Chapter Six
Six
Emmy didn’t know where she was going, but the weather was great, and fresh air hit the spot just at that moment.
She hadn’t seen much of the town of Cobalt, Massachusetts, through the lens of the novel, but this place sure felt like it.
She had a long walk down a rural road ahead of her—miles if the context clues in the book were any indication—before she reached any kind of civilization.
No problem. She didn’t want to interact with anyone else.
She needed to be alone with her thoughts and the sunshine.
The flashlight had been red. Okay. So maybe the sex psychic had magically transported her into a romance novel as some sort of misguided payback for Emmy’s skepticism.
All she had to do was figure out how to escape the book and get back to reality.
Preferably before Saturday. She really didn’t want to miss the wedding.
A car pulled up beside her. No, a pickup truck. Emmy longed for a can of pepper spray. Where had the truck even come from? She hadn’t heard it coming. Had she been that lost in her thoughts?
The dude who leaned out the window was ruggedly handsome. Flannel work shirt, a few days’ worth of scruff on his face, and—it turned out—a husky voice made for pillow talk.
“You lost, honey?”
“Nope.” Emmy kept walking.
“I can give you a ride into town.”
His truck kept pace with her. She wondered if there was a corn field somewhere she could disappear into if she needed to run.
“I need to walk, and I don’t like taking rides with strange men. But thanks anyway.”
“You sure? I don’t feel right leaving you like this.”
Emmy worked up a cheery smile. “I’m sure! You move right along. I’m fine.”
“Okay…” He looked her up and down. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you, honey? I can help you.”
“I’m not in any trouble. I like wearing oversized clothes. It’s a quirk of mine.”
He laughed. “You’re a little spitfire.”
“Mm,” she replied noncommittally. “This little spitfire is doing just fine on her own, so…”
“Alright then.” He flashed her a quick, sexy smile. “It’s sure been interesting talking to you. You stay safe now.”
He didn’t sound certain about leaving her, but she just kept smiling—nothing to see here, move it along—until he shrugged and picked up speed.
When the truck was no longer in view, she let out a breath.
That interaction had certainly been the perfect weird cherry to top her crazy sundae. Good thing it was over.
An hour later, sweaty, slipping out of her overlarge sandals, and with the sleeves of her borrowed sweatshirt rolled up, she found a promising street.
Grateful for the freshly repaved sidewalk as it made maneuvering in Will’s sandals easier, she kept walking until she reached a quaint little commercial area.
The first thing she did was spend some of Will’s money on an iced latte.
While she stood off to the side, waiting for her order to come up, she desperately wished she had her phone.
She didn’t realize how attached she’d been to it until she caught herself reaching into her pocket for it at least ten times in two minutes.
It was disconcerting to realize she had no idea what to do with her hands or where to look.
She settled for putting her hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt and watching the baristas make drinks. That felt normal enough.
“Rough night?”
She turned to see a guy standing next to her. He had a phone in one hand. She almost asked to borrow it. He wore black glasses, a gray cardigan, and tight black jeans. He was tall, lanky, and handsome.
“Slept like a rock. Just need coffee.” She shrugged and turned back to watching the baristas work.
“I hear you. Have you been here before? They have a great dark roast.”
He had either missed her attempt to brush him off or purposefully ignored it. Emmy decided she’d trade her left eye for her phone. Nothing said “Leave me alone” like staring at your phone. Where the hell was her drink?
“I’ve heard it’s good coffee,” she said without looking at him.
“Stellar coffee. I’ve been coming here for years. Do you want to grab a table?”
“No, I have to run. Busy day.”
He opened his mouth to say something else, but she was saved by the chipper barista who handed over her latte. Emmy thanked the girl, spared a quick farewell smile for Lanky Glasses, and escaped out the door.
She didn’t think she’d find a lingerie boutique right there on the corner of Quaint Avenue and Wholesome Lane—even if she was in a romance novel where such things were often essential—but she did score big with a yoga studio that had a little storefront attached to it.
