I don’t mean to turn around, at least that's what I tell myself, but my head jerks up like a damn reflex, and theresheis.
Emma is standing at the bakery’s tent, holding a stack of white pastry boxes while Sophia directs her and Liv around like a tiny general. She’s got a concentrated look on her face, biting the corner of her lip as she listens, nods, then immediately trips and drops half the boxes, sending them and their contents tumbling to the ground.
I can’t help but smile. She’s as clumsy as ever.
Liv smacks her arm and Emma throws her head back and laughs again, even louder and unfiltered now. She couldn’t care less who’s listening. I used to make her laugh like that. It was, and continues to be, one of my favorite sounds in the whole world, besides the little moan she used to make as she unraveled under my touch. My grip tightens around the rag in my hand.
Yesterday, I was behind the bar, pouring drinks, when the front door swung open. For a split second, through the glare of sunlight, I saw her. She was standing framed by the doorway, looking straight at me. The sight looked like something straight out of a movie. It was too perfect to be real. I don’t think she meant for me to see her, but we locked eyes. I winked at her when I could tell that she finally recognized who she was looking at. She stumbled over her own feet in her rush to get away. It satisfied me to know I still have that effect on her.
Seeing her this often is screwing with my head, though. It’s hard to keep my distance like I know I should. It’s hard to ignore the way my body reacts when she’s near. I remember all of it. The way she used to look at me like she trusted me with her entire heart. The way I used to make her smile in the darkest of times. The way that still wasn’t enough in the end.
I shake the thought away, gripping the edge of the table as I let out a long exhale.
Emma continues to smile as she crouches down to gather the fallen boxes and pastries. Her hair falls into her face as she mumbles something, probably cursing herself out or thinking out loud. She does that a lot.
I should divert my attention to something more productive, like organizing all the plastic cups and canned drinks. But I don’t. Instead, I’m frozen in position, continuing to watch as she huffs in frustration, blowing a stray curl out of her eyes while trying to balance the remaining boxes against her hip.
Liv bends down to help, but not without rolling her eyes. “Honestly, Em, how do you function in everyday life?” I hear her say.
Emma shoots her a teasing glare. “Gracefully.”
Sophia giggles while stacking the remaining rescued boxes on the bakery’s table.
Liv responds, “Sure. If by ‘gracefully,’ you mean chaotically.”
Emma stands, dusting off her skirt with one hand before flipping them both off. The corners of her mouth twitch like she’s trying to keep from laughing again. She turns while unloading a box of pastries into a small glass case, and for a second, her eyes flicker across the street, to me. She stills. Not to a full stop, but an obvious hesitation. I don’t think she expected to see me here at all, let alone to be so clearly watching her.
Neither of us moves. The noise of the festival set up vibrates around us—vendors chatting, the scent of apples and cinnamon thick in the air—but for a second, it’s just us. It’s just like yesterday: Emma looking at me, while I’m too caught up in her to look away.
This time she doesn’t run away.
Instead, she calmly turns back to Liv, saying something I can’t quite make out, and busies herself with unloading moreboxes. There’s something pleasurable about seeing and knowing how hard she’s trying to avoid looking in my direction again. Running a hand through my hair, I pick up a hat that I set down earlier and put it on backwards. I turn back to the tent, forcing myself to focus on the last items needing to get done.
But no matter how much I try to fight it, some part of me knows the truth: there is no fiber of my being that has ever stopped being entirely consumed by Emiliana Diaz.
12
EMMA
Hanging the last string of twinkle lights in place, I take a step back, hands on my hips as I survey our masterpiece. Sophia is adjusting a sign reading “Sweet Autumn Delights,” hand-painted in her whimsical handwriting. Liv is fussing over the last of the displays, adjusting a tray of spiced apple turnovers and sliced pumpkin bread. We have officially transformed the bakery’s booth tent into a scene straight out of a cozy fall dream. It’s warm, inviting, and most importantly, filled with the intoxicating scent of fresh coffee and pastries. It’s a miracle that by five o’clock I haven’t eaten my entire body weight in them yet.
“This might be my best setup yet.” Sophia’s eyes gleam with satisfaction.
“It looks great.” My voice lacks enthusiasm. I can feel the exhaustion creeping in. I’m afraid of ruining the moment, so I try to shake off the feeling of my chest getting tight and not being able to catch my breath. I also don’t want to acknowledge the fact that I can feel Alex watching me.Again. It’s been happening all morning. Every time I glance his way, he's staring and not even in a subtle way. It’s unnerving, and worse? It makes my pulse do stupid things, not being able todecipher my heart condition from the feeling of knowing he’s still captivated by me. I pretend I don’t notice his eyes on me, refusing to give him the satisfaction of any kind of physical reaction. If I look at him, I’ll see that stupid, perfect grin of his. That's the last thing I need in order to get through what’s left of the day.
The festival kickoffhas officially begun and waves of people are now flooding in. The sounds of laughter and music are loud and overwhelming. My head starts to pound with a headache that feels like nails against my skull. I press a hand to my temple and try to exhale slowly and regulate my breathing, doing anything I can not to pass out.
“I think I’m going to take a walk,” I say, trying to sound casual and not raise any suspicions. “You guys okay if I step away for a bit?”
Sophia barely looks up as she refills a basket of pumpkin scones perfectly in a row. “Go for it. Just don't get lost in the corn maze. I heard they made it even harder this year than in the past,” she giggles.
Liv shoots me a look that says she knows something’s off, but I’m guessing by my facial expression, she knows not to dare ask me what’s wrong. “We’ve got this. Take your time.”
I aimlessly weave through the growing crowds, my steps unsteady. The chatter, the music, all of the different autumn scents infusing the air—it should all feel comforting and nostalgic. Instead, it feels like I’m stuck in a room with four walls pressing in on me. Before I know it, I end up right in front of Alex’s tent. He’s behind the counter, arms crossed, while Frankie and another bartender pour drinks. He wears a pleasedfacial expression, like he expected me to appear in front of him at some point in the evening.
“Hey, Princess,” he calls out, dripping with amusement. “Care for a drink on the house?”
“I’m pretty sure I told you to stop calling me that,” I mutter, despite finding myself walking closer to him anyway. My eyes narrow, examining the beer he holds out in my direction. “Are you poisoning me?”
