Chapter 16 Emma Jane
Emma Jane
If a racoon and a porcupine had a baby, it would look like my face.
I couldn’t control the tears that spilled from me as I left Knightley to finish tearing down his tent by himself.
Well, with Mallory’s help. I couldn’t even bring myself to smile as I passed her. I’m sure they are almost finished and will head to their date night soon.
All while I sit in my car and cry.
I’m at the city park, stationed under a shady tree because I didn’t want to drive home through my tears. But I also couldn’t stay in the town square parking lot.
Over the past month, I’ve tried my hardest to accept his relationship and move on.
But every time I’m in his presence, I fall more in love with him.
I don’t know if I’m more attracted to him when he bickers with me or when he is trying to comfort me like earlier.
I can’t be attracted to him, though. He’s not mine, and every time I remind myself of that, more tears start to fall.
Not that he’d want me anyway, but still.
I wanted desperately to open up to him about this past month of praying, going to the Lord, and talking to Henrietta about my issues. Of trying to overcome my excessive need to be seen as perfect. To overcome the guilt I feel over my mother’s death.
I even opened up to Papa about it, and he pulled me into a hug and apologized for not talking to me about her much sooner.
We spent the entire evening together a week ago, and he told me all about her.
I was brought to tears over how much my mom and I have in common.
Outside of our looks, we were both business-minded, wanted to benefit our communities, and, of course, suffered from PCOS.
When I told Papa that I had been diagnosed at fifteen, that led to another round of apologies and tears on both of our ends.
He promised me he would do everything he could to make sure I got the best treatment moving forward.
Halle has helped me just as much as Henrietta has over the past month.
Both ladies have reminded me when we were out in public that it was okay if I wasn’t smiling at everyone.
She reminded me that I can make and keep friends by being myself, though I’m slowly figuring out who I am.
I still love fashion, my job, puzzles, and games, but I no longer feel the need to be in charge of everything.
I’m learning to let things fall as they may.
God is constantly reminding me that I am not Him.
Mrs. Bates apologized to me, and I apologized to her. It was a sweet moment, and it has helped release the need to be perfect. At least partly. There are still moments when I succumb to the way I’ve been living for the past twenty-three years.
I want to tell Knightley all of this, but he’s not mine to tell. He can’t be the one to bring me comfort. I pick up my phone to call Halle since she knows about my feelings for Knightley, but my phone begins buzzing in my hand with a call from the man himself.
Waiting until the last possible moment to pick up, I clear my throat and answer. “Hi. What’s up?” Super casual. I haven’t been crying for the past fifteen minutes. Nope.
“Mallory and I broke up. Would you care to join me at The Flats for dinner?”
My gasp catches in my throat, and I have the overwhelming urge to screech at the top of my lungs like a crazed banshee.
Do a victory dance. Stand on the winner’s podium at the Olympics.
Bees swarm in my stomach, my head explodes with fireworks, and electricity dances through my nervous system. He’s free…
He’s mine.
Slow your roll, Emma Jane. Consent is important.
“I’m so sorry, Knightley.” Can he hear my broad smile?
He clears his throat. “All is well. So, will you join me?”
“Yes,” I say a little too emphatically. “What time?”
Why is he calling me? Why is he inviting me to join him?
Oh, who cares!
Does this mean what I think—hope—it means?
“In thirty minutes. See you there, Emma.” He hangs up, and I continue to hold the phone to my ear, mouth agape. The way he one-names me sends those bees in my stomach to start stinging again. My body is numb from their venom, and—
“I have to fix my makeup!” I shout to myself.
I dig in my white purse, hunting for my on-the-go makeup bag.
Once I’ve made myself presentable, I start the car and drive over to The Flats.
I’m fifteen minutes early, but that’s good.
I have time to collect myself and try to tame this ridiculous smile that hasn’t left my face since Knightley told me the news.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that just because he’s single doesn’t mean he’s going to date me. It doesn't mean he loves me as anything other than a sister or friend.
But at the very least, I don’t feel guilty for finding him attractive and loving him as something more. And I can talk to him again. Like old times.
A knock at my window causes me to jump, and I look over to see Knightley.
His blue eyes dance under the setting sun.
I know I should wave or get out of my car or something, but I sit there, staring into his eyes.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and I suddenly want to cup his face in my hand.
Feel his beard beneath my palm. With just that little announcement that he’s now available, my world has shifted.
I have to try.
Like his mother once told me, I have to at least let him know that I am an option.
He places his hand on the window, and for some reason, I bring mine up to match his.
I think I can feel the heat through the glass, but that could also be my brain running haywire.
When his middle finger slides down as if he was touching my hand, goosebumps ripple down my arms. The phantom touch speaks in a language I haven’t yet discovered with Knightley.
I yank my hand away, willing my face to cool as I start to get out of the door.
He grabs the door and continues to open it as I get out, and I duck under his arm.
When he closes the door, the sound is like a warning call.
A sense of finality settles over my soul.
“Hi,” he says, breathing out the word. He changed out of his blue jeans and polo from earlier and is now wearing black dress pants with a white, tucked-in button-down.
He matches me.
Was that intentional, or…? Calm your brain, Emma Jane!
“Ready to go inside?” he asks, and I realize I never said hello.
I shake my head. “Hi, yes. I’ll follow you.”
Why am I acting unbelievably awkward? Get it together, Emma Jane. Just because you are practicing not being perfect doesn't mean you should turn into a lovestruck mess of a woman.
We walk down the cobblestone path to the restaurant. It has floor-to-ceiling windows but we can’t see inside. An outdoor chandelier hangs above the entranceway, and ivy climbs up the old brick wall around the glass door. It’s a beautiful place.
