Page 43
He doesn’t push, which makes my guilt so much worse. “Besides,” I say, aiming for casual, “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
He nods slowly.
My head starts to throb, so I give him an apologetic smile, then turn and walk away.
I’m the worst best friend in the world. In all the years we’ve been friends, I have never lied to Taylen Howard.
I make it to the coffee tent, trying to breathe through the tightness building behind my eyes when Emmett appears at my elbow with his usual bounce.
His curls are peeking out from under a green beanie, and he’s got a coffee in each hand. He hands me one without asking.
“Boss, you look like absolute shit.”
“Thanks, Emmett. Very supportive.”
“I’m serious, why don’t you go home?”
I take the coffee gratefully.
“I can’t just leave.”
“Finn, I’ve been shadowing you for eighteen months. I know everything there is to know about this market. Let me take some of the responsibility off your hands. Go home.”
I hesitate. “Emmett—”
“If anything happens and I don’t know how to handle it, I’ll call you. I promise. Besides, it’s almost closing time, and most vendors are running out of stock anyway.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
“Thank you. Go home, sleep, and eat something that isn’t a fall spice mix. Take a bath or whatever people who are functional adults do.”
“You’re bossy for an assistant.”
“That’s why you hired me.”
He’s already half-turning to head back into the crowd. Then he pauses.
“Oh. Also. Has Dr. Cross confirmed his stall at the Christmas Festival market? Just, you know, for planning purposes.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“It’s important to care for the community pets.”
I shake my head. “Yes, he’s confirmed.”
Emmett’s face lights up. “Great. Wonderful. Perfect. Excellent. Okay. Go home. I’ve got this.”
He bounces off in the direction of Mrs. Peterson’s wreath stall.
I watch him go and manage a small smile despite the throb behind my eyes.
Emmett’s crush is probably going nowhere. Hunter is notoriously impossible to read. Half the town has tried to figure out if he even dates, so I hope Emmett doesn’t hold out too much hope for it.
I finish my coffee, do a last mental sweep of the market to check I’m not abandoning anything urgent, then I walk home.
By the time I climb the stairs to my apartment, the throb behind my eyes has become a full migraine warning.
I know why.
