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“Steve’s Quality Shop. It’s a couple miles down from Folsom Street.”
“I’m on my way.”
An hour later he pulls into the parking lot and helps me into his car. As if he knows that something is wrong, he cups my face and stares into my eyes, silently asking me to say something, but I can’t.
I’m too fucked up right now and I need to sort my own shit out before saying a word about it.
Clasping my hand, he whispers, “It’ll be okay,” before driving off into the sunset.
As much as I want to block out today and think about something else—anything else, I can’t run from Leah her “advice.”
“You don’t need friends, Em. You’ve got me! And I’ll be here forever—for-fucking-ever!” she said when I told her I was the only person in my gym class without a running buddy.
“You have to always fuck with a purpose, okay?” She scolded as I vomited over the toilet, after I’d cried to her about literally feeling sick about sleeping with one of the men she’d introduced me to. “It was for money...Not because you liked him. Never fuck someone just because you like him. It’ll never end well.”
“Em, Em, Em...” She popped a bottle of champagne the weekend after I turned sixteen. “I know I promised I would take you to the pier this weekend, but I was talking to Vincent earlier and...He’s paying for me to take you to New York! Make sure you bring your ID because you and I are going to party every night next week! And you’re going to try coke at least, once! ”
“Emerald?” Carter interrupts my memory reel, and I realize he’s standing outside my door with his hand outstretched. “Did you want to come inside or sit in the car?”
“Why are we at a CVS?”
“I need to get a corkscrew for our bottle.”
“You’re going to serve me wine?” I scoff. “You know what? Just take me home after you buy it.”
He pulls me out of the car and wraps an arm around my waist. “It’s not for wine. It’s for sparkling cider.”
“Are you still going to take me home after you buy it?”
He doesn’t answer. He smiles and escorts me inside.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asks as he grabs a hand basket.
“Not really...”
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I technically still a stranger?”
“You were upgraded from stranger status weeks ago...”
“Does that make me your friend?”
“One of very few,” I say, and he kisses me.
He grabs two bottles of sparkling cider and a corkscrew, and on the way up to the counter I snag a box of condoms from an endcap.
He looks down at me and raises his eyebrow, letting a slow smile spread across his face.
I blush and turn away from him. I’m not taking no for an answer today.
When we approach the register there isn’t a cashier in sight. We both call out “Hello” and look down the aisles, but no one answers.
“I’ll be back.” He sighs. “I left my wallet in the car anyway.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I grab everything off the counter—stuffing it all into my purse, and walk out of the store.
Before I can get inside his car, he grabs my shoulders and spins me around. “Your mother didn’t teach you that it’s wrong to steal?”
“My mother apparently didn’t teach me shit...”
He must sense that I’m being genuine and not my normal sarcastic self because he looks at me a long time before pressing his lips against my forehead and whispering, “Good to see you finally opening up.”
He reaches around me and pulls the car door open. Then he goes into the store for a few seconds.
“You went back and paid for everything didn’t you?” I look over at him as he slides behind the wheel.
“I did.”
“Why? They would’ve never known the stuff was gone. I would’ve paid them back tomorrow.”
“Southern born and raised. Honesty is a natural thing.”
I roll my eyes and try not to smile as he pulls off.
He places his hand on my knee—caressing it as he drives around the outskirts of Blythe.
The car coasts to a small condo building that sits on the edge of a massive lake. When he cuts the engine off, I take off my seatbelt and move to open the door, but I stop myself.
“Whenever you get tired of doing this Prince Charming routine, let me know.” I sit back and wait for him to let me out.
I don’t mention it, but I’ve grown to like this habit of his. I’ve been watching a lot of Old Hollywood films lately, and I’ve noticed that all the men hold the doors open for the leading lady wherever she goes. It didn’t hit me until CVS today, but Carter hardly ever lets me do anything for myself when we’re together, and he has never let me pay for dinner when he picks me up from work.
