22. Emmy
CHAPTER 22
EMMY
Gold Dog
How are things going?
Romcom Book
Grandma’s health has been stable. I swear watching hockey has made her extra ornery. Maybe because game two was a nail-biter?
Too bad the goalie didn’t reach the magic number for our meetup.
By the way, are you still dating the same person?
I am! You?
It might come as a surprise, but yes. Though I don’t see how we can work out the distance when he moves.
Why couldn’t you have a long-distance relationship? People do it all the time.
He travels a lot. We’re very different people from very different worlds.
Unless he’s from another planet, you could make it work.
Speaking of different worlds, my friend thinks that you’re a prince from a little-known country.
Well, I could be anyone. Travis Kelce. Harry Styles. Bigfoot.
So you’re a mythical creature now?
Some guys are very hairy, RB.
Are you saying Bigfoot is just a man blessed with a lot of body hair? Or is this a secret hint about you?
1. Not sure I’d call it a blessing. 2. No secrets here.
You make me laugh, Gold Dog. This might help my writer’s block.
Have you started writing again?
Just a little, thanks to you. Tourist season ends soon, then he leaves. Writing gives me something to look forward to.
You’re not going to be alone. I’m here.
You don’t know how much I appreciate that. And I can’t wait to meet you someday.
Me, too. Everything will be okay. You know that, right?
I do. I just don’t know how this story ends. You know that feeling when you're halfway through a book and you're wondering how they’re gonna wrap everything up? That’s how I feel. My life has too many loose ends and not enough signs that it’ll end the way I want.
Don’t give up yet. Loose ends are what make life beautiful.
I just hope my life’s not turning into one of those plot twists where the hero accidentally ends up in the wrong city. Right now, I'd settle for a spoiler or two.
Spoiler alert: It ends well.
But how do you know??
Sometimes you gotta trust that it will.
A week passes, and my life feels caught between holding on to the time I have left with Dawson, and what’s inevitably coming. I can sense a shift in the air. The leaves on the trees are falling faster, a sign that winter is around the corner.
On the night of the third game, there’s a bad rainstorm—another reminder that change is in the air. Dawson will go back to his world, and I’ll return to mine. This fall will be a bittersweet memory, like the last bite of an apple dumpling.
Dawson and I have been nearly inseparable since our hockey lesson and ice picnic. He stops by every night after practice, much to Mimi’s delight. She loves having Dawson here for dinner, and Dawson delights in her home-cooking by eating seconds and sometimes thirds of whatever she’s made. Occasionally Dan comes too, but he’s spending more time with Keira these days. I even arranged a special date for them in the bookstore, complete with fairy lights and a candlelit table.
But tonight, something feels different. Like Mimi is trying to give us time alone.
“Time for me to watch Wheel of Fortune ,” she says and yawns dramatically. It’s been her ritual to watch Wheel of Fortune before bed every night for the last twenty years. But she seems in a hurry to get to bed tonight. “Have fun, you two!” she says, before shutting her bedroom door with a thud.
Dawson and I hang out until I’m drowsy on the couch, talking about how my book is going and my favorite Gilmore Girls reruns. On more than one occasion, I’ve fallen asleep next to him. He always covers me with a soft throw blanket and turns off the TV before leaving, after pressing a kiss to my forehead. It’s so easy sharing this life with him, pretending it will never end, when things are this good.
Time’s running out, so we snatch these moments like the last leaves of fall.
Tonight, I’m too tired to watch a movie after dinner, but I’m not ready to head to bed either. I’m afraid when I wake up, Dawson will be gone.
Two games left. It nearly kills me.
“We were so busy at the store today,” I say, collapsing on the couch.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Dawson asks. “You said the bookstore needs a miracle.”
“Stewart has been digging into the numbers. Once he discovers our sales are due to heavy tourist traffic this fall, he’ll have to make a decision about the store.”
I’m lying against a couch pillow, my feet in Dawson’s lap. We’ve grown into a comfortable existence together, the kind where we share ice cream from the tub while he rubs my feet. After he leaves, I’m going to miss these nights.
He picks up my foot.
I pull it away. “You don’t have to rub my feet again.”
“Why not?”
“Touching someone’s feet signals another level of commitment,” I say, taking a bite of ice cream from the tub.
“Then I want the next level,” he says.
Something flips in my stomach.
