TWO #2
“What do you mean?” I ask, biting into a fry. I follow a strict, balanced routine of protein, carbs, fiber, and healthy fats. This definitely puts me over my macros, and I don’t even care. I’d sit here and eat burger after burger if it meant she’d keep talking.
Emerald talks her entire body—hands flying wildly as she points at me with a ketchup-covered French fry like it’s a blood-covered sword. She’s almost smacked me in the face twice when I say something that makes her excited.
Honestly, I’ve started saying things just to get her fired up.
Dodging her hands is good reflex practice for hockey .
And, okay, it’s really cute.
Her face is a whirlwind of emotions with furrowed brows, blazing green eyes, and lips moving a mile a minute. Lips that I can barely keep my eyes off of. Soft, pink, and full with a cupid’s bow.
“It was fear,” she says, leaning closer. “And fear of women who didn’t behave. Independent women. Women who spoke up, actually used their voices, dared to live outside their oppressive patriarchal society—they were accused first.”
I nod slowly, absorbing her words and watching her hands as they gesture passionately. They’re pretty, especially when compared to my own callused, scarred ones. Delicate, soft skin, manicured nails painted sky blue.
I tighten my hand into a fist, trying to remember how it felt in mine.
I wonder what she would do if I just reached out and took her hand now?
Probably look at me like I’m insane.
Probably worth it anyway.
I’m not discreet enough, and Emerald catches my look, glancing down at her hand.
“What? Do I have ketchup on them?”
“No, you’re good,” I say quickly. “So, the women were just convenient targets then?”
“Exactly. The perfect scapegoats,” she corrects, pointing another fry at me.
“So,” I start, my brow furrowing as I try to untangle the knot of information in my mind. “Really, Arthur Miller was like... warning us?”
“Yes, Hayden!” Emerald slams her hand on the table, making every eye in the restaurant—mostly college students—turn to us and give Emerald a strange look. She doesn’t notice, and when they see me glaring, their smirks die quickly, replaced by fear.
A pleased thrill shoots through me from defending her.
“But… Abigail?” I ask, gesturing toward the book. “She’s a woman. She was leading the charge.”
Emerald’s grin widens, like she’s been waiting for me to say that.
“Exactly. She weaponized misogyny like a sword. She was the victim and perpetrator. A girl in a society that values her only for how much she can breed, cook, and clean… she found power by betraying other women. And power,” Emerald says, pointing a finger at me.
“Well, that’s the most addictive drug of all. ”
“Wow…” I frown, lips pulling down. “Harsh.”
“Women usually get unfairly blamed for many things. Good harvest? Witchcraft. Bad harvest? Witchcraft,” she intones in a dramatic voice.
I can’t resist. “Medium harvest—”
Her eyes light up.
“Witchcraft!”
We finish together, dissolving into laughter after that, which feels better than anything I’ve felt in a while. When our laughter fades, the smiles remain on our faces, as does our eye contact. It doesn’t feel awkward; it feels warm and comforting.
She’s the one to break the contact first, clearing her throat a little awkwardly while she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.
Maybe she is affected...
“Women have been killed and silenced for things men decide to do since the beginning of time. That’s probably why I’m such an annoying loudmouth,” she sighs, placing a hand over her heart. “For my fallen sisters.”
“I don’t think you’re annoying. ”
The words escape my mouth without permission, truthful as they may be.
“Really?” The mischief on Emerald’s face softens, her grin turning a little shy. “My older sister, Ruby, usually says she’ll pay me to shut up.”
“I really like your voice.”
There it goes again.
Okay, maybe I’m not trying that hard to stop them.
And from the touched look on Emerald’s face, I don’t have any regrets.
“Thanks, Hayden,” she murmurs and reaches a hand out. I stay frozen in place, watching her lay her hand over mine on the table.
The size difference between us is quite laughable.
I guess she’s about average height for a woman, I would assume around five-foot-five, but that’s still a whole foot shorter than me.
Her hand looks delicate, and I notice the silver rings on the middle and thumb of her left hand.
They’ve got some wear and tear, giving me the impression she never takes them off.
With courage I wasn’t aware I had, I flip my hand over so we’re palm to palm. I close my fingers around hers, smiling when I meet her eyes once more.
This quiet moment feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve kissed exactly two girls in my life, and both were... terrible kisses. Once hockey really started to consume my life, my personal life went on the back burner.
This feels good and right, but I don’t think it would feel like this with anyone other than Emerald.
Emerald.
Something occurs to me then.
“Wait, your sister’s name is Ruby,” I smile, connecting the dots. “Your name is Emerald. ”
“Mhm,” she hums knowingly, a mischievous little smirk on her lips while taking a sip of her milkshake—black-and-white. I’ve already noted that in my head for... reasons.
I avert my gaze from her full lips wrapping around the straw and take a sip of my own to clear my suddenly dry throat.
“Like... The Wizard of Oz?”
Emerald nods, “Ding-ding-ding! My mom is obsessed. It’s her favorite movie of all time. You should see our house—it’s like an Oz museum.”
Pointedly ignoring the seeing her house comment because the pull in my chest tells me that idea sounds incredibly tempting.
I huff an amused laugh. “I’m surprised one of you is not named Dorothy, I guess.”
“That’s our dog’s name,” Emerald deadpans.
I blink. “Why not Toto?”
“Because that’s our cat.”
She says it like it should be obvious.
I stare at her for a long moment. Failing English might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me if it brought this girl into my path.
Especially since she’s the only one who took the time to identify that something might be different about how my brain works and explain things in a way I can understand.
Emerald’s smile widens the longer I stare, and she squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.
“I’ve never met anyone like you, Emerald Osgood.”
“Ditto, Hayden,” she laughs, a carefree sound that hits me in the chest, burrows in, and makes a home there.
I shake my head of those thoughts, knowing I’m approaching a danger zone.
“Wait, Os good? Your last name is Os good? ”
This is the first time she looks a little sheepish.
“Yeah, my sister and I are pretty sure my Mom married my Dad for his last name,” she smiles fondly, shaking her head. “Which would be more believable if they weren’t sickeningly in love.”
I know the feeling.
Thank God I caught that before it left my mouth, because it would be insane to say. So, I’ll keep that to myself and my thoughts. Nothing can hurt me there. Especially not rejection by this girl who seems to be the only one who’s actually seen me.
But as Emerald’s eyes meet mine once more, I think maybe I truly see her, too.