twenty-one | emberly
TWENTY-ONEEmberly
I’m being kicked out of the apartment.
I should be happy, but I’m holding back tears as the door shuts behind Will and Juni.
It was the Beauty and the Beast reference. Only a man who’d watched the movie on repeat with his little sister would have remembered that scene.
But Will isn’t only a man. He’s a good one. The best, I’m beginning to realize. And he wasn’t angry with me. He was in pain. Grieving.
People always say actions speak louder than words. I didn’t know what else to say, other than I was sorry (really, really sorry), so I did something.
But why did I think a hug would make everything better?
It was like putting my arms around a statue. A warm, living statue. I could feel the steady beat of Will’s heart and I leaned into him, hoping he would let himself lean on me. Know he wasn’t alone.
Will didn’t hug me back, but he didn’t push me away. At least, not right away. And right before he did, the brush of his hands against my waist sent my heart into a freefall.
That’s when I realized something else.
I’m totally falling for Will Hartley.
I groan and close my eyes.
This can’t happen, for so many reasons. And tying for the number one and two slots, I trespassed in areas that are West Wing forbidden—not the studio, but the heart Will guards so closely—so I’m not exactly his favorite person at the moment.
I want to be his favorite person. Or at least his second favorite, because Iris comes first.
I’m in so much trouble.
I wish it was seven o’clock, so I could flop on the couch with the Sixteens and tell them everything that’s happened in the past few days.
Which reminds me that I’ll be relocating to Serenity this afternoon. And that Will offered to transport my bags from the studio to my new residence with the polite deference of a seasoned hotel concierge.
Except … I can still feel the imprint of his hands on my hips.
Definitely in trouble.
I sigh and walk over to the table, carefully cover the art supplies that Iris had discovered.
Her delight and curiosity while she’d explored the room had confused me at first. It was like she was seeing everything for the first time.
And then the proverbial lightbulb went on.
Because she was.
But Will … I draw in a breath and release it again … he didn’t want to see it.
Not only did I throw the door to Will’s past wide open, I’m guilty of art theft. Although technically, it was art relocation.
I have to go back inside the studio to collect the swag bags, but now the air is charged with electricity sparked by Will’s grief.
I carefully close the door separating the two rooms again and line the bags up on the fainting couch. My gaze lifts to the paintings on the wall.
Iris had stumbled upon them during her exploration and when I mused that they must have been on the wall above the couch at some point, she insisted we hang them back up.
As someone who purchases original artwork for her clients’ homes, I can tell that Melissa Hartley had a gift. But hearing the way Samantha talked about her, Will’s mom had a gift for making people feel welcome, too.
Iris’s delight over the paintings had been contagious and added color to the room.
I was the one who’d draped the quilt over the velvet upholstery.
Not to hide the imperfections of the couch, like Nona wears bracelets to cover the sunspots on her wrists, but to display the kind of beauty that shouldn’t have been relegated to the closet.
And then I saw the expression on Will’s face when he walked in.
Moving the paintings back to the studio seems like a greater crime. I return them anyway, but refuse to cover them back up with a dusty sheet.
After packing up my things and the meager contents of my refrigerator, I contemplate the bear mug. If I take it with me, is Will going to accuse me of stealing, too?
I decide not to risk it.
I also decide not to wait for Will to haul my suitcases over to Serenity.
While I’m shlepping them down the stairs, my dad calls.
I contemplate letting it go to voicemail but it’s unusual for him to contact me in the middle of a weekday.
Or any day, for that matter. It’s not that Dad doesn’t love me, it’s just that he’s always operated under the assumption that the company needs him more than I do.
I sit down on the step. “Hey, Dad.”
“How are things going, Shortcake?”
Ordinarily, the childhood nickname (my hair is more titian than red) makes me roll my eyes. I’ve seen Iris do the same thing when Will calls her Cab, but this time, I tear up. Having a nickname that only one or two people in the entire world call you by is kind of sweet, if you think about.
Like Em.
“Fine.” I choose the generic response because I know it’s what he expects.
“Having fun with your friends?”
I’m surprised he remembers the Sixteens’ annual reunion. I don’t bother to mention that my friends aren’t here. I don’t mention pudgy pies and peanut butter shakes and riding in a pickup truck, either. Or how much I’m beginning to love the silence at Pinehart. And the people who live here.
But is that even possible in less than a week, if you aren’t a character in a Hallmark movie?
“I caught a fish.”
“What kind?”
“A perch?”
“How big?”
The question sums up my father’s personality in a nutshell. The Lockwoods don’t recognize second place. You’re either first or it doesn’t matter. Thanks to Iris, who measured it, I actually know the answer.
“Thirteen inches.”
