When I Was Theirs

65. Jared

65

Jared

I ’m hurrying back, my hat pulled low to ward off the cold, when something catches my eye.

Pausing, I glance over the buckets of flowers, hefting the bag of groceries. The market is packed with shoppers scouring for last-minute gifts.

The owner finishes wrapping a bouquet and turns to me with a gleam, clearly spotting another potential victim. “Roses?”

Valentine's Day.

Already.

We spent a quiet Christmas together, movies and games, and the same for New Year, avoiding the crowds.

My gold coin burns a hole in my pocket. Courtesy of Mike, a small smile on his face as he tossed it to me when I was rushing out of the door earlier.

Sixty days.

And I’m still with Emmy. Still sleeping in the same bed, going through the motions.

Both of us skirting the topic of me leaving.

She hasn’t gone back to work yet. When she does… that’s the right time.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

I’m still staring at the flowers. “Just… give me a minute.”

My stomach knots as I pull out my phone.

Emmy has her back to me when I let myself in. The apartment is warm, soft music from her speaker filling the space as she leans over the cooker.

“Hey,” she announces without looking behind her. “Please come and taste this. I think I ruined it.”

“That’s because you add too much seasoning to everything.” I put the bag down. “Most people under-season, you know. You season enough to have Christmas every day.”

She laughs, her shoulders shaking, and my breath catches in my chest. “There does seem to be an overwhelming taste of nutmeg.”

“There definitely wasn’t a single mention of nutmeg in the recipe I left you.”

Her lips are still tilted up, her eyes sparking as she turns. She’s wearing a slouchy green sweater paired with a long skirt, her hair tied up in a short ponytail. “I like experimenting.”

I know.

She’s so beautiful that it makes my heart hurt.

“What’s that?”

I take a few steps until I’m standing in front of her, and I open up my hands.

The flower doesn’t look like much at first. The cluster of long, thin yellow flowers in the middle is surrounded by thick pink, velvety petals.

Emmy doesn’t move.

And fuck, but my hands keep shaking. I feel like a kid on prom night.

“It’s a protea,” I say unsteadily. “But – you probably knew that. Of course you did.”

Emmy lifts her eyes to mine.

“They can survive severe weather conditions, even through wildfire.” I swallow. “Strength. Courage. Resilience.”

“Jared,” she whispers. Her eyes are shining. “It’s beautiful.”

I gently tip the bloom into her hands. “You’re no ordinary rose, Emmy Marsters. You’re definitely a protea.”

She half-laughs, softly touching the petals. “I love it.”

We’re so close. She looks up.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Em,” I whisper. Her lips part.

And then I swallow, stepping back. “I think the curry might be burning.”

Em whirls, her cheeks pink. “Shit.”

Curry rescued with only a lingering aftertaste of nutmeg, we sit on opposite sides of her couch to eat. Em scrapes at her bowl. “I think the nutmeg brought it all together.”

There’s an odd note to her voice. She gets up, grabbing my bowl and stacking it next to the sink before she starts running the water.

I get to my feet. “I’ll do those.”

“I think I’m going to go back to work.” She doesn’t look at me as she blurts out the words. “I think I’m ready.”

Her words hollow out like a rock hitting the bottom of my stomach. “That’s… that’s great, Emmy.”

I mean it. Even if it feels like a punch to my ribs. “Have you spoken to Angelo?”

She nods, still not looking at me. “He told me to come tomorrow, but not to show up unless I brought baked goods.”

I can’t even smile. “What about The Setlist?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. “I think I want to focus on the flowers. The bar work, it was always a distraction more than anything else. Something to fill the time when I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“Carla will miss you.”

She starts rinsing out the dishes. “I’m going to go and see her. Let Adrian know I won’t be back.”

“That’s great.” I already said it, but my head doesn’t seem to be working properly.

“What about you?” She finally turns, but her expression is subdued. “Are you going to go back?”

I haven’t set foot in a bar since her attack.

Slowly, I shake my head. “I… don’t think so.”

Silence falls.

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” she whispers finally. “I like this, Jared.”

Slowly, I reach out my hand. She takes it without hesitation. “Will you come for a walk with me, Emmy Marsters?”

“Yes.” Her response is instant. “Where?”

There’s only one place I want to go right now. And I want her with me.