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you are literally the tragic small-town hero of your own life

and a rock star just walked in with pastries

for YOU

I groan, and Fox looks up from the tablet. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I do not look up. Instead, I focus very hard on the lighting contract in front of me and will Emmett’s messages to stop.

They don’t.

Emmett:

wait

WAIT

BOSS

BOSS

you already did, didn’t you

THAT’S WHY HE’S HERE

I choke on my coffee.

Across the room, Emmett makes a small triumphant sound and then whips his head back to his screen like a man who has just cracked the biggest case of his career.

Finn:

Emmett. Eat your bun. Focus on your calls. We will never speak of this again.

Emmett:

oh my god

Finn:

I mean it.

Emmett:

i have so many questions

SO many questions

Finn:

Get back to work, or I’ll make you volunteer at Mrs. Peterson’s wreath stall for the duration of the festival.

There’s a long pause. Then, finally, the rustle of the paper bag opening. I sneak a glance across the room. Emmett is eating his cardamom bun with a smug smile.

I close the chat window and go back to work.

Around five, Emmett stands up. “Boss, I’m heading home, but don’t worry, I’ll keep working through the weekend.”

“Em, you don’t have to. Enjoy your weekend because come Monday, you know it’ll be five killer days.”