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Yeah, we have. And I still have no idea how Emmy is doing, or what the state of her house is, or if she has anything but one bunny slipper to wear on her feet.
Without thinking, I lean forward, trying to see over the counter, but the angle is all wrong. “Do you have shoes on?”
Emmy frowns. “What?” She laughs.
“Shoes,” I say. “Last night, you were wearing one slipper.”
“Oh.” She glances down at her feet. “Yeah, I mean. . .I had to wear something else, you know. . .”
I feel stupid. “Yeah, I didn’t think. . .you probably couldn’t go barefoot. . .”
“Yeah, I borrowed a pair from my mom.” She gives herself a once-over, making a face and half-posing awkwardly. “Everything I’m wearing is my mom’s. Thankfully, she doesn’t dress like a grandma.”
“Yeah, you look. . .it looks good. It’s good.”
There’s a pause, and we just look at one another.
Lindsay clears her throat.
I actually forgot she was there for a minute.
Reagan brings Lindsay her drink, and Lindsay doesn’t even acknowledge her. “You lost all of your clothes?”
Emmy goes still. “Oh my gosh. I don’t know, actually. I have to go see what’s left.”
I glance down to see her slowly close her fist.
“Can I come with you for that?” Lindsay’s voice is eager. And clueless.
Emmy turns to her. “What?”
I turn to her immediately after. “What?”
“Why would you. . .?” Emmy trails off.
“Oh, right! I’m sorry, I never actually explained what I’m doing here.”
“No,” I snap, wanting her to go away. “You didn’t.”
Lindsay puts a hand on my arm, like we still have the familiarity we had when we were together. I look down at her hand, and she takes it off.
Good.
“I want to do a story,” she wags a finger between us, “on you two.”
At first I don’t understand what she’s saying—but then I remember hearing that Lindsay is some kind of reporter for a station in Charlotte.
Or at least she was? I don’t know. She got the job not long after she changed her mind about marrying me. Who knows if that’s still where she is.
“Saving Emmy? Pulling her from a burning building? This is a big deal, Owen,” Lindsay says. “When I saw the story in the Harvest Times, I pitched it to my producer, he loved it, and here I am.” She looks at Emmy, then back at me. “I want to take a more personal angle, I mean, you two know each other, I know the both of you, so that makes this daring rescue all the more exciting. It’s not every day you get to save someone who’s practically a little sister to you.”
I frown in confused disagreement and look over to see the exact same look on Emmy’s face.
“So, what do you think?” Lindsay asks, as if she’s asking my opinion on curtains. “It’ll be great exposure for your bookstore, Emmy.” Then, to me, “And I’m sure it’ll win you points with the chief.”
I grit my teeth and look away, trying not to lose it.
But that’s what got me here, right? So maybe in a twisted way, Lindsay has a point?
