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My face heats. Yes. I am. There is no “zen” when Owen is in my orbit.
There is only me, seemingly destined to repeat my wonderful history of humiliating myself.
The day he left Harvest Hollow remains the worst day of my life.
I was so stupid. . .
“Oh! Um, no, I just thought—”
“I’m kidding, Emmy.” He gives me a slight smile, and I’m pretty sure the lights in the shop flicker.
“So, what are you, um, doing here? Now?” I ask, as if English is my second language.
“Here like in Harvest Hollow?” he asks. “Or here like in your place?”
My place. Hoo boy.
My hands are cold and clammy.
Unholdable.
I inadvertently wipe them on my jeans. “Both,” I offer.
Why the heck does he still make me so nervous? I’m not the awkward girl who came to him for dating advice in the tenth grade. I’ve grown up. Figured out who I am.
I attempt to mentally summon the version of myself that is unmoved by a man’s kindness, or general good-looking-ness, but she must be off for the day.
“I’m back here because a job opened up, and I’m here, in your shop—” his eyes meet mine— “to see how you are.”
I think about what Mr. Ridgemont said and wonder if it’s true that people can change. The only issue is that this Owen is exactly like the old Owen.
And I liked him then, too.
The Owen I knew would’ve asked me how I was after something as traumatic as a house fire, just the same as he is asking now.
And he would’ve waited for my answer like a person who really wanted to know.
Just like he is now.
Why he chose to keep that side of himself hidden from so many people, opting instead for vandalizing businesses, flipping the bird to the people in charge, blowing off school, and getting into fights, I have no idea.
But I got to know a different version of him. The version he didn’t show people. The one who told me about his struggles, his failures, his fear, his shame.
Did he remember?
“Emmy?”
“Huh?” I realize I’ve been staring.
“I asked how you are.”
“Oh, right, you did. Yeah. I’m fine.” I wave my hand in the air, as if to say “No big deal,” but Owen’s look tells me he’s not buying it.
Those kinds of looks aren’t attractive, normally, but this one is.
I turn away because if I don’t, I’ll say something stupid. Like I think I still love you.
“Emmy, there’s a woman here to see you.” Reagan is back, and while she’s addressed me, her eyes are focused squarely on the man across the counter.
