4. Dawson
CHAPTER 4
DAWSON
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
“ Listen up, there are two things you need to know about the Harrisons," Dan says, giving me a quick glance in the rearview mirror as we arrive at Hal and Noreen’s for the Halloween shindig. “Whatever you do, avoid getting cornered by their son, Stewart Harrison. He’s the definition of an entitled jerk. Once he starts talking, it’s like being trapped in a never-ending monologue.”
“And two?” I ask, glancing up the winding drive that leads to their ginormous estate.
“Keep him away from my sister. He’s constantly hitting on her.”
Emmy scoffs from the passenger seat. “I don’t need help keeping Stewart away. And I definitely don’t want either of you following me around tonight.”
At least I know where I stand.
She keeps her eyes glued to the drive ahead, avoiding eye contact with me.
Ever since Dan invited me to his house over fall break, I’ve had the feeling that Emmy Roberts can’t stand me. Which is weird. When I meet most girls, they fall all over me as soon as they find out I’m a college hockey player.
But not Emmy Roberts.
“Oh, I won’t be following you,” Dan says. “That’s Dawson’s job.” He winks at me in the rearview mirror.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t listen to my brother,” Emmy says. “I don’t need your company. I didn’t even want to come tonight.”
Dan looks over at his sister. “Emmy, he needs someone to show him around. He doesn’t know anyone in Maple Falls.”
“Can’t you do it?” she huffs.
It's pretty obvious she doesn't want me hanging around. With her quiet demeanor and bright blue eyes, there’s something intriguing about Emmy Roberts. Whenever I try to talk to her, she always finds an excuse to do something else, like she’s trying to dodge me.
Dan pulls up to the front door, which is decked out with glowing jack-o’-lanterns, and drops us off. The cold weather makes me throw on a college sweatshirt, and Emmy glances at me, then frowns. “What are you going as?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Didn’t Dan tell you it was a costume party?”
I glance at Dan. “No, he didn’t,” I reply, smacking him on the shoulder. “Dude, why didn’t you say something?”
He bites back a laugh. “You hate to dress up.”
“Well, what are you going as?” I ask Dan.
He lifts up his hockey helmet and jersey. Two things I could’ve brought had I known it was a costume party.
Emmy lets out an annoyed sigh, then climbs out of the car and heads up the front steps without me.
“Stop staring at my sister,” Dan says.
“What?” I turn back to Dan. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were checking her out.” Dan gives me a look. “And if anyone asks, tell them you’re dressed as a college student.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s stupid.”
“One more thing,” Dan says. “Keep an eye on my sister.”
I lean into the open door. “First you tell me to stop staring, and then you say to keep an eye on her? Which is it?”
Dan smirks. “Both. But I’ve warned her not to date hockey guys. I know too much about how they treat their girlfriends. But Stewart’s annoying and has had a crush on my sister since high school. I can’t let her in there alone with him.”
“Then why don’t you watch her? She’s your sister.”
“Because I want to enjoy the party. Now go find her before Stewart swoops in like a vulture.” He waves me off.
I let out a frustrated sigh, then hurry into the house to look for Emmy.
Orange candles glow in the windows of the foyer. A DJ blares a Halloween playlist as people in costumes roam through every room of the mansion.
Emmy dumps her coat in the foyer as I look over her costume.
“What are you dressed up as?” I ask.
She looks like something out of BBC production, in her pale blue empire-waist dress, her hair piled on her head. She’s stunning.
“You’ve probably never heard of her.” She walks toward a table with an elaborate fountain of punch trickling into an enormous punch bowl.
“Let me guess, then,” I say, following her.
She laughs in disbelief. “This ought to be good.”
“Why?”
She takes a crystal punch cup. “I doubt you’ll know.”
“Then give me a hint,” I say.
“It’s not on Netflix . ”
I scoff. “You think I only know Netflix shows? I assumed you were a book character.”
“Good guess.” She fills her cup in the punch fountain, ignoring me.
“The only one of our hockey games you attended, you read a book the entire time.”
She smirks. “You were behind one to zero the entire game. Of course I read a book.”
“The stupid goalie’s fault,” I mutter.
“But you’re the goalie!” she realizes before laughing at my joke.
