* * *
The little red dress is astonishingly tight, hugging every slight curve and putting me on display in a way I’m distinctly not used to.
But it’s no use running. I know Lilly—and my best friend isn’t going to relent until I’ve had at least the one drink we agreed on. So I shuffle nervously into a corner booth, too aware of all the eyes on me, and order a glass of red wine while I wait for her to come back from the bathroom.
“Hey, Em,” says Mrs. Dill, a frumpy old local artist who seems to know everyone’s business before they do. “It’s been a while. How are you holding up?”
“Oh, uh, fine. Actually, I’m good.” I give her a smile. The one she gives back is full of pity. “Really, I’m great.”
“Sure you are, sweetie. It’s so lovely to see you.” She pats my shoulder awkwardly, then joins a group of older women a few tables away. They whisper, eyeing me openly.
My face burns. I quickly down a few desperate gulps of wine. When Lilly finally returns, I’m so relieved I could hug her.
“Fuckers,” she says vehemently, scowling. “You’d think you were the queen or something.”
This is exactly why I’ve been staying in. There’s hardly ever anything interesting happening in Waterford. But Trevor and I were a staple. We’re both locals, and we’d dated since university. Worse, his family owns the biggest real estate firm in this corner of Scotland. Our wedding wasn’t exactly the Met Ball, but it was big.
And now it’s canceled, and everyone in town knows my secret—that no matter how much we tried, I couldn’t conceive.
The shame of it makes me feel sick. I quickly finish my wine and order another. “It’s fine,” I say, in response to Lilly’s prompting look. “I’m fine.”
She grimaces. She feels guilty, I realize. I quickly take her hand.
“Seriously,” I say, forcing a smile. “I had to come out of hiding one way or another.”
Lilly smiles, squeezing my hand. Then her eyes go over my shoulder. “Oh. Shit.”
I know even before he’s spoken that Trevor is behind me. His cologne is still so familiar—nostalgia-tinged and applied just a little too heavily. It turns me liquid with all of the fear, regret, and despair of our last few weeks together.
“Emma!” He comes around the table, and I swear, the whole pub goes quiet. His new girlfriend, a local bartender named Brooke, whose shining black hair and huge blue eyes would make any man’s breath catch, is at his side. “God, it’s great to see you out. We were—well, you know, we were starting to worry.”
My face is so hot it almost hurts. Lilly opens her mouth, already sneering, and I squeeze her hand hard to cut her off. “Hey,” I manage, barely meeting Trevor’s eyes. “No need to worry about me. I’m great! I’m—better than ever.”
“Oh?” Trevor sounds genuinely surprised. “God, that’s a relief. I mean…” He lowers his voice, eyes skirting the pub. “Honestly, if you could tell more people that, you’d be doing me a huge favor. I think I’m going down in history as Waterford’s first villain.”
He laughs. Brooke does too. I manage an awkward titter that earns daggers from Lilly.
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, sure. I’ll tell people. You know. That I’m OK. That I’ve moved on.”
Trevor’s eyebrows go to his hairline. His arm around Brooke’s slender waist tightens ever so slightly. “Moved on? You mean—you’re dating?”
Oh.Damn.I’m suddenly conscious that every eye in the pub is on me. Lilly tightens her grip on my hand—a warning?Oh, God.What have I done? I’m obviously not dating anyone. All I’ve been doing since the breakup is obsessively cleaning, gardening, and writing poetry.
Then again—nobody here knows that. To them I’ve just been AWOL. Maybe thatcouldmean I have a boyfriend. A fantasy boyfriend that would put everyone at ease, sop up some of their pity, and divert Trevor and Brooke’s attention from me.
But I can’t lie about something like that. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?
Lilly meets my eyes. Hers, after a lifetime of knowing each other, are easy enough to read:Well? Lie already!
When I don’t immediately respond, Lilly gives me a swift but discreet kick under the table. “Yes!”Oh, no. This is a bad idea.“Yeah, I—have a boyfriend.”
“That’s incredible,” Brooke says, looking and sounding just a little too eager. Trevor is a little slower to reply.
“Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah, that’s great to hear, Emma. Really great.” Then, after a thoughtful, maybe calculated beat. “What’s his name?”
“You don’t know him,” Lilly volunteers. “He’s from out of town.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a name,” laughs Trevor. We laugh too. For a minute, no one says anything. The awkwardness is so tangible it could be cut with a knife. Luckily, Trevor gives before I do. “Well, anyway. We should head. But it was great to see you, Emma. I hope everything works out with that mystery boyfriend of yours.”
