He settled for squeezing her hand. He could be her friend for now.
***
“Welcome to drywall day, everyone.” Lacey stood before the gathered crew before the cameras started rolling. “Although we’re booked to be here the entire day, I don’t anticipate using a lot of these shots. In my opinion, drywall isn’t as sexy as demolition. That is, unless someone volunteers to test run those awesome sleeveless tees.”
“Hey, Lacey,” Louie called from the back of the room. “If you want sexy, I volunteer to wear one of those tank tops.”
“Sorry, Louie. You’re not quite what I was going for.”
Emily didn’t know why they were joking about tank tops, but the rest of the crew seemed to think Louie wearing one was laughable. She supposed, if she understood the context, she’d howl along with the others. That is, if she could summon a chuckle. As it stood, she couldn’t.
She now understood what the term “shell-shocked” meant. Not that she could compare her state to that of someone who’d lived through a war, but she’d been seized with numbness when she awoke. After having eaten her breakfast on automatic pilot that morning, she had tied her sneakers without realizing it, and could barely remember getting into her car. Even now, as Lacey spoke, she couldn’t process the other woman’s words.
Other woman. She’d never given much thought to the term. She’d only ever heard it applied on those cheesy soap operas her mother used to watch. When she pictured thoseother women, she envisioned ladies with big hair and shoulder pads who had cat fights. Veronica was someone she used to like, a regular person with a job and ambitions. She wouldn’t have pegged her asother womanmaterial.
Her tummy issued a warning growl. Her breakfast, plain toast, wasn’t sitting well. It served her right for forcing it down her gullet when she hadn’t felt like eating. Even her beloved coffee had tasted like vinegar.
Maybe if she closed her eyes for a few seconds, everything would go away.
When she opened them, Michael was staring at her. He smiled, his eyes lit with warmth.
He’d been so good the previous evening. Emily didn’t know what she’d done to deserve his friendship, but she appreciated having him around at such a difficult moment. Michael hadn’t grilled her after her conversation with Trent. He hadn’t forced his opinions on her. He’d simply spent time with her so she didn’t have to feel alone.
She’d thanked him at the end of the evening, of course, but she doubted he understood just how much his presence meant.
In an attempt to distract her, he had also treated her to his tragic Rocky Balboa impersonation. Several times.
Even now, as Lacey continued to give notes to the crew, he meandered over to Emily and reached for her hand, running his thumb over her wrist. “How’s your right hook today?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“Not really. Did you?”
“Not really.”
“Another headache?”
“You could say so. I’m used to them now.” Michael winked and pretended to put up his dukes, like a boxer in the ring. “Yo, Adrienne. Gonna fly now.”
She looked pointedly at his imaginary boxing gloves. “How long are you going to keep up the Rocky routine?”
Still speaking with world’s worst Sly impression, he said, “As the great Stallone once said, ‘Let me tell you something you already know.’ I’m going to milk this one until the cows come home.”
“I was afraid of that.” She cracked a smile, amazed he could wring one out of her under the circumstances.
He pretended to take a swing at her arm, but upon making the lightest of contact, he stumbled backward. “The champ’s going down!”
Emily put her hand over her mouth, more amused than she ought to feel.
Eli and Nick walked up to them. Eli rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Rocky Balboa? Michael has a fetish for Stallone movies.”
“You don’t say?” said Emily.
“You really shouldn’t encourage him,” said Nick. “It’s embarrassing for all of us.”
As Michael struggled with his imaginary foe, Emily turned to Eli. “How are you feeling?”
