8. Emmy
CHAPTER 8
EMMY
Perfect. I back away from the staged scene I’m using for my BookTok video. A vibrant stack of red-themed books with the backdrop of color-coded bookshelves. A crisp breeze flutters the curtains, making the candle flames flicker—the ideal moody scene for my video.
For the record, my bedroom looks made for a BookTok scene. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall. I’ve painstakingly arranged all the books according to color hues so that when I film my videos, the colors pop like a technicolor rainbow.
I hit record, even though my mind isn’t on books today—or the people on TikTok still commenting on my controversial statement about perfect men.
Lately, my mind’s been on a really, really good-looking hockey player.
Ever since he held me after I was nearly run over by a car, I can’t stop thinking about him. The way his fingers felt threading through my hair. His palm gripping my waist. The softness in his eyes that said, I won’t let anything hurt you.
All my friends know I’m not good at pretending. I’m only good at hiding, keeping my heart locked up like a high-security prison.
If I go to the Harrisons’ party with him, I’m afraid no one’s going to believe Dawson Hayes would date me.
A hockey player dating an ordinary small-town girl? It’s as unbelievable as Perfectly Wedded.
I finish posting my video, and a private message from Gold Dog appears in my inbox.
Gold Dog
You’ve been quiet. No more bold statements about perfect men? Asking for a friend...
So he noticed.
I should ignore his message, but he hasn’t done a single thing to make me think he’s a creep. More than ever, I need a distraction to keep my thoughts from wandering to Dawson.
Romcom Book
My followers didn’t like what I had to say. I’m letting the dust settle, doing pretty book videos instead.
Gold Dog
I liked what you said. You spoke your mind. It’s courageous.
Or stupid.
I don’t think so. And I’m not a total whack job. At least, that’s what my dog tells me. But I’m also not good at resisting your bait.
Bait?
You make these beautiful book videos and then say you don’t believe them. You rave about book boyfriends, then find fault with them. You’re a paradox wrapped up in a TikTok video.
I’m weird that way. Take it as the first fun fact you’ve learned about me! The only thing I know about you is that you’re a stranger on the internet, and I don’t talk to strangers. Like, ever. Part of my Personal Internet Security Rulebook.
Where might I find this Personal Internet Security Rulebook?
It’s living rent-free in my head. My secret for how I live on the edge, Gold Dog. Knowing the rules without breaking them.
What if we shared something? A non-identifying fact? Just for fun.
ANOTHER fun fact? I live in constant anxiety of being asked to name a fun fact about me and now you want TWO?
What about your favorite dinner or is that too much? P.S. Are you screaming again?
The pressure, Gold Dog! You go first so I have time to think of one.
Okay. My favorite dinner is NOT hot dogs.
“Not hot dogs” is NOT an answer.
Going first made my mind go blank. #funfactsfail
What is wrong with hot dogs?
I once read a book about how they’re made. Once you read that, you can never eat hot dogs again.
Fair point. So what do you like?
Have you ever heard of pad thai?
I love pad thai, but none of my family likes it. So when I go out for Thai, I eat alone.
Friends don’t let friends eat Thai alone. Next time, text me. We’ll eat it together while messaging.
Sounds good! Here’s my fun fact: I want to write a book. But I stopped because #reallife and #mustwork
You’re a writer? Can I have your autograph?
Not a real author yet. But I want to be. Are we friends now that we’ve shared fun facts?
Only if it meets your PISR.
Personal Internet Security Rulebook, huh? And here I was thinking you just swore at me in tech geek. *Consults PISR on friendship code violations.* Fun facts are totally shareable on one condition: they must be trivial, anonymous, and absolutely cannot set anyone up for wild romantic expectations or dating disasters.
Since we’re strangers, it couldn’t possibly spiral into any wild romantic expectations, right? Although I still want to find out why you feel like the perfect man doesn’t exist.
The PISR states that’s confidential.
You know, every time you say PISR, I half expect you to apologize for your language.
It’s not my fault the rulebook has an unfortunate acronym! Just to prove I haven’t given up on dating, I have a date, but he’s in the friend zone.
Is there potential for getting out of the dreaded friend zone?
Sadly not.
Why???
He doesn’t see me like that, so I’m keeping my expectations in check. By the way, you haven’t told me today’s weird holiday.
You don’t want me to.
Try me.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Ready? It’s National Boyfriend Day.
NOOOOOO!!!
“Would you stop fiddling?” Neesha holds the curling iron inches from my face and gives me a glaring look.
I’m perched in front of Mimi’s three-way mirror, riding a roller coaster of emotions about my date with Dawson tonight. Thrilled, terrified, buzzing with excitement, and feeling like an undercover spy in a rom-com mission.
