Page 1 of Her Dirty Secret

One

Emily

“Do you ever want to get married?”

Chad looks up at me from the acoustic he’s restringing. “You’re the last person I ever expected to ask that question,” he replies with a knowing smirk before going back to what he was doing.

“Hey, I might get married someday,” I protest with a whine. “And you didn’t answer the question.” I lean forward on the glass counter, letting my feet swing freely as I await his reply. Not that I really care. But the shop is slow today, for a Saturday anyway, and the engagement party I’ll be attending later is on my mind.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t say I’ve given it much thought,” he finally replies as he clips the newly wound strings and grabs a tuning fork.

I look him up and down. I’ve known Chad too long to think of him that way, but he’s not bad looking. Mid-thirties, average height, average build, with sandy brown hair and light brown eyes. But he’s one of the best guitarists I know, and chicks dig that. Well, chicks who haven’t been there, done that, learned their lesson, got the T-shirt, and all that.

“Yeah, me neither,” I agree.

He laughs. “Bullshit. All chicks think about it.”

I frown, drop my feet back to the ground, and slug him on the arm as he tunes. “Don’t be such a misogynist.”

“What’s this about, Emily?” he asks bluntly.

I’d cringe, but it’s exactly what I like about having mostly guy friends. They don’t beat around the bush.

“I’m going to my brother’s engagement party today,” I admit with a sigh. “I dunno. I’m happy for him. But it makes me realize I can’t really see myself ever getting married. Is that weird?”

Chad shrugs as he finishes and puts the guitar back in the case. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person. Maybe go through another few hundred and you’ll find ‘The One,’” he replies with a cheeky grin.

“Fuck you, Chad.”

“Heh heh,” he chuckles. “Isn’t that your flavor of the month’s job?”

I glare daggers at him, but luckily he’s saved from my wrath by a customer approaching the counter. He smiles serenely as I lead them to the pedals they’re looking for, and I stick my tongue out at him as soon as their back is turned.

Probably better I didn’t get to reply. Then I’d have to admit things with Jack went kaput last week. Like they always do, though this one lasted longer than most. Even though I wasn’t all that interested in him. Not that I’m ever all that interested in any of them.

Most of the guys I meet are just guys. Little more than boys, and certainly not men. That’s what I get for working in a music store. Hanging out with musicians. Being a musician. Hell, who am I kidding — I’m just as flighty and immature as most of the guys I date. But at least I don’t pretend to be something else.

I shake myself, unsure of why I feel like such a Debbie Downer. I’m not usually this sad after a breakup. I push the thoughts out of my head and try to focus on the last hour of my shift. Before I have to put on a happy face for Bryce and Sera’s party.

* * *

I get back to my apartment with little time until I have to get to the party, but I still take care primping. Even though I feel like crap, I decide I might as well look like a million bucks. I carefully wash and straighten my long, chestnut brown hair before applying the layers of makeup that will make the blue in my eyes really pop. Likewise, I pick a slinky, fitted dress that hugs my thin frame with splashes of bright spring colors, even though the cooling Seattle September air hints at the rapidly approaching fall.

Once I’m satisfied, I call for a car service and pick up my ukulele to practice while I wait. I’m not nearly as good on it yet as I am with a mandolin, but I’m getting there. It’s hard to work in a music shop and not get distracted by all the cool instruments. My apartment is certainly a testament to that, with nearly a dozen littered around the living room. Not that I’ve ever spent much time getting particularly good at any of them. Much like in life, I flit among my instruments, playing whatever makes me happy at the moment.

My cellphone pings, interrupting my reverie, or practice, or whatever the hell you call it, and I head out to meet my car.

The drive through downtown and over the West Seattle bridge is uneventful. I glance out over the industrial district and watch a ferry chugging along slowly through the waters beyond. Not for the first time, I realize what a beautiful place I live in. But it hasn’t stopped me from wanting to travel the world, if only for a little while.

I almost did, before my dad died unexpectedly. But then Mom needed me. And then Bryce had his accident, and he needed me. And now that he’s healed, and he and Sera are getting engaged, I suspect there will be little nieces and nephews who need me soon.

As we start winding through the streets of my childhood, I put on my game face. Time to act happy, Em, even if your own dreams are on hold. Whatever those might be. I can’t help laughing at myself a little. For a twenty-eight-year-old, you’d think I’d have my shit together better.

Once I’m out, the car peels off behind me and I trek up the front steps, taking a deep breath before entering. I head through the massive house to the kitchen, knowing it’s where everyone probably is as they prepare for the onslaught of guests due to arrive shortly.

But I actually find Mom and Aunt Char in the living room, laying a tablecloth over a banquet table that’s been lined against the wall. Bags of supplies sit behind them on the couches.

“Where are Bryce and Sera?” I pipe up.

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