guy I had thought he was into some sort of monster and yelled at me in the middle of the street. I mean the fact that I had been such a fool was humiliating.
So was the fact that, by the time Jackson hustled Finn into the car, I was sitting there trembling as though I had experienced a dreadful ordeal. And yes, it wasn’t pleasant, but I think my body overreacted. The truth is, I’ve never experienced something like that. I’ve never been so scared of what a person might do while I’m powerless to stop it. My mum might have been overprotective of me for all these years, but she has certainly done me no favors.
Sylvie and her mom made several attempts to check on me last night, but I sent them away without opening the bedroom door. Someone else might have rung a loved one, like their mother or their sister. All I wanted was to stare into space and think about nothing at all.
I make my way down to the kitchen the next morning, and I am mildly surprised to find Sylvie sitting at the breakfast bar with Finn.
“Hi,” she says gently when I walk in.
I look at her, and then I look at Finn. He’s regarding me with a concerned, steady gaze. I can’t imagine what must be going through his mind. Probably that I’m the biggest idiot ever. He lifts his coffee mug and moves toward me. I assume he’s heading up to the study, where he always goes during the day, but he stops by my side.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” he says.
“Finn, it wasn’t your—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts me off. It’s the most serious I’ve seen him since I arrived. “Anyway”—he nods to Sylvie—“I’ll leave you ladies in peace.” With that, he leaves the kitchen.
Sylvie pushes herself down from the bar stool and approaches me with her arms open wide and a sad expression on her face. Wrapping me in a tight hug, she rocks me from side to side. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” she whispers in my ear.
Nobody else has anything to be sorry for. I brought this on myself. If I had just been resolute in my decision to continue walking home, none of it would have happened.
“What are you doing home?” I ask.
“I stayed home because I was worried about you,” she replies, looking at me with concern.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Sylvie nods determinedly. “Yes, I did. Now, do you want a cup of tea?”
I nod, because I suddenly feel weary. Maybe I should have just stayed in bed.
Later, when we’re sitting in the garden, Sylvie asks me what happened. It only occurs to me at her question that no one knew why I was even in Nick’s car. And then my thoughts go to Finn, and I wonder what he might be thinking. Did he think I had gone on a date with Nick? If he did, how would that impact what was happening between us? Because something has been happening between us. I might be naïve and innocent, but when a man can leave you breathless with a simple touch and soft words, you know something is going on.
I explain, in detail, how I had ended up with Nick in Cherry Valley. With each sentence, Sylvie looks more and more appalled. When I tell her the finale, she can hardly believe it. She hurriedly pushes herself up on the sun lounger she is lying on, spins around, and gawks at me in shock. “Oh, my God! He really said that?” she cries, a mixture of disgust and astonishment working through her expression.
I nod, then drop my gaze. Talking about it is making me utterly miserable, so I don’t say anymore. Sylvie seems to pick up on that, and, leaning across to me, she places her hand on mine. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry this happened.”
I’m pretty quiet for the rest of the day. In fact, I’m pretty quiet for the next couple of days. Everyone is lovely and supportive. Especially Finn. In fact, he makes the most effort. When Sylvie returns to work, Finn sits with me in the garden. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we just sit there, me reading, him working on his laptop. It’s like he senses whether I want to converse or not and then acts accordingly.
A day after the incident, Bree and Jackson come over for the evening, and we have beers and nibbles. They talk about the wedding, and I manage to thank them for their help. They dismiss my thanks, telling me it isn’t necessary.
In the days after that, I slowly start to come out of myself again. I’m determined to forget about what happened. I’m sure I won’t be seeing Nick Fenton anytime soon. I have come to realize that the guy he was in the coffee shop was the phony, and the real Nick Fenton is the man who yelled at me in the street. The man who aggressively tried to grab me and pull me back into the bar with him just so he could get his way.
He had played a part to get what he wanted, but it hadn’t worked. Knowing he had burned his bridge with me, I had no doubt that he would take no time at all before moving on to his next conquest, whoever that poor girl might be. If I knew, I’d run and warn her. But I don’t, so I can’t.
I put my energy back into the garden, and, without me having to ask, Finn lends a hand. He hasn’t mentioned Nick Fenton or the incident since it happened, and I’m truly grateful for that.
“So, what limb are we planning to damage today?” he jokes as I wield a garden brush. My wrist is still sore, but I’ve been using it to try to strengthen the muscles. “Shall we break a leg? Or what about a toe? Toes are always a favorite.” He grins. “They have this uncanny ability to tell you where the corner of a solid table is.”
I wince at the thought, and he laughs at my expression.