He digs his thumb into my foot. “Besides, you’re on your feet all day.”
“And you cram your foot into a skate and slide around on two thin blades. I should rub your feet.”
“No, you shouldn’t. It’s my job to spoil you.”
I’m too tired to fight him on it. He moves his thumb to a spot that feels divine and I melt into the cushions.
He grins. “Being here with you is the best part of my day. I never grew up with home-cooked food. My parents ordered out most nights.”
“That’s why Mimi keeps asking you over. She knows you appreciate it.” I lay my head back on a pillow, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to close my eyes even though I want to stay awake. “Dawson, that feels amazing.”
“Good,” he says, picking up my other foot.
His hands stop moving, but he keeps my foot in his palm, warming it. “You know that’s not the only reason I come here.” His voice is gravelly and low.
I’m afraid of opening my eyes and breaking whatever spell is happening in my head.
“Is it my winning personality when I’m sleepy?” I ask with a half-smile.
He gives a low laugh. “When you’re sleepy, I absolutely adore you.” I feel a finger lightly brush a stray hair from my face. “How am I going to leave when these games are over?”
His words spiral in my head like water down the drain.
“You’ll get on a plane and go,” I say with a sleepy yawn.
“I meant leave you. ”
I shake my head, certain I must have misheard him.
“You mean tonight? You have a nice bed at Hawk River Lodge.”
“The lodge is fine. I love hanging out with the guys. I’m so lucky to be here, honestly.” His thumb slides over the arch of my foot slowly. “But they’re not like you. No one is like you, Emmy.”
I open one eye. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not. Most of my life is compartmentalized into practices and games. Schedules and travel. Being with you reminds me of how much I miss staying in one place. The change of seasons. Living in a community. And... you. ”
His thumb strokes the pad of my foot. Gentle, undemanding.
I rest my head on my arm. “Mimi will miss having you for dinner. And I’ll miss the foot massages.”
He chuckles. “These don’t have to end”—his fingers make slow circles—“if I’m still here.”
My mind spirals between falling into a sleepy black hole and trying to make sense of what Dawson is suggesting. “You can’t stay. You’re headed to Seattle. The NHL. Maybe I’ll come up for a game.”
“You will?” His voice almost sounds hopeful.
I keep my eyes closed, too afraid to see the hope in his eyes. I shouldn’t make promises. It gives me too much hope.
“Will you wear my jersey to the game?” he asks.
“If you ask nicely,” I mumble, cracking my eyes open and giving him a sleepy smile.
“Is that why you didn’t wear it to the last game? I didn’t ask nicely enough?”
I hoped he wouldn’t notice. Wearing his jersey feels like I’m publicly announcing we’re getting married.
“Mom hinted that I should wear Dan’s. Family support and all that.”
“Whose are you wearing to the next game?” he asks.
“Depends. I can be bribed.”
He chuckles. “Can you be bribed to go out with me after the next game?”
“Sure,” I mumble. “Remind me after I’ve slept.”
He pats my foot and sets it gently aside.
“I will,” he says. “When you’re coherent.”
“I’m perfectly...” I pause because I can’t get the last word out.
“Yes, you are perfect, Emmy,” he murmurs.
Dawson tucks a soft throw around me, the last memory before I fall into a sleep that feels perfect and warm and wonderful.
Later I shift on the couch, but there’s nowhere to move. There’s an arm around my waist. A body tucked close to mine. A gentle breath across my neck.
Has it only been five minutes since we talked? Is Dawson leaving or am I dreaming?
I spend the rest of the night dreaming of Dawson’s eyes, his dark brown irises flecked with gold, the same shade as the fallen leaves. I want to savor the memory of fall when the snow falls. I want to remember Dawson, and all the ways he made me come alive with every touch.
When I wake the next morning, the warm light is streaming from behind the closed curtains. The space next to me is empty. He’s already gone.
Was he really here?
I prop myself up on one elbow. His bag by the door is missing.
Maybe all of this was a dream.
Then I see the cup.
A tiny glass of orange juice waits on the end table for me, like he knew I’d forget before I hurried off to work.
I don’t need his help. We both know this. But he takes care of me anyway.
As I reach for the juice, I see a shirt rolled up at the end of the couch. A note on the top: “This is me asking nicely.”
I let it unfurl like a skein of yarn.
He left me his jersey.