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Emilie pulled away and turned to him with a sigh. “Dean, you’re my one safe spot and the person I care the most about. I don’t want to say something I don’t mean, so I’m walking home. I got suckered into helping Ava, and it’s too late to back out. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the situation.”
“Emilie, wait. Let’s talk about—”
She held up a hand to stop him. “Dean, you’re smothering me. I need some space.”
Dean took a step back. “You want space?” This whole time he’d been trying to protect her, and she believed he was suffocating her. Anger coiled in Dean’s stomach and sprang like a shark attack. “Fine. Have your space.”
He spun on his heel, marched to his truck, and hopped in. Time and time again she got wounded. She was walking into a trap. He jammed his key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he took off like a madman.
13
Emilie
Emilie only regretted her decision when Dean’s truck roared by and he didn’t so much as glance her way. When his truck disappeared in the distance, a sinking feeling told Emilie she’d said the wrong thing. Instead of holding her ground with Ava, she had taken it out on Dean.
It was too late to take back her words, and right then, she was not capable of fixing anything. Maybe when things settled down, she could explain the guilt and palpable relief that came when she told Ava the truth about her mom. Not to mention the mounting anxiety she felt for being an active part of the wedding. How in the world was she going to get Miss Gail to tag along at the dress fitting? They hadn’t talked in years.
Pushing thoughts of upsetting Dean away, she hurried down the road and headed home. Every step, she grew more determined. Agreeing to help Ava was a mistake, but she’d already committed and wanted to start their attempt at a friendship on the right foot.
When she turned down her street, her jeep came into view and it reminded her of all she’d have to do before turning in for the night. Stomping even harder down the street, she dared anyone to stop her for a chat. She could bring in the rest of her things just fine.
When she opened the car door to clean everything out, the floor was completely empty. Not a speck of trash remained. Dean had struck again. Regret plunged into her stomach like a knife.
Inside the house, she realized he had once again gone above and beyond. Every single box was downstairs. He’d even unpacked her bedding and made the bed. If there had been time, she was sure he would’ve unpacked every box.
She fell on the bed and covered her face with a pillow. If he kept this up, she’d never want to leave. And she had to. She had to leave Danvers with her heart intact.
* * *
The next morning, Emilie woke with a pounding headache. The room was dim enough, but the tiny rays of light shooting through the break in the curtains hit her squarely in the face. She groaned and rolled over, smashing the pillow over her head. The events of yesterday flooded back, driving the guilt deeper into her gut. She had to make things right with Dean. The hurt in his eyes had been evident as soon as the word smother escaped her mouth.
Pulling herself out of bed, she groaned some more. The previous night, she’d unpacked until the room looked like it was under siege. Piles of clothes, towels, and miscellaneous items were strewn everywhere. After a long stare at the work she needed to do, she spent the next few hours straightening and putting away what she could.
Eventually, her stomach growled. She needed to go to the grocery store. The snacks she had left on the kitchen counter would have to do until she made it there.
Morning light blinded her when she trudged into the kitchen. Her snacks were missing, but a loaf of cinnamon bread sat on the countertop. When had Miss Gail come by? Even if it’d been a while, she’d never forget her adopted mom’s baked goods.
She dropped into a chair and opened the plastic wrap, ravenous and tired. She didn’t bother finding a knife and tore into the delight with her hands. It melted in her mouth, bursting with flavor. Goodness, that woman could bake.
Halfway through the loaf, she got up and opened the cupboard for a glass. The same familiar glassware was there. She reached out and grabbed one, her favorite. Simply holding the blue beveled glass sent a wave of nostalgia through her.
She ran her fingers over the ripples of the glass and remembered the time her mom bought them at a yard sale when Emilie was a little girl. They couldn’t afford much, and her mom was thrilled with the cheap price. One by one, the glasses broke, sometimes accidents, sometimes not. This was the last one left from the set. She hugged it close and moved over to the sink.
The tap water didn’t taste the best, but maybe the guys who’d helped Dean had left some drinks behind. She opened the fridge door and gasped.
Instead of dirty, empty shelves, she found it impeccably clean and fully stocked with the basics. Eggs, cheese, bread, lunchmeat, and orange juice. There were even Pink Lady apples in the produce drawer. She’d still need to go shopping, but this would hold her over until she made it to the store.
She opened the freezer and saw a package of chicken, hamburger meat, and a few freezer meals. When would Dean cease to amaze her? After all he’d done, her words must’ve hit him pretty hard.
She poured herself a glass of orange juice and settled in her seat again. Today was Sunday and her last day of freedom. Starting tomorrow, she’d have to force herself to stick to a schedule. She had so much to do before the dance studio was ready to open. The rooms might be in mint condition, but if no dancers came, what was the point?
She cleaned up her mess and washed out the glass. Before she got too busy with life, she had one more thing to do.
She dressed in a bright sundress her mom would appreciate and headed out to the flower shop kitty corner to the city’s cemetery. The flower shop wasn’t open on Sunday, but her mom once told her they always laid any flowers starting to wilt on the back doorstep, and it was worth the try.
Relief flowed through Emilie when she saw a small bouquet of peach-colored roses on the back steps of the tiny flower shop. Her mom loved that color. There were also a few wilted potted pansies, but she took the roses instead. She’d have to buy some flowers from Mr. Joe later that week.
She parked at the entrance of Walnut Grove Cemetery and gawked. The cemetery was huge. Bigger than she remembered. Shoot. Would she even be able to find the right grave? The funeral hearse had driven Emilie there on the day of the funeral, and through all of her blurry tears, she couldn’t remember where they’d placed the grave. Only one way to find out.
