“No, although I can appreciate the necessity to get it off your neck while working up a sweat. Not that I’m thinking about the ways you work up a sweat or anything.” My cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
“I didn’t get the wrong idea,” he said. “I knew you meant jogging and not other, um… sweaty activities.”
“You did it again,” I said, taking a step back from him. I’d risk pulling a muscle from not stretching properly if it meant getting away from the man because I always made an ass of myself in front of him. Some people brought out the worst in me without trying. My mind went to Gabe, but that was a completely different situation. I was protecting my heart from getting hurt. Emory was no threat to my heart because I’d already given mine to Gabe.
Emory threw his head back and laughed hard for several long seconds. I couldn’t help but notice how rusty it sounded as if he hadn’t laughed in a really long time.
Maybe I should’ve been offended by his laughter, but instead, it made me sad. “What are you doing on Sunday?” For the life of me, I had no idea where the question came from. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Sunday? Isn’t that Easter?” Emory asked.
Well, I couldn’t un-speak my damn words, so I rolled with it. “Uh, yeah. Do you have plans?”
“I’ll probably still be unpacking then,” he said. I noticed he started to shift his weight slightly between his right and left foot. I figured it had more to do with me making him feel uncomfortable than an effort to keep his heart rate up.
“Well, I’ll be serving dinner around five if you’d like to come over,” I said.
Emory nodded noncommittally then looked away briefly. He bit his bottom lip and appeared to be thinking about how to react, unlike me who often shot from the hip. “I appreciate your invite, Josh. I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied. “I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I can pretty much guarantee that you’ve never had a glazed ham better than one I’ll serve you.”
“Oh, I’m vegan,” he said.
I gasped and stood back from him like he announced he had a deadly infectious disease and I was minutes away from my insides imploding and drowning in my own blood. I checked myself because I loved animals and I could understand why people didn’t want to eat them. But no bacon? Emory’s lips twitched at the corners, and I realized he was playing. “You’re a complete shit, Emory!”
“Man, you’re so easy,” he said between chuckles.
“Who told?” I demanded to know.
He clutched his stomach and laughed even harder. “So sorry,” he said as he tried to catch his breath.
“If you think I’m funny then you should see my makeshift family. I can promise you a good time,” I said, sounding like one of those scribbled comments on a bathroom stall.
“I’m not touching that one,” Emory said, shaking his head. “No way.”
“The offer is there if you want to accept it, but I won’t take it out on your hair at your appointment next week should you not show up to dinner,” I told him.
“Yeah well, this style—or lack thereof—is from not giving a damn. I guess you could say my looks have lost their importance to me the last few years.” He smiled softly as if he tried to soften the sadness behind his words. “Can I ask you for one favor if I do show up?”
“You can ask,” I told him, but I didn’t commit to granting it.
“Will you please not tell anyone about my…gift?”
“That I can guarantee,” I told him.
“Good,” he said in relief. “I don’t do parlor tricks. I take my abilities seriously, and I use them to help people, not hurt them.” I felt like he was directing the last part toward me and not making a general statement.
“I understand. I doubt the rest of the group will whip out their phones and search your name like I did, but I do advise you make up a believable excuse as to why you moved to Blissville,” I told him. “It’s a nice town and all, but rarely do people move here unless it’s work-related.”
Emory thought about it for a few seconds then asked, “What do you think they’d find acceptable? Honestly, I’m out of my league here. I don’t know why I’m in Blissville beyond the fact that I knew I was needed.”
I took in Emory’s appearance and air of mystery about him. “How about a writer? Maybe you moved here to do research on small towns for a series you’re writing. They may not drill you down as to exactly how or why you picked Blissville, but have an answer ready if they do. My friends have an attention to detail like you won’t believe.”
“Oh, I believe it,” he remarked. “Thanks for the advice. You know,” he said after a brief pause, “it’s not far off the mark. Right now, I’m just jotting things down in a journal, but I have tossed around the idea of publishing a book about my experiences.”
“Can I ask you something, Emory? You can say no, but I need complete honesty if you’re willing to answer my question.”
“Ask away.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was anticipating my question.