Mimi offered her bathroom to get ready, which was hardly necessary since it’s big enough for the entire royal family and their entourage. My grandmother thoroughly believes in women fussing over their appearance, even if it’s just to go to the grocery store.
Neesha holds the iron dangerously close to my neck and I bat it away.
“If you touch me with that, it’ll look like a hickey. That’s not the impression I want to make in Maple Falls.” I glance at a fat curl as it slides off the barrel.
Neesha giggles. “They’ll all blame Dawson and be planning your wedding before you leave.” Neesha grasps another section of hair and wraps it around the barrel, pulling a little too hard.
“Ow! Gentler, please?” I ask from my chair. “You know, tonight is not an actual date. It’s a sympathy date.”
Neesha wraps another section of hair. “Your first date in how long and you’re already dismissing it? If I don’t do your hair, you’ll probably wear it in a messy bun.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say with a laugh. Any man who falls for me will have to accept that I prefer the natural look. But tonight, I’m going glam, wearing a pair of black vegan leather pants and a red silky blouse. I don’t want Dawson to think I’m trying too hard, and the leather is just edgy enough to make me feel like I’m not overdressed.
Neesha runs her fingers through a curl. “The Harrisons don’t do messy buns. I’m surprised Noreen will let you enter without proof you’ve had cosmetic surgery.”
“My face doesn’t keep Stewart away, unfortunately.”
“That’s Dawson’s job.” She grins at me.
Mimi peeks around the corner and gasps. “Emmy Roberts, you look like a beauty queen.”
“Doesn’t she look hot?” Neesha says, fluffing my hair so it’s worthy of a Southern beauty pageant.
As soon as she finishes, I smooth my curls down. “You’re making me look like a Glamour Shot from the eighties.”
“Foxy,” Mimi comments with a wink.
I roll my eyes. “Grandmothers should not call anyone foxy.”
“By the time you get to my age, you’ve earned the right to say whatever you want,” Mimi says. “You’re only twenty-five and worried about what everyone thinks. But when you hit your seventies, you know who you are. It’s being comfortable in your own body, even if my skin is less forgiving now.”
“You’ve always been beautiful to me,” I say, giving her a side hug.
She squeezes my shoulders. “Thank you, honey. But don’t forget my dating advice.”
“Oh, here she goes,” I mutter to Neesha. Mimi’s been giving me dating advice since before I could even date.
“If you’re looking for a good man, don’t look for the ones with perfect hair. They’re too worried about their appearance. Instead, look for a guy with nice shoes.”
“Shoes?” I laugh. “Seriously, Mimi?”
She nods. “When your grandpa was alive, he never wore expensive footwear, but he kept his shoes immaculate. When a guy does that, it shows they care about the details. And that means they’ll take an interest in the little things that you care about.”
I shake my head. “You and Grandpa never cease to amaze me.” Judging a guy on his shoes seems like a weird thing, but what do I know? Every guy I’ve dated has dropped me after date three, and I don’t remember a single thing about their shoes. Clearly, I’m doing something wrong.
“One last thing,” Mimi says, her eyes glinting. “The right man will always make you feel like you’re the only girl in the world, even in a crowd. He’ll give you a special look, a whispered compliment. Grandpa used to give me a quick pinch on the bum when no one was looking.” Mimi gives us a sly smile.
Neesha snort-laughs.
I shake my head. “For the record, there will be no bum pinching tonight.”
“Good heavens, child! I’m not encouraging that. I only meant the special feelings the right man can give you. An energy that travels from head to toe when he looks at you. That’s when you know he’s special.”
I stand and face Mimi. “Got it. Pay attention to his shoes and funny feelings that could also be indigestion.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders. “And please don’t return before midnight. Enjoy a night out for once.”
I frown. “Aren’t you supposed to give me a lecture about not staying out late, like my parents did?”
She grins. “You’re an adult and can make your own decisions. Just don’t come back to check on me.” She tweaks my cheek. “You deserve it. Have a ball, Emmy-girl.”
I give Mimi a hug and thank Neesha for the makeover before rushing out the door. I told Dawson I’d meet him at the Harrisons’ because I refuse to ride on his only mode of transportation—a motorcycle. Not the smartest decision for our ever-changing weather. But Dawson doesn’t care about practicality. I mean, the man flew here and bought a bike because he can.
It’s a far cry from my trash heap. I kick my back tire, which looks a little low again. Good enough to get to the party.
Right now, I’m not thinking about my car, or even the advice Mimi passed along to me. The only thing on my mind is how I’ll get through tonight.