“Decent,” says my father, who as far as I know has never seen a perch, on the end of hook or served on a plate with tartar sauce. He’s more of a lobster kind of guy.
“I’m sure your grandmother misses you.”
There’s always a slight edge in his voice when he asks about Nona. I know they don’t get along, but I’m not sure why. I’ve also never asked. Now I wonder if it was something serious or one of those silly things. Either way, they should figure it out and move on.
I think about the watercolor of Iris in her tutu. When Melissa Hartley painted it, she must have thought it would be the first of many. Life is too precious to hold a grudge.
“You should call her,” I say impulsively. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”
“Maybe I will.” He sounds distracted now, so I know he won’t. “Listen, Emberly. I have a client who’s developing land for some new condos upstate and needs a designer. I told her about Ivy Gate and she’s anxious to meet you.”
“I’m booked solid through November, Dad.” At least now I know why he called in the middle of the week.
“I’m sure you can find some time in your schedule. You can stay with me. I’ll take you out for dinner. Maybe a play.”
I hear myself sigh. What some people might call a bribe is considered an incentive in the Lockwood family.
“You know,” Dad adds. “If you merged your design business with the company, it would make things a lot easier.”
A lot easier for him.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Call Elizabeth after you’ve checked your calendar and she’ll get everything set up.”
Now that Dad got his way, I’m being directed to his personal assistant. I talked to Elizabeth more than I talked to my own parents while I was growing up, though, so she’s become a friend.
“I have to go, Dad.” I pause. “Love you.”
The silence lasts so long that I think the call dropped. Then I hear a cough.
“Love you, too, Shortcake.”
The surprise in Dad’s voice makes me wonder if I haven’t said it in a while. It also makes me wonder if he’s waiting for Nona to reach out to him. Why are we Lockwoods so afraid to make the first move?
Based on recent experience, I know the answer to that question.
Fear of rejection.
But I’d hug Will again if I had the chance.
Serenity’s door isn’t locked, so I carry the gift bags in first.
The cabin isn’t quite as spacious as Will and Iris’s, but the layout is similar. There’s a stone fireplace, outdated but comfy looking furniture. A kitchen that looks like it belongs on the set of a 70’s television show.
I set the gift bags on the coffee table and decide to explore.
Colorful debris from an open suitcase litters the floor of the smallest bedroom, so I know where Whitney staked her claim. When we shared a suite at Langley-Davis, the rest of us insisted she keep her bedroom door closed to prevent the tide of discarded clothing from washing into the living room.
I open Door Number Two—the bathroom—and move onto Door Number Three.
Another bedroom, a little larger than Whitney’s, with a queen bed and a Murphy protruding from the wall like an oversize ironing board.
The comforter on the queen has been made up with military precision (Rachelle) while the Murphy is a tangle of sheets and blankets weighted down with bags of gummy worms and paperback novels (Olivia).
There is no third bedroom.
I look twice, just to be sure.
I return to the living room and eye up the sofa. Based on the size, it has to convert to a sleeper, but we’ll all be in the same space, so I’m not going to complain.
Will said the girls would probably return around seven, so I take an inventory of the pantry and call the grocery store in Cedar Bridge. The perky girl in the deli department takes my order and promises that someone will deliver it straight to the front door of the cabin by eight.
Judging from the tower of dishes on the counter, the Sixteens prepared their own meals before they left on the canoe trip. No room service and—I look around—no dishwasher. I fill the sink with water and take care of the plates and cups the old-fashioned way.
The snap of a car door, followed by a peal of laughter, pulls my attention away from the dishes in the sink.
I know that laugh.
I’m not sure why the girls have returned early, but I hide a grin. A fabric curtain that stretches from the ceiling to the floor separates the pantry from the kitchen, so I impulsively duck behind it. Hopefully no one will notice my suitcases stashed behind a chair in the living room.
“I call the shower!” I hear Rachelle say.
“Hey! I’m the one who smells like river water!” Whitney’s voice rises to a soprano.
“That’s because you fell in.”
“The Nature Ninja pushed me out of the canoe!”
“You should have just jumped out, Whit. The water was only six inches deep. It wasn’t like you were going to drown.”
“I think the bride-to-be should get to use the shower first.”
Rachelle groans. “How often are you going to pull out that card, Liv?”
Bride-to-be?
My mouth drops open. I leap out from behind the curtain and Whitney shrieks.
“You’re engaged?” I grab Olivia by the hands and spin her around. “Was it a surprise? How did Grant propose? Have you set a date yet?” I release her and look at her left hand. “Let me see that ring!”
Olivia doesn’t respond.
No one responds.
They’re staring at me like they’ve never seen me before.
And then Rachelle finally speaks.
“Emberly … what are you doing here?”