Romantic.
I glance up at Knightley as I pass him to walk through the open door. A serious expression replaces the playfulness of moments earlier, and for the first time, I wonder if he’s okay. Did losing Mallory genuinely hurt him even though the relationship was barely over a month-long?
Once we are seated—and I’ve admired the beautiful golden trim of the restaurant, the crystal lights creating a soft, warm glow, and the adequate spacing between tables that many restaurants don’t pay attention to—I fix my attention fully on the handsome man sitting across from me.
“Hi,” he says again, this time with a deeper, rougher tone.
Mine is the opposite as I squeak out, “Hi.” I collect my composure before I speak again. “Are you okay? What happened?”
He releases a breath, red crawling up his face. His blue eyes turn pleading as he fiddles with the white tablecloth. “I have a confession, Emma Jane. You have every right to be upset with me. I’m so sorry.”
A million possibilities flicker through my head as he talks, but nothing compares to his blurted truth.
“You were fake dating Mallory this entire time?” My voice is loud, struck with disbelief.
He shushes me while glancing nervously around the quiet restaurant.
I cover my mouth. “Oops.” I should be mad.
I should lay into him for lying to me about this.
But I burst out in laughter, relief washing over me like a system cleanse. He was never truly hers…
What in the world was he thinking?
Never in a million years would I have pegged him to do such a radical thing. Me? Of course. Knightley? No way!
His regretful, shamed expression sends me over the edge, and I can’t contain my howling laughter.
He shakes his head, glancing around at the perturbed restaurant-goers, but the way he’s biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing tells me he’s not upset with my reaction. Even if… I don’t think I could have reacted any other way.
“You should be mad at me, not laughing at me.” He hangs his head as if waiting for me to smite him.
I clear my throat, trying to speak in an authoritative tone, but it comes out in snorts. “What were you thinking, Squire? You lied to me for a month.”
His sheepish expression says everything. “The election. Plus I thought you wanted to use the relationship for your business, so I didn’t want to disappoint you by saying it failed. It was so stupid.” He puffs out air and runs a hand through his thick hair.
“Knightley, I don’t like that you lied to me about it, but also… I thought you hated my matchmaking business idea. Why would you try to help me?”
His expression softens. “Regardless of my feelings, I want to see you succeed, Janie.”
My heart skips a beat, and I genuinely wonder if he called me here for something more.
Surely not…
But what if he did? That hand on the window thing earlier… Whew. Friends don’t do that with other friends.
“You know, the fake dating thing. It’s something I would do,” I jest, trying to bring us to a place I’m familiar with.
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“And then you would tell me,” I clear my throat and prepare to do my best impersonation of Knightley, “Emma Jane, what were you thinking? You could have ended up with a psychopath. Senseless woman. Use your brain, Janie. Just a little common sense would—”
“Do I really speak to you that way?” Hurt flashes across his eyes. I drop my hands from pointing at my head (yes, I had to use my hands to speak because Knightley always does that).
“It’s not a bad thing,” I hurriedly say. “You’re just looking out for me, that’s all.”
He shakes his head, a strand of red hair falling in front of his eyes. “No, that’s not okay. I shouldn’t talk to you like you’re a petulant child incapable of making your own decisions.” He pauses then says, “I’m sorry, Emma Jane.”
“It’s okay, really.” I have the urge to reach out and take his resting hand into my own, but I don’t. “I’m glad to know you care enough to set me straight at times.”
“Like when you decide you want to play matchmaker with the town of Hartfield? Or, do you remember that time when you had the bright idea to turn your backyard into a field for horses? Oh, you were so scared when Henry brought those two horses home. You wouldn’t even approach them from the opposite side of the fence. ”
“Hey! Those creatures are much larger in real life than on the internet.” I wish I could say this happened when I was a kid, but sadly, this took place only two years ago.
But I did end up petting the horses before we sold them.
I even rode one once. “I faced my fears. You stayed by my side as you walked me right up to the horses. You held my wrist as I pet it for the first time. And then you held the reins as we went for a slow ride around the yard.”
“I did, didn’t I?” His gaze is far away, and I wonder if he recalls the way I clung to him for dear life after I got off the horse.
At that moment, the waiter arrives to take our orders. Once we finish ordering, Knightley excuses himself to the restroom. I take the opportunity to check my socials and text messages. My boss calls, and since Knightley isn’t back, I answer.
“Hey, Mr. Sam.”
“Emma Jane. Sorry to call you this late in the evening, but I just got the paperwork gathered and couldn’t wait another moment to ask you a very important question.”
“What is it?”
“Could you meet me in about an hour at Books and Beans?”
Knightley approaches the table, and I suddenly want to call this impromptu dinner between us a date.
“I’m actually—”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up, and I breathe a laugh right as Knightley pulls his chair out to sit.
“Mr. Sam just called and asked to see me in an hour at Books and Beans,” I inform him. “He said he has a question to ask me that can’t wait.”
“Well, we will eat quickly and meet him.” Knightley sips his water as if it’s settled, and those gnarly bees from earlier return.
“You’re coming with me?”
He winks. “Of course. What if he’s a psychopath and is luring you to murder you? I’m supposed to protect you from such beings, right?”
“Mr. Sam is far from a psychopath,” I begin to argue, but then I realize what he’s doing. “Nope. Back to the topic at hand. You went and got yourself a fake girlfriend. I want to hear everything.”
He groans dramatically, throwing his head back and hands up. “Fine. Anything for you, Janie.” As he begins to recount how and why he and Mallory created their ruse, my brain short circuits, replaying ‘Anything for you, Janie’ on an endless loop.
What did someone slip into my water?