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I stare at the bottle of hoisin sauce in my hand, gripping it until my knuckles turn white, blinking slowly, not wanting to turn around because I don’t know if I’m strong enough to see the face of the person who’s talking to me.
Ever since the flowers were delivered at work, and I knew he lived in the city, I wondered if this would happen. I thought I was safe, living far enough away from his house that there was no way we would accidentally run into each other. I’ve avoided his favorite stores, the ice cream shop I used to work at, and the convenient gas stations in his neighborhood. This store is halfway across the city, but a quick internet search told me that they offer the best selection of Asian sauces. This would have been the last place I ever thought I’d see him.
With the bottle still clutched in one hand, my phone in the other, I slowly turn to my right, trailing my eyes from the floor upward, finding worn, black, steel-toe boots, dark Carhartt work pants, and a heavy coat that hugs a thick—but built—waist. Holding my breath, I look up and into a pair of crystal blue eyes I know so well that I could draw them from memory.
He’s become a man, but I’d still recognize him anywhere. Dark hair sticking out in small tufts under a tan beanie. A full beard, which I’ve never seen him with before, but somehow suits him more than the freshly shaven face he used to wear. He has officially lost his teenage weight. Still husky, but strong—so strong. Broad shoulders bursting under a dark gray jacket. His size meets strength, and he looks more like a linebacker than the boy I met at fifteen years old. My gaze leaves him, traveling to the shopping cart filled with groceries. And the little toddler in the front of the cart. Blonde, wavy hair, a stark contrast to her dad, and my stomach lurches a bit knowing she must have gotten her beauty from her mom.
“Jenna,” he prompts again with a crack in his voice.
He takes a step to the side, keeping one hand on the cart near his daughter and the other jerks out to reach for me, but pulls back. His eyes flit all over my body, from my hair to my face, to my feet and back again. My mind whirs with questions, and though there are so many things I want to say right now, I can’t speak. The anger rises again in my chest, burning my throat as I bite back the words.How could you?I hate you. What happened? You broke me. But those words are nothing compared to how much I fucking miss him. Somewhere in aisle seven of the Whole Foods market, all of the anger I’ve kept so tightly locked in my chest for the last three years starts to evaporate.
“Emmett.”
I drop the bottle and phone in my basket, the glass clanking among the other items and I rush toward him, throwing my arms around his waist, hands finding their way inside his jacket and burying my face into the crook of his neck upon instinct, finding I still fit in my spot after all these years.
He meets my urgency with his own, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me to him. He says something, but I can’t hear it. Everything around me becomes white noise and all I know is him.
His cologne, the same Ralph Lauren one I bought him for Christmas one year fills my nostrils. He eyed it at the mall, but he refused to buy it, telling me he could think of plenty of other things he’d rather spend one hundred dollars on. So, I saved some extra money that summer, spending weekends scooping ice cream when most of our friends were swimming or partying, and I bought it for him for Christmas. He wore it every day, including the last day I saw him. I would have imagined his wife had purchased him something new over the last few years but taking another deep breath in, I know it’s the same one.
His jacket is rough against my cheek, still holding onto a bite of cold from the winter weather, but his body is warm. I breathe it all in, feeling so fucking content and settled as the hug lingers. We don’t care about the shoppers milling around us, muttering rude comments since we’re blocking most of the aisle. We are oblivious to most of the outer world until the toddler in the cart at my elbow sneezes a few times, and we pull back.
In typical dad fashion, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a crumpled tissue and swipes her nose, all while keeping an arm wrapped around my hip.
“Bless you, sweetie.” I turn to face the little girl in the cart.
She drops her face down and reaches her arms up for her daddy. Emmett immediately lets go of me to pluck her out of the cart and props her on a hip, and she hides in his big chest.
“She’s a little shy,” he says, reaching a hand up to palm the back of her head.
“Nothing wrong with that.” I keep my gaze locked on her head of blonde curls. “She’s a doll.” The apples of his cheeks blush at the compliment, something I forget he does so easily.
“You’re adad, Emmett.” I knew he had a child, but actively tried to prevent myself from imagining what that might look like. Seeing him now, standing in front of me with her in his arms, it nearly takes my breath away.
“I’m the lucky one for sure. She’s hilarious. She’s two, almost three; goofy as hell when she’s feeling better. She’s got a little cold from daycare. Normally, she’d be running circles around this place, wouldn’t you, sweetie?” He runs the back of his knuckle over her cheek.
She sniffs and rubs her already red nose over his chest, leaving a glimmering snot trail in her path.
His gaze goes from her and back to me. We soak each other in.
He reaches a hand up to grasp the end of my hair, sliding the smooth strands between his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t remember ever seeing you with straight hair,” he mumbles. “You always had the best curls.”
His sweet compliment is like a shot to the heart. My hair has always been wild. I wasn’t blessed with curls like Julia Roberts inPretty Woman. Instead, I resemble Carrot Top, all frizzy and wild and kinky. I never took the time to learn how to tame it in high school, and it wasn’t until Emmett and I were done and I dated men in the city that comments rolled in:Too tangly. Looks messy. Have you ever tried to straighten it?
If he only knew the amount of time and money I have spent in the salon, getting chemical straightening treatments and Keratin-infused whatever to receive compliments from men I didn’t care about.
“Trying something new these days,” I tell him, not ready to go down the road of what the last few years have been like without him. “Looks like you have some hippie hair going on under there,” I tease, reaching up to twist a tendril sticking out of his beanie.
He reaches his free hand up to tug the cap off, running his hand through the longer locks on his head. “I’m way overdue for a haircut. I haven't had one since I moved back to the city.”
I stay quiet, wanting to ask so many questions, while at the same time knowing it may break my heart more to hear his answers. “How long have you been back?”.
He slips the beanie back on his head and adjusts the girl on his hip. “A little while.” He pauses, probably waiting for me to say something but all I can do is nod along. “Did you get my flowers?”
“Yes.” I took them home. Stared at them for days. Reread his note every time I walked by them. Laid in bed and went through every memory we had together and tried to figure out what to do. I programmed his number into my phone, but I didn’t have it in me to call him. I wasn’t ready to hear his voice and fall back into the trap that is Emmett Owens. Instead, I wanted to run again, because I knew that if we were in the same city there would be some indescribable gravitational force that would pull us together.
I didn’t think it’d be so soon.
“I know . . .” he trails off, pausing to release a shaky exhale. He looks at his daughter again, and I'm sure this isn’t a conversation he planned to have with her in his arms. “There is so much I want to tell you,” he starts again. “So much we need to talk about.”
