“You remembered?” Her face brightens at the possibility, excitement practically buzzing off her.
“Kind of?” I rub the back of my neck, glancing around at the group of people watching us.
“Good to see ya, man,” the blond guy, Malcolm I finally remember, says over the rim of his coffee cup. It’s pink, with a picture of a dog’s face in the center. The contrast is ridiculous—a big, surly guy sipping from a playful cup—and I have to suppress a laugh.
I wave at everyone and lean down to whisper in Emma’s ear, “If this is weird, I can go. I don’t want—”
“Not at all.” She smiles, and it takes my breath away. If a feeling could weave itself through the very vessels of my heart, this is it. Seeing her unabashed smile has become essential to me. It’s as necessary as air or water, something I can’t imagine living without.
Her arm slips around mine, tugging me gently toward the table. Tattoo Guy shifts down a seat, making room as Emma guides me into the space beside him. Across from us, Benny and Ellie chatter quietly, while Malcolm leans against the fridge, surveying the room.
“I’m Rob,” Tattoo Guy says, shaking my hand.
“The new guy.” Malcolm smirks.
“I thought that was my title,” a blonde woman says. The paint-splattered apron she’s wearing nearly swallows her as she shuffles into the room.
“You have seniority by genetics,” Malcolm says, giving her a wink before turning back to the coffee pot on the counter.
Rob stiffens in his seat as the blonde slides in next to him. She reaches over him to shake my hand. “I’m Mackenzie, the new theater arts teacher.”
Malcolm clears his throat, and Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “And that big oaf’s sister.”
“And my future sister-in-law,” Kate sings as she bounces into the room, arms full of plates and napkins. She practically levitates toward Malcolm, pecking him on the cheek while stuffing the supplies into the drawer.
“How are you doing?” Benny asks me, leaning close and resting his forearms on the table. His demeanor is disarming, looking at me like I’m the only person in this room, or even on the planet.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but my eyes dart to Emma. Her smile is sweet, and her lips are wildly distracting. The glossy pink from this morning has wornoff, but I know they’re still butter soft. I force my gaze back to Benny. “I have some good moments. But nothing overly concrete yet.”
“I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely devastated at this, sinking back into his chair. Is he always this nice?
“It’s okay. I’m hopeful.”
Emma’s hand snakes around mine under the table, her fingers finding the edge of my sleeve and tugging it up. Her hands are ice-cold as she presses them into the crook of my elbow. I flinch, sucking in a sharp breath at the shocking chill that crawls up my arm. She giggles softly, tracing the veins along my skin. Every slow, deliberate movement of her fingers against me makes my lungs stutter. I fight to keep my eyelids from drooping as her touch glides back and forth, the sensation traveling all the way to my toes.
Someone clears their throat, and my eyes snap open in attention. All eyes are on us—eyes that are surely aware of what’s going on in my head.
I straighten, pulling in a breath. Emma’s hand slips away just as the bell rings, sparing us from whatever antagonizing comments that might’ve followed.
“I really hope I didn’t intrude,” I say once we’ve pushed through the barricade of students flooding the halls.
“You didn’t. It was nice to see you.” Emma rubs a hand over my back as we head toward the car.
“Really?” The hopeful lilt in my voice is embarrassing.
“Of course. It’s always nice seeing your husband.” She gives me a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, like there’s something she’s not fully saying.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened with us?” The words, and the regret that clings to them, are out before I can stop them.
“Wh—what do youmean?”
“Did I do something to hurt you?” The question bulldozes over hers. The thought of hurting Emma feels like someone is strangling me. My chest, my throat, my eyes, all of them hurt.
“Do you mean…?” She can’t even finish the word, but I know what she’s asking.Cheated. And God, I wish I didn’t need to ask.
“No, never.” She shakes her head firmly, like the idea alone offends her. “You haven’t done anything to hurt me, Steven. Not intentionally, anyway.”
“But Ihavehurt you?”