Fifteen minutes later, Emmy emerged wearing a sports bra under her rubber duck camisole top, a new pair of yoga pants, and a pair of cheap flip flops.
She’d had just enough funds. Any more, and she would have bought a shirt that didn’t look like it was made for a toddler.
Still, this was more than good enough to get by.
Now all she had to do was sit somewhere and contemplate her situation.
It stood to reason that, if she’d gotten into a romance novel, there had to be a way back out.
She refused to believe otherwise. Also, given that she was in a romance novel, she had a pretty good feeling she’d find a cute little park somewhere nearby.
She found one three blocks away.
Sitting on a bench that was remarkably free of bird poop and dead leaves, she leaned back and let her mind wander.
Two minutes later, she was interrupted by yet another hot guy.
This one was wearing a t-shirt and loose jeans, with a worn messenger bag strapped across his body, and he looked a little harried.
His phone was in his hand, but he wasn’t looking at it.
Emmy wondered what the repercussions would be if she simply snatched the thing from him and ran.
The phone was currently unlocked, its owner distracted, and she had a real chance of getting away before he thought to run after her.
Then she could use it to… What? Call the real world?
Text her sister? She didn’t even know frickin’ Will’s phone number.
“Anyone in there?”
“Hm?”
Hot Guy Number Three was looking at her expectantly. “I asked if you could give me directions to 8th Street?”
“Oh! No, sorry. I’m not from here. Just… visiting.”
“Oh yeah? Where are you from originally?”
“Minnesota.”
“No kidding? I just visited a cousin there last month.” He actually sat down on the bench next to her, all set to lengthen their conversation. “He has a lake house. What brings you out this way?”
“A sex psychic.”
“Uh… really.”
Not so glad you sat down next to me now, are ya, buddy? “Yeah, really. How about you? You went from being lost to being ready to sit down and shoot the shit with me pretty quickly. Must not be urgent for you to get wherever you were going.”
“Uh…”
He actually looked like he was short-circuiting. She was about to let him off easy, tell him she had to get going, when yet another hot guy walked up.
“Hey, is this guy bothering you?”
This one was muscular from the tip of his nose to his pinky toe.
Running shorts, a white tank that was trying its very best to contain his pecs, and tennis shoes, along with the earbuds he yanked out of his ears, made it clear he’d been out jogging.
He was looking at Lost Guy with suspicion, and Emmy found herself in the awkward position of trying to defuse the situation without appearing interested in either of them.
“I was just leaving.” That seemed safe.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you off,” said Lost Guy.
“Listen, buddy, you need to back off,” said Muscular Jogger.
Lost Guy stood up. “You’re the one who needs to take a step back, bro.”
While they were amping up for a fight that Lost Guy was most likely going to lose, Emmy slipped away and darted out of the park, her flip flops thwacking the pavement in a way that would have been humorous if she weren’t terrified that the sound would draw the two men’s attention back to her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she didn’t see anyone following her.
She turned back around just in time to see a yellow Lab barreling toward her.
Before she could gather breath to scream or curse—she wasn’t sure which would have been her first instinct—the dog had her on her ass.
On the plus side—such as it was—the dog was not rabid.
He’d knocked her down out of sheer enthusiasm at meeting a new person and was clearly intent on bathing every inch of her face with foul-smelling kisses, but that was the worst of it.
“Hi. Stop. Ew. Please. Good dog.”
“Dizzy! Jesus Christ, get off her!”
A sense of foreboding overcame Emmy as an attractive thirty-something guy pulled the dog off her and wrestled him until he was standing still.
The guy’s wavy brown hair fell just so over his forehead.
His big green eyes were full of concern and apology.
When she took his offered hand so he could help her to her feet, she felt the brush of calluses.
“I am so sorry. Sit! Sit, Disaster.”
The dog, with a bit more physical and verbal cajoling, plopped his butt on the sidewalk. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a grin and his tail continued to wag steadily.
“You named your dog Disaster?” Emmy couldn’t help asking.
