“You’re insane,” Will said incredulously.
“We’ve established that.”
“Fine! Whatever. Just… just go. I hope you find some answers because I don’t think you’re going to get what you need here.”
He reached into his wallet, pulled out a few bills. Then he went to his bedroom, returned a moment later with a sweatshirt. It was ten sizes too big, but that was perfect as it fell to her hips, looked a bit intentional, and was baggy enough to obscure her lack of bra. After digging in the hall closet, he came out with a pair of black men’s sandals. They were huge on her, but they had Velcro straps that allowed her to make them somewhat tighter.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, uh…” He paused, pointed at her.
“Emmy.” She sighed. She already knew his last name. It seemed fair to balance the scales a little. “Emmy Miura.”
“Right. No problem, Emmy Miura. Good luck out there.”
“Same to you. Sorry in advance about your car trouble.” She hesitated, then shrugged. There was no reason to start holding back now. “You should buy more windshield wiper fluid when you get the chance.”
She walked out the door while Will gaped at her.
Six
Emmy didn’t know where she was going, but the weather was great, and fresh air hit the spot just at that moment. She hadn’t seen much of the town of Cobalt, Massachusetts, through the lens of the novel, but this place sure felt like it. She had a long walk down a rural road ahead of her—miles if the context clues in the book were any indication—before she reached any kind of civilization. No problem. She didn’t want to interact with anyone else. She needed to be alone with her thoughts and the sunshine. The flashlight had been red. Okay. So maybe the sex psychic had magically transported her into a romance novel as some sort of misguided payback for Emmy’s skepticism. All she had to do was figure out how to escape the book and get back to reality. Preferably before Saturday. She really didn’t want to miss the wedding.
A car pulled up beside her. No, a pickup truck. Emmy longed for a can of pepper spray. Where had the truck even come from? She hadn’t heard it coming. Had she been that lost in her thoughts?
The dude who leaned out the window was ruggedly handsome. Flannel work shirt, a few days’ worth of scruff on his face, and—it turned out—a husky voice made for pillow talk.
“You lost, honey?”
“Nope.” Emmy kept walking.
“I can give you a ride into town.”
His truck kept pace with her. She wondered if there was a corn field somewhere she could disappear into if she needed to run.
“I need to walk, and I don’t like taking rides with strange men. But thanks anyway.”
“You sure? I don’t feel right leaving you like this.”
Emmy worked up a cheery smile. “I’m sure! You move right along. I’m fine.”
“Okay…” He looked her up and down. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you, honey? I can help you.”
“I’m not in any trouble. I like wearing oversized clothes. It’s a quirk of mine.”
He laughed. “You’re a little spitfire.”
“Mm,” she replied noncommittally. “This little spitfire is doing just fine on her own, so…”
“Alright then.” He flashed her a quick, sexy smile. “It’s sure been interesting talking to you. You stay safe now.”
He didn’t sound certain about leaving her, but she just kept smiling—nothing to see here, move it along—until he shrugged and picked up speed. When the truck was no longer in view, she let out a breath. That interaction had certainly been the perfect weird cherry to top her crazy sundae. Good thing it was over.
An hour later, sweaty, slipping out of her overlarge sandals, and with the sleeves of her borrowed sweatshirt rolled up, she found a promising street. Grateful for the freshly repaved sidewalk as it made maneuvering in Will’s sandals easier, she kept walking until she reached a quaint little commercial area. The first thing she did was spend some of Will’s money on an iced latte. While she stood off to the side, waiting for her order to come up, she desperately wished she had her phone. She didn’t realize how attached she’d been to it until she caught herself reaching into her pocket for it at least ten times in two minutes. It was disconcerting to realize she had no idea what to do with her hands or where to look. She settled for putting her hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt and watching the baristas make drinks. That felt normal enough.
“Rough night?”
She turned to see a guy standing next to her. He had a phone in one hand. She almost asked to borrow it. He wore black glasses, a gray cardigan, and tight black jeans. He was tall, lanky, and handsome.
