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There’s noise inside as a man walks to the entrance. He’s a couple inches taller than I am, and he’s imposing, all shoulders and brawn. I work out, but I’ve always been on the leaner side.
“Can I help you?” he asks. “We’re closed for a private event.”
He looks like Emily in male form. I smile, to mask the anxiety coursing through my entire body. “Hi. You’re one of the brothers, right?”
He studies me. “Yeah, but we’re closed…”
“Is Emily here?”
“Yes, but…”
“I was wondering if I could see her,” I ask. “Just for a second.”
“What’s going on…” I hear from the voice that’s haunted me for ten years. She steps to the side and the wind is knocked out of me.
She looks exactly the same. The wild brown hair I remember that I ran my fingers through. Her full pink lips I couldn’t leave alone for a week straight. Her cheeks are rosier, but I can still see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Her body is softer than I remember, but she’s wearing a sundress, with strings tied at her shoulders. I don’t know what to say. How to act.
All I do is raise a hand and finally say, “Hey Martini. It’s been a long time.”
3
Emily
I must be dreaming. There’s no way Max is standing in front of me, at my family’s brewery, on my birthday. This can’t be happening. Just when I gave up any fantasy of him popping up in town, he shows up.
And he looks like that.
He’s well-dressed like he always was, in khakis and a tucked-in, button-up shirt. His jaw is clean-shaven, his blond hair perfectly styled. When we dated, I joked he was my Ken doll, always perfect. The past ten years had been kind to him. His boyish good looks have morphed into a man’s, distinguished and poised. He fills out his shirt now, with broader shoulders, tapering to a slim waist. His eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles.
I’ve seen him naked is the first thought I’ve had. The second thought I had is Holy shit, I don’t want Olive seeing him. Not yet.
“Hi, um, can you excuse me for a moment?” I ask, holding up a finger.
“Emily, who is this?” Jackson asks. My eyes widen, and my brother’s mouth drops in realization and he nods. “Say no more. I’ll watch him.” Jackson jerks his head to a table. “We’re going to sit over here.”
“Why? I…”
Jackson’s voice grows sterner as he clamps his hand on Max’s shoulder. “We’re sitting over here.”
I mouth thank you before I run off to smuggle my daughter out of here like a rescue mission for a hostage victim.
My mother and daughter are walking down the hall back towards the taproom, laughing like two ladies out for a shopping date and a light salad lunch. Shiloh is several steps behind.
“Mom, Olive, come here. Shiloh too.”
“What’s going on?” My mom’s face tells me Mom has gone to the worst-case scenario in her thoughts. Fires. Gunmen. Clowns.
“I need you to go into the office,” I say. The nearest office is Jackson’s, and it’s locked. I rattle the door handle several times, like jiggling it will open it.
“I have a key,” Shiloh says, wedging herself next to me to put the key into the lock from her keyring.
“Thank you,” I breathe out. I’m not sure if I should cry or scream. Maybe both.
I honestly didn’t ever come up with a game plan if he ever showed up. As the years passed, I grew less and less hopeful, sure I would never see him again. Olive would never meet him. It was easier than being disappointed.
Then, he shows up today, of all days, and I need my daughter out of here as quickly as possible.
I kneel in front of Olive. “Honey, we need to go home.”
