It was the letter at the bottom of the meager stack that caught my attention.
A soft plum envelope embossed with lifelike vines.
Emma Foxwas written across the front in bold cursive penmanship that used a glossy black ink. I’d never seen my name look so grand before. Each letter had a personality; each loop of calligraphy told a story.
The only thing this envelope was missing was a return address, and my fingers fumbled with it as I flipped it over and broke the wax seal.
Thewax seal.
The paper inside was soft to the touch and smelled like a bonfire Teresa dragged me to on the beach over the summer. My eyes hungrily darted across the page.
Emma,
Sorry this isn’t a more formal invitation. If you knew my manager, you’d understand why I didn’t want this going through his official channels.
I have a recital at the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Downtown LA on November 19th, at six o’clock in the evening. It’s a new setlist, and this is the most input I’ve ever had on song choices.
Included are two tickets to the show, along with tickets for the party afterward. I hope to see you there, Emma.
Also, if it doesn’t work out with the guy you’re talking to, I’d love to see you before then.
Sincerely,
Oliver
P.S. I don’t have bodyguards, and I wouldn’t have pushed you away.
A phone number was scrawled in the bottom margin.
My lungs found it difficult to breathe. My fingers trembled as the delicate paper wrinkled in my grip, and questions bombarded every corner of my mind.
Was the second ticket for me to bring a friend, or did he assume I’d bring the guy I mentioned?
Was it a test?
What was he expecting to happen at the after-party?
Was that really his number?
How had he gotten my address?
…He wouldn’t have pushed me away?
I took a deep breath and flopped back on my bed before watching with detached interest as Mr. Elephant went toppling off his throne.
Oliver Bishop was my childhood crush. The boy I’d named all my Ken dolls after and tried to write my own childish love ballads for. The piano prodigy I’d struggled to mimic while pretending we were boyfriend and girlfriend as I imagined us playing duets together. He was out of reach. Unavailable. A fantasy that wasn’treal.
But at the moment, he felt entirely reachable, scarily available, and mind-alteringly real.
Not to mention inconceivably interested.
He was pursuing me.
Me!
From the way my heart threatened to lead a mutiny and tear its way out of my chest for a guy who wasn’t the one I was dating, I decided that Oliver Bishop could be very,verydangerous.
So, I stuffed the invitation in my nightstand drawer, out of sight. November was still a ways away, and that sounded like an issue for Future Emma to deal with.