“Blame it on being distracted,” I say with a shrug. “You were more engrossed in a book than our game. I couldn’t believe it. Nobody reads during hockey.”
“Well, I do. Especially when my team is losing.”
She turns to head toward the dining room, zigzagging through the crowd.
I hurry after her, dodging guests along the way. “Emmy, I haven’t guessed your costume.”
She spins toward me, her lips curving mischievously. “Oh, I thought you’d given up.”
I get the distinct feeling she’s trying to lose me at this party. “Nah, I never back down from a challenge.”
She blinks. “Dan insisted you stay with me again, didn’t he?”
I don’t answer.
She frowns. “Just so you know, I don’t need a babysitter.” Then she rounds the food table, passing a werewolf, a Mad Hatter, and a zombie.
“I know you don’t like me, but . . .”
Her face snaps toward me. “Who said I don’t like you?”
“No one did. But Dan’s my friend. He asked me to do this favor tonight.”
She picks up a chocolate-covered strawberry and looks at me from across the table. “I can’t stand it when my brother treats me like I’m twelve. So you get three chances to guess who I’m dressed as. If you lose, then you can’t follow me around all night. Deal?” She bites into her strawberry.
I gaze at her for a second, wondering if this is a bad idea. But I can’t resist this bet—I love a competition.
“Okay, deal.” I look her dress over and tap my chin. “I’d guess your costume is from the Regency era.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You actually know what the Regency era is?”
“Hey, I paid attention in English lit class when we watched movies.”
She scoffs. “The books are better.”
I ignore the jab—the implication that I wouldn’t know. “You’re probably a Jane Austen character. Am I close?”
Her lips twitch, whether in amusement or frustration I can’t tell. “You can’t choose an author’s entire backlist. That’s one guess.”
“You can’t count that as a guess.”
“But it was,” she says, plucking a sliced apple and dunking it into a fondue pot of warm caramel. “Second guess?”
I cross my arms. “Emma Woodhouse.”
She tilts her head and says sweetly, “Wrong. Although I’m impressed you know that character of Austen’s. One guess left until I’m free.” She bites into the apple with a devious smile.
I circle the table, watching her closely. “If you’re not Emma Woodhouse, then I’d guess...” I lean forward and whisper in her ear, catching a whiff of perfume. “Elizabeth Bennet.”
Her breath hitches. “How did you know?”
I step back and smirk as her face turns stormy. High school lit class is finally paying off. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”
Her eyes widen as I rattle off the opening line of the book. “Who told you?”
“No one did,” I say, plucking an apple and biting into it with a smug grin.
“Then how did you . . .?”
“Emerson Roberts!” A man dressed like a vampire in a black T-shirt cuts me off before I can answer.
“Stewart,” Emmy grumbles, crossing her arms.
So this is the jerk I’m supposed to keep away from Emmy.
He leans in for a hug, and she dodges around him.
“I don’t bite,” he says with a laugh.
“And I don’t hug vampires,” she says matter-of-fact.
“I’m not a vampire. I’m that guy from Twilight . You’re a book lover, right?”
“You’re no Edward Cullen,” she mutters, then circles the table to get away from him.
He follows, despite her very clear body language to stay away. “Emmy, I was wondering if we could talk.”
“No,” she says, then plucks a shrimp from a plate full of scampi and holds it up like a pistol. “See all this garlic? Stay away.”
“Emmy, I’m not playing games.” He steps in her face so she can’t move forward, and a flame of jealousy rises in my chest.
I tap his shoulder, feeling the sudden urge to protect her, even though she doesn’t need it. With her sharp wit, she could put any man to shame.
He glances at me, then frowns. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Dawson, Emmy’s friend.”
His eyes drift to my college sweatshirt. “You go to school with Dan?”
“Yep, I play hockey with him. He invited me to Maple Falls for fall break. Cool party, by the way.”
“You’re supposed to wear a costume,” he says, looking slightly annoyed.
Emmy gives me a secretive goodbye wave, sneaking away while Stewart’s back is turned.
I know my job—to distract Stewart as long as possible so Emmy can escape. “Sorry, man. Do you have any extras?”