“No, I named him Dizzy because he was always chasing his tail. Then a couple weeks after I got him, I unofficially changed it to Disaster because he is one.” Emmy got a glimpse of a charmingly apologetic grin when the guy turned his attention back to her.
“He escaped the yard when my niece opened the gate. She’s kind of a disaster, too, if I’m being honest. Don’t tell my sister I said that. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Emmy said, reaching back to swipe dust and gravel from the sidewalk off her butt. She winced at the brief contact. Just what she needed—a bruised butt to cap everything off.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was full of concern.
“I’ll live,” she replied, using the excuse of gathering up the clothes she’d dropped to avoid eye contact with him. “I was just heading home, so…”
“Do you want to stop by my place for some water or something? I live a couple blocks away. The least I can do is give you a chance to catch your breath since my dog assaulted you.” He smiled again in a way that would definitely have caught her interest if she weren’t already more than fed up with attractive men accosting her every five feet. “I’m Simon, by the way.”
“Hi, Simon. Which direction is your house?”
He pointed.
“Okay, I’m headed in the opposite direction actually,” she lied. “Thanks for rescuing me from your dog. You better get him home.”
“Alright, if you’re sure. I don’t want you to—”
“Ma’am, is everything alright?”
Emmy wanted to groan, but stifled it. It was a cop who had spoken.
God knew where he’d come from. Just the sight of the crisp blue uniform had her back going up, and she clutched the roll of Will’s borrowed clothes closer to her body as if it were a shield.
But the cop’s eyes showed only polite concern.
“Are you hurt, miss?”
This would make six hot guys who’d approached her if she included Truck Guy. All white, her mind supplied unhelpfully. Typical romance novel. Was it too much to ask for one person of color? She wanted to continue fleeing, but decided to take advantage of the situation.
“I’m not hurt. Simon was just heading home.”
The cop glanced at Simon, who looked put out by the interruption. “I’ll take it from here, thanks.”
“Alright. Sure. Come on, Dizzy Disaster.”
Simon got a firm grip on the dog’s collar and headed off down the street.
“Did his dog attack you? Do you want to file a report?”
“No, it didn’t attack me. I’m really fine, except…” She tried her best to look lost and helpless. “I forgot my phone at home and I’m getting kind of frantic. Do you think you could give me a ride?”
“Sure. Come on.”
He cast a look over his shoulder as if checking for attackers. Feeling grateful for the reprieve, she got into the car with him, waited while he radioed his partner or dispatch or whatever to give an update. Then froze up when he asked for her address.
“Um… I don’t remember, if I’m being honest. I live with Will Barrett. Do you know him?”
“Will? Yeah, I went to high school with him. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone, let alone living with someone.”
He pulled away from the curb and started back toward the little country road that led toward Will’s house.
“I’m not seeing him. Just staying with him. He’s a friend. We uh… met online. This is my first time seeing his place in person, which is why I haven’t memorized the address.”
“Oh, sure. That makes sense.” Did it? The lie had sounded obvious to her own ears. But the cop seemed entirely convinced. “Well, tell him I say hi, okay? Norton Graff. Officer Norton Graff.”
“Sure.” Was she supposed to be impressed by the “officer” part?
Emmy turned and stared out the window, willing the ride to be over.
She knew Will wouldn’t be happy to see her back at his place, but she didn’t know where else to go.
If one more guy flirted with her, she was going to start screaming at the top of her lungs and never stop.
She felt her entire body unclench when the house came into view.
The cop pulled to a stop in the driveway, then turned to smile at her.
“So, if you’re not seeing Will, does that mean I have a chance?”
The scream bubbled up. Part terror. Part frustration. A touch of rage. She swallowed it down, took a breath.
“No. I’m not seeing Will, but I do have a boyfriend.”
Something changed in him. He looked confused. Like a dog who hears a noise but can’t determine where the sound is coming from. Then he just shrugged.
“Okay. See you later.”
She got out of the car, and he drove off. Emmy made it to the door, then dropped onto the front step, pressed her head into her knees, and screamed.