When I Was Theirs

37. Emmy

37

Emmy

H e’s not here tonight.

I scrub the same patch of wood relentlessly, even though any leftover drops of alcohol are long gone.

I can feel myself glaring at the clueless singer on stage, some friend of Adrian’s who rocked up expecting a warm welcome and got my scowling face instead.

Looks like I’m walking home on my own.

Which is fine. Absolutely fine.

Except I’ve started to get accustomed to this new routine. Of Jared, waiting quietly while I finish working, helping to clean up the main bar.

Of walking through the streets together, before he drops me off at my door.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood.

Grow up, Emmy.

A pair of arms wrap around me from behind, and I startle, worrying that I might actually have started crying without realizing.

How embarrassing . I pat my cheeks, relieved to find them dry. “Carla?”

She doesn’t say anything. Just props her chin on my shoulder and squeezes me. “You can always talk to me, you know.”

“I…,” I frown, even as my throat prickles. Suspicion forms a tight knot in my belly. “I know.”

“Just saying.” She lets me go and clears her throat. “Also, your friend is here.”

“What friend?”

She tilts her head. “Jared. Figured you might want to know, since you’ve been glaring at that stage for the last two hours.”

Shit . My cheeks flush. I don’t look over, keeping my eyes on Carla. “It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not,” she says softly. She’s staring at me, as if she knows something I don’t. “But if it is, there’s nothing wrong with finding happiness in places you don’t expect, Emmy. God knows that life’s too short to waste time.”

She turns away before I can respond, heading over to a group that’s just walked in. I’m left staring across the bar.

Jared is sitting on a stool at the other end, his eyes on me.

Slowly, I walk over. My hands twist in my dress. “Hey.”

He doesn’t smile. “Hey.”

“Do you want a beer?”

He almost smiles then, before he holds up his half-full bottle. “I’m good.”

“Right.” I turn, glancing down the bar.

And then I turn back. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at me. “I wanted a drink?”

The air filling my lungs releases in a rush as my eyes drop to the floor. “Oh. Right.”

Obviously.

“Emilia.” He says my name quietly, and I look up. “You walking home tonight?”

My heart thumps. Turns over, inside my chest. “Yep.”

“Then I’ll wait for you.”

He says it so easily. But his words settle around my shoulders like a warm blanket.

“Careful,” I say teasingly, clearing my throat. “I’m starting to think that you and I might be friends, Jared Bennett.”

I offer him a smile to hide the pounding of my pulse.

I’m holding my breath. Behind me, someone shouts to be served, but I don’t move.

He doesn’t look away.

“Yeah, Emilia,” Jared says roughly. “We’re friends.”

I can feel myself smiling. “Okay then.”