“Check downstairs in the game room closet. Hey, Emerson—” Stewart spins around and notices Emmy’s gone, then turns to me. “You’re not... are you with Emerson tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say smugly, waiting for Stewart’s reaction. Let him believe what he wants as long as it’s clear he should stay away.
Stewart’s mouth curves with disgust, like he just bit into a bad piece of fish. “As her date?” he presses.
“I’m not supposed to leave her side.” I cross my arms. “I pretty much can’t take my eyes off her, so it won’t be hard.”
Stewart’s face drops. “Sure, man. We’re cool, right?” He puts on a fake smile and bumps my shoulder with his fist. “I’m impressed she’d come with you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why’s that?”
“Emerson’s unattainable. The girl no one can get. And she can’t stand hockey players.”
So that’s why she’s trying to lose me. Dan told me as much, but I thought it was his way of discouraging me from pursuing his sister.
I keep my face guarded. “Maybe I’ll be the first to change her mind.” I smile, then slap Stewart on the shoulder as I leave.
I weave through the foyer, then the living room and the rest of the first floor. Emmy’s nowhere to be found. I search upstairs. No luck.
If she’s trying not to be found, she’s doing a good job. Maybe she’s hiding from Stewart. Or from me. Either way, if Dan finds me without his sister, he won’t be thrilled.
Stewart mentioned a game room downstairs, which means she could be there.
I stop and ask a guy dressed as a cowboy if he knows how to get to the basement. He points back toward the kitchen. Once I’m downstairs, I find a labyrinth of rooms off of several hallways. A group of gamers ignores me in the game room before I move on. I finally reach the end of the hall—three doors left. One is a storage room, another is a utility room. The final room is locked with a key pad on the door. Emmy wouldn’t try to guess the Harrisons’ passcode, would she?
Knowing Emmy, she probably would.
Then I remember the address on the gate of the estate. 4654. I’m not a criminal, but I know most people use obvious numbers for passcodes. I punch in the code.
The lock clicks open. Bingo.
Before me, long rows of wine bottles stretch out in beautiful custom shelves. There must be a hundred bottles in here, all color coded by the foil tops.
“Please tell me Stewart didn’t send you here,” Emmy says from the floor, where she’s sitting cross-legged, eating a slice of cheesecake and reading a book on her phone.
“Of course he didn’t. I was looking for you. When Dan finds out I lost you, he's going to be livid.”
“You’re under no obligation to stay, even if my brother threatened you. I like being alone, so please don’t feel sorry for me.”
“What if Stewart finds you here?”
She shrugs. “He won’t look here. He wants to show off his Edward Cullen costume.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know who that is.”
“You’ve never heard of Twilight? ”
I shake my head. “Maybe I’ll read it. Can I join you?” I say, pointing at the empty space next to her. “I know you like to be alone, but I’m not much for parties.”
She looks up at me, surprised. “Be my guest.”
I settle next to her, cross-legged. She glances at me, and there’s an awkward pause as she turns back to her reading.
“You want to play a game?” I scroll through my game apps.
“What kind of game?” she asks, setting her phone aside.
“Take your pick.”
She looks over the options. “You have a game called Did They Pumpkin Spice It? ”
“Haven’t played it before. I think you guess whether a product is real or fake based on the name and picture.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Let’s add a twist.” I look over at her. “Every time you lose, you confess one truth.”
“Like truth or dare without the dare?” She looks from the game to me.
“Winner gets to ask a question. Loser answers. You okay with that?”
She pauses, then nods. “As long as you get the first question.”
I hand her the phone. She hits the start button and the first question appears. Her mouth quirks. “This is weird, but okay. Pumpkin Spice Dog Brew.”
I study the picture. “No way there’s a brew for dogs. That’s fake.”
She taps a button. “Wrong,” she says with a smile.
“Seriously?”
She nods, showing me the phone’s answer. “One truth, Dawson. Tell me your worst hockey story.”
I lean against the wall. “I threw up on the ice after my first hockey game at age seven. My mom thought I had the stomach flu, but it was the result of eating a whole bag of chips before the game and my nerves did the rest.”
She grimaces. “How’d you get over that humiliation?”
I lift a finger. “Only one question at a time. And I haven’t lost the second round yet.”
I take the phone and look at the next product. “Pumpkin Spice Avocado Oil Caviar.”
