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Mack
Fine.
But at least throw your hat in the ring and let her decide.
I click off my phone. I’m not going to let Mack bait me.
I watch as the guy—Chad—opens the car door for her and she slips inside. Emmy is on a date. With a perfectly respectable looking guy who will probably treat her well. I’m not going to interfere with that.
Before I head home, I drive around the back of Book Smart and see Emmy’s car parked in its usual spot. I know she doesn’t lock the doors because she claims our city is “one hundred percent safe,” something I only half agree with.
Emmy is a little naïve that way.
It’s part of her charm.
I pick up the flowers, step out of my truck, and walk around to the passenger side of her car. I open the door and set the flowers on the seat.
I bought them for her.
I want her to have them.
Even if for no other reason than no reason at all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emmy
My Chad date was. . .fine.
It was perfectly nice.
There is nothing wrong with Chad. He’s a decent guy. He told me about his job, which was just south of interesting, and then somehow, we got on the topic of Lord of the Rings.
We never got off that topic.
He drove me back to my store talking about orcs and elves and the long, winding history of some guy named Celebrimbor.
As Reagan predicted, I was home and in bed by 10 p.m.
There was no fumbling for my keys at the door because I was nervous about a forthcoming kiss, no lingering on the stoop wishing for time to stop, and definitely no sparks or tingles or glances or swoons.
Bonus points for him, though, he did leave a bouquet of sunflowers in my car. I love sunflowers. They’re my favorite flower—how in the world did he know that?
They don’t counteract the Middle-Earth dissertation, but it definitely checks a romance box.
The next morning, I wake up to find that my parents have taken an impromptu trip out of town.
Again.
Ever since Ellie and I moved out, this is what they do. They jaunt. They’re jaunty.
Jaunters?
Jauntpersons?
Jauntalopes?
I giggle at that last one.
