AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Looks like she’s meant to be something else entirely.
Chapter Four
Emmy
I am not in love with Owen.
Let me repeat that in hopes my heart hears me.
I am not in love with Owen.
I had a momentary lapse in the wake of the fire, where I fantasized (for way too long) about his strong arms whisking me out of the burning house.
But this morning, I woke up with a clear head and clear memories of the last time I saw him.
Owen and I are not friends.
We used to be friends. Never more than that.
Despite my very deep, very real, very ridiculous feelings for him back then.
Now, however, we are not friends. We’re just acquaintances. Who got our picture taken.
We’re picture pals. At best.
And that’s exactly how it should be.
Maybe Owen might be secretly kind and very misunderstood—but he still left town without a word, even after I—
“You’re alive!”
Mack bursts through the door of Book Smart, her sleek leather bag over her shoulder, looking like the world traveler she is.
Thank God she interrupted my train of thought.
Mack is always jetting off on some adventure or another, though she swears her job is far less glamorous than it seems.
“I’m a waitress, Emmy,” she told me once. “I just happen to be waiting on cranky people at thirty-five thousand feet.”
The photos of her—all with the same pose— from various and exotic places in the world tell a different story, especially to me.
I’ve never even been out of the country, not in real life anyway. I’ve spent a lot of time in rural 19th century England, among other countries of the fictional variety.
And although I’d rock a bell-shaped, crinoline petticoat, somehow, I don’t think that counts.
I give her some Twain. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” I’m standing behind the counter at my little shop, preparing for the morning rush.
“But. . .your house. What are you even doing here? You’re already back at work?” Mack drops her bag onto the counter and throws her arms around me. She smells like vanilla and feels like home. She and I have been best friends since we were kids, and with two teeny tiny exceptions, I’ve never kept anything from her.
Mack knows almost everything there is to know about me.
Almost.
She doesn’t know about The Hopeful Romantic.
And she doesn’t know about my crush on her brother.
Former, I tell my brain. In the past.
