16. Emily
CHAPTER 16
EMILY
T he whole drive back to my apartment, I’m shaking. Smiling. Feeling nauseous. It’s this whole mess of emotions that I just don’t understand.
Parking on the street, I grab my things and hustle upstairs. The lights are on in my neighborhood, but I’m still feeling too twisted up to be thankful. I slide inside the apartment, closing the door to the world behind me, to the night that’s still painted in my mind with broad, Isaac-colored strokes.
I lean against the wood, steady myself. My heart flutters — a caged bird against my ribs. Why does it feel like I’ve left something behind? No, not something. Someone.
Isaac.
Our dinner, our conversation, lingers on my tongue. The taste of the food we shared, the sound of his laughter, low and resonant in the candlelit hush of his vast living room — it was intimate, unexpected, disarming.
He had been so at ease, even as the city around us descended into temporary chaos. It was… perfect. But when the conversation drifted too close to what simmered between us, I felt the walls closing in. His place suddenly felt too small, like I needed to come up for air and didn’t know which direction to head in.
I had to leave. I couldn’t tell him why. Couldn’t explain the panic that seized me, the need for air, for space, for the quiet hum of my own four walls where the only expectations I had to meet were my own.
My phone buzzes, a soft intrusion. Isaac’s name lights up the screen, and my breath catches. I can’t bring myself to pick it up. Can’t bear to read the words he’s sent after I practically fled from his place.
Instead I put the phone on the kitchen counter. Pour myself a glass of juice. Take my shoes off. Think about a shower.
Yet the text is still on my mind, and I find myself picking the phone up almost reflexively.
Thank you for the lovely evening, the message reads. It’s so simple, but it puts me into a tailspin.
I’m partly giddy, partly terrified.
This is Isaac we’re talking about. Isaac, who grew up a world away from me and has seen things I probably can’t even conceptualize. He’s rubbed elbows with the one percent, probably even met royalty.
And me? I’m Emily. Just Emily. The girl who works with dogs and thrifts all her clothes. How could this man be interested in someone like me?
I put the phone down, my hands shaking slightly. Something changed between us tonight, and it’s so obvious. We agreed — it was a date. This isn’t just about business anymore, and we both know it. But admitting that feels like stepping off a cliff. A leap into the unknown.
I move across the room, collapse on the sofa, and draw my knees to my chest. “Emily,” I say to myself. “What are you doing?”
But there’s no answer in the silence of my apartment, just the ghosts of laughter and the touch of a hand that isn’t mine. Isaac’s presence is a phantom here, in the place where I am supposed to be alone, safe from complications of the heart.
This thing that’s growing between us… it’s too risky. Because that’s what it would be, wouldn’t it? Risky to let down these walls I’ve built so diligently. Risky to trust someone who stands on a pedestal so high that the fall could break me.
I’ve seen it before. The way people change when they hold power over you. Like my parents, always too far away to see the cracks forming in their daughter as they chased their own addictions. Always expecting me to be strong, to cope, to understand.
“Stop it,” I chide myself, a whisper-shout in the emptiness. “Stop comparing him to them.”
But it’s hard. The fear of being let down again clings to me, a second skin I can’t shed. It’s safer this way, to keep things professional, to keep my heart out of transactions and contracts.
But even now, with the turmoil and the doubt, there’s a part of me that yearns to text him back, to dive headfirst into whatever this is.
There’s a sound at the door, and Jenn comes in with a tired smile. Relief washes over me, a gentle tide I didn’t realize I was waiting for.
“Hey.” Her voice is cheerful, even though I can hear the long day in it.
“Hey.” I sit up straighter. My fingers still itch to reach for my phone. To text him back. But they stay curled into my palm, holding on to nothing.
She hangs her bag up on one of the hooks by the door and takes off her shoes. Once she gets a better look at me, though, her smile falters. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” The words come out too quick, too sharp. I soften them with a shrug. “Just thinking.”
She doesn’t buy it, of course. She never does. She crosses the room and sinks onto the couch next to me. Close, but not crowding. Always giving space when it’s needed.
“Talk to me,” she prompts, patient as ever.
I hesitate, gathering the jumble of thoughts like stray papers in a breeze. Then, it all pours out. “I had dinner with Isaac tonight.”
“Like… a business dinner?” Jenn’s head tilts, birdlike, curious.
“He called it a date.” Saying it aloud sends a shiver through me. A date.
“Wow.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s… Emily, that’s amazing!”
“Is it?” Doubt laces my words, heavy and binding.
“Of course! You haven’t dated in… a while.”
“It’s not a priority,” I point out.
“And that’s okay.” She bites her lip. “Isaac, though, he’s quite the catch. Except for the whole dog thing.”
“Actually, he seems to really love Baxter now.” I can’t keep back my ear-to-ear grin.
“Oh.” She laughs. “Then he’s perfect.”
Her enthusiasm is a warm blanket, but it can’t quite smother the chill of my fears.
“Jenn, he’s a client.” I press my hands against my knees, needing the pressure, the grounding. “It’s too risky.”
“Risky how?” There’s a challenge in her gaze now, pushing me to confront what I’m really saying.
“Mixing business with… whatever this is. It could complicate things.” My voice shakes, and I hate how vulnerable I’m feeling.
“Or it could make things incredible,” she counters, relentless in her optimism. “You’re allowed to be happy, you know.”
“Happy?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “What if he lets me down? What if he’s just like?—”
“Like your parents?” Jenn finishes softly, her hand finding mine.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“A lot of people have that fear, whether they’re aware of it or not. But here’s the thing. Emily, you’re not your parents. And Isaac isn’t either.” She squeezes my hand, grounding me again. “You’re pushing him away because you’re scared.”
“Isn’t that… smart?” The question is a whisper, a plea for validation.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just safe.” Her voice is gentle, but her words cut deep. “But since when has playing it safe gotten you what you want?”
I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong. That I’m fine with my life as it is, that all I need is friends and dogs. But the flutter in my heart at the thought of Isaac, the ache in my chest when I think about pushing him away; they betray me.
“Your parents let you down,” Jenn says, her voice a lifeline. “But that doesn’t mean everyone will. Don’t let their mistakes define your chances at happiness.”
Happiness, huh? It’s a slippery thing, hard to catch. Harder to hold.
“Take a chance, Em.” Her eyes hold a fierce kind of hope. “Don’t let fear decide your future.”
That fear wraps around me, a familiar cloak. But it’s threadbare now, worn thin by years of clinging to it. Maybe it’s time to shed it. To step out into the uncertainty, where possibilities can breathe.
“Maybe I’m tired of being afraid,” I admit, the words barely more than a breath.
“Then do something about it.” Her encouragement is a nudge, a call to action. “Text him back. See where it goes.”
The phone lies on the kitchen table, inert and unassuming. A bridge to something new, something terrifying and wonderful all at once. I stare at it, hesitant. Then, with a resolve that feels like the first step off a cliff, I get off the couch and grab it.
Tomorrow, I had said. But tomorrow is an excuse, a way to delay the inevitable.
“Tonight,” I decide, my thumbs moving over the keyboard with a tremor. “Tonight, I take the chance.”
Thank you, I type to Isaac, the words simple and true. Dinner was lovely.
I press send.
My heart races, but there’s a newfound lightness in my chest. A flutter of wings against the walls I’ve built so high. For the first time in a long while, I allow myself to hope. To dream of the joy that might be waiting on the other side of fear.
“Good?” Jenn asks, her smile infectious.
“Good,” I confirm, a matching smile breaking through.
“See?” She leans back, satisfied. “Not so scary.”
“Yeah,” I agree, though my racing heart might not.