She bites her lip. “Sounds too bougie.”
“Sorry,” I say, showing her it’s an actual product. “Which means you need to tell me one truth.” I tap my leg, thinking. “How about your worst date story ever.”
She sighs. “That’s easy. Senior prom. He was a football player who picked me up in his father’s Jaguar and told me my job was to make him look good—to be his ‘eye candy.’”
I already want to punch the jerk. “What’d you do then?”
“I asked him to take me to get coffee first. Then I accidentally dumped my scorching hot drink in his lap on the way to prom.”
I laugh.
She smiles proudly. “He screamed like a baby while I called 911. When the ambulance arrived, I took his father’s Jag to prom. He never called me again. I’m very good at losing guys.”
“I noticed that tonight,” I say with a grin. “Next question.”
She looks at the screen. “Pumpkin Spice Dog Waste Bags.”
“That sounds like a product for a millennial dog mom.”
“Ha! It’s not,” she says with delight. “Give me something juicy. Your first kiss or your worst kiss—you choose.”
I stretch my legs, hooking one ankle over the other. “My first kiss wasn’t until college. Last year.”
Her smile fades. “Are you lying?”
“Why would I lie about that?”
She shakes her head. “I just thought . . .”
“What?”
“You were a ladies’ man.”
I laugh. “My dad would like me to be,” I comment dryly. “But I don’t have time to date. Not interested in the drama. I just want to play hockey.”
She stares at me for a beat. “You’re different from most college guys.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“No,” she says quickly, then hands me my phone. “Your turn.”
I tap the screen. “You ready for this? A Pumpkin Spice Engagement Ring.”
She laughs in disbelief. “I think you already know my answer to this one.”
“It’s real.” I flip the phone around to show her the description. “The ring features orange sapphires mimicking the drink.”
She scoffs. “That’s a trick question!”
I shrug. “Sorry, Emmy. Game says you lose. So tell me how you really feel about me being your bodyguard? Am I going to get a hot coffee in my lap tonight? Fess up, buttercup.”
She shakes her head. “That’s two questions.”
“Then only answer the first.”
She leans her head back against the wall and stares at a row of cabernets. “When Dan brought you home two days ago, I thought you were a typical athlete. Arrogant, self-absorbed... You want me to go on?”
I chuckle. “Wow. You really think a lot of me.”
She shakes her head. “But you quoted Jane Austen, so you can’t be that bad.”
“But you’re still embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“I’m embarrassed that my brother assigned you to me, like I’m a foster dog.”
I put my phone away and focus my attention on her. “Then let’s pretend you’re twenty-five and just met me at a party.” I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I let the question hang there.
She lifts a shoulder. “Why not? You’re a better option than Stewart. I would probably date you.”
I scoff. “You’re comparing me to Stewart?” Then I pretend to stab myself in the heart. “That hurts.”
She shakes her head and laughs. “I’m sorry. You’re way better than him, Dawson. Is that better?”
“Not really.” I laugh.
“How about this? Can I call you when I’m twenty-five and need a backup date to keep Stewart away?”
I meet her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Well, I don’t know.” She lifts a shoulder. “You make me laugh, so there’s that.”
“I’ll do one better. When you’re twenty-five, if you need a date for any reason, I’ll fill in. No questions asked. No Stewart needed.”
“Like that would happen,” she says. “You’ll forget all about it.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You doubt me?”
“I’m not counting on you.” Then she tilts her head, like she’s thinking about it. “What if you’re dating someone?”
“If we’re both not dating or married, the dating pact goes into effect.”
She considers it. “Does this mean I’m obligated to do the same for you?”
“That’s the way pacts work, Emmy,” I say. “I’m not agreeing to it if it’s one-sided.”
“There’s no way you’ll be single then,” she says with a smirk. “So, why not? Are we going to cut our hands and share blood too?”
“No, that’s gross,” I say. “You have my word. That’s enough.”
“One last thing,” she says, rising from the floor. “Don’t tell Dan, okay? He gets weird about his friends wanting to date his sister.”
I stand to face her. Hold up my pinky. “Your secret is safe with me. Just don’t forget.”
She hooks her pinky around mine.
As our fingers lock, she smiles. “I won’t need to. Because it’s never going to happen.”