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Emerson’s quiet for a good long while.
Further off, monkeys hoot and birds caw, but here, it’s quiet.
When Emerson finally speaks, he says, “I guess now isn’t the time to say we should take a picture together.”
I chuckle. “Is it for a benchmark for your memory, or to brag on Instagram?”
His chuckle changes into a grin. “Neither. Something for me to look at and enjoy.”
“All right,” I say, “but I’m holding the phone. You men wouldn’t know a good angle if it hit you in the face.”
Emerson just laughs.
So, I hold his phone and take the photos, one, two... a bunch more.
After, we look at the photos, although I keep on holding his phone and looking at it even after Emerson’s gone back to his own hammock.
Jesus, I haven’t looked this happy since...
Forget it.
“I was thinking,” Emerson says at the same time I hand him back his phone.
I pause, waiting for the rest of his sentence.
It never comes.
“What were you thinking?” I finally ask, eyeing the final slivers of the sunset.
“Forget it,” Emerson says.
“All right,” I say.
I could argue with him. I could force him and grumble at him until he tells me.
But I’m tired of forcing things, tired of assuming that if I don’t, they won’t go my way.
I’m tired of assuming there’s something important in Emerson’s every unsaid thought or look. It’s too tiring.
Emerson’s done enough for me these past few days—the dinner, this VIP suite, and taking me out on his boat.
It’s enough. It has to be enough.
It’s a slippery slope, looking outside for everything you need. Looking for proof that someone cares, proof that your weakest, worst thoughts are wrong.
What Josie said about confirmation bias... that is a thing. The placebo effect, whatever you want to call it. Seeing what you expect to see.
I’ve been guilty of it a fair bit, lately. But I don’t want to be, not now.
So, I take Emerson’s hand and I bring it to my lips. I let the hammocks sway me and my heartbeat slower.
It could be ten minutes we’ve been here, side by hammock side, or it could be over an hour. Checking the time would only ruin it, this pause we’re in.
“Wynona,” Emerson says suddenly, his voice sounding odd in the quiet. “What would you say to staying longer?”
“Longer?”
“Longer,” he says. “It’s almost time to go back. I don’t want to.”
“But my business...” I say, trailing off.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says, annoyed. “It was just a thought.”
“And our plane tickets?”
“They were fine to reschedule a week later,” he says casually. “Dad had an old friend at the airline’s head office and I called him up.”
I always thought it was weird, people getting speechless when something intense happens. Couldn’t they just blurt out something, no matter how stupid?
But right now, I am. Literally. Speechless.
Emerson wants to stay longer? Even called to confirm it was possible?
And what about me? What do I want?
A low sigh escapes my lips. It’s not about what I want to do. It’s about what I should do.
My business, my dogs... I can’t keep on pretending that I don’t have a real life waiting for me back home, no matter how much of an amazing time I’m having with Emerson.
“When we go home—” I begin tentatively.
“I want to keep seeing you,” Emerson cuts in abruptly.
I look at him, at his hard eyes like a challenge, his tense mouth a statement.
“Okay,” I say.
He chuckles. “Okay.”
“So, we’re allowed to go home?” I say.
“I guess,” he says. “Think about it, though. Another week or half-week here could be nice.”
“It could,” I admit. “It is slow season for tattoos, and if I gave my customers ten percent off for the wait, I could maybe get away with it...”
“But I haven’t decided yet,” I finish, catching his excited look.
He shrugs, turning away. “We’ve got time.”
I don’t say the next part, I like it when you say ‘we’.
Next time I wake up, I’m in bed, in Emerson’s arms. He’s asleep.
The next time I wake up, I’m in bed. But Emerson is gone.
Chapter 14
Emerson
“What do you think?” I ask Jeremy when we meet up at the bar.
Even though Wynona looked to be asleep, this is one conversation I don’t want her overhearing. And it’s been a while since I touched based with Jeremy. Not that I worried. Even when we were kids, he would disappear for days and reappear days later with seemingly no explanation.
This time, his red Mohawk looks pricklier than usual, but he otherwise seems his normal lanky, long-faced self.
“It’s a great opportunity,” he admits. “They don’t come around often.”
“Almost never,” I agree grimly, thinking back to the call.
Who knew that the aloe vera guy Nolan introduced me to, Yolan, would actually come through with the offer to go on tour? The money is good, and the potential coverage is good. Only the timing is bad.
