Page 88 of Things I Overshared
I turn to him, leaving my jaw hanging for a beat before gushing. “It’s gorgeous here. I can’t believe that is your house!”
He nods with a tight smile, eyeing the winding driveway. I say my mantra a few times under my breath.
“What’s that?” Emerson looks at me, concerned.
“Nothing.”
He tilts his head. “You do that often.”
“It’s just a mantra, to get me pumped up, you know? It’s super dorky.”
“What do you say?”
“Oh, I am absolutely not telling you. You will make fun of me.”
“I . . .” Emerson trails off. The entire path is full of cars—big, expensive, pretty cars—and I start to feel some nerves. Looks like those extra friends and cousins decided to attend, after all. As we get close to the pillared porch, I hear soft music and faraway voices, many of them. Emerson stops and stares at one of the cars. “Shit.”
My eyes pop and my voice raises in surprise. “Whoa, something prompted Mr. Clark to drop the S-bomb, what is it?”
“Uh, never mind.” He starts walking again, but I don’t.
“Whose car is it?” I say to his back. “C’mon, Emerson, you know I’ll stand here and pester you until you answer.”
He sighs. “It’s Chelsea’s.” He starts stalking to the door, clearly irritated now.
I hurry to catch up to him. “Like, sort-of-dumped-you Chelsea?”
“Mhmm.” He’s walking so fast, I have to almost jog to keep up. I can see he’s back to his previous state of tight neck and tight, well, everything. His skin has that greenish hue again. He’s sweating more than the short walk could’ve caused. We reach the bottom of the steps to the porch, and I hesitate as he launches up to the door.
“Time for me to even the score, Emerson,” I tell him as he turns to me, confused as he pushes the doorbell. “I’m saving you again. Just follow my lead.”
“What?” he whisper-yells as someone approaches the door.
“Just trust me!” I snipe back.
The door opens, and I grab his hard bicep with my right hand and slide my left all the way down the inside of his arm. I interlock our fingers and lean into him. I feel his gaze on me even though I can’t see his face, because I am beaming at the regal woman in front of me.
She, I’m assuming Emerson’s mother, matches my smile, darts her eyes to our interlocking fingers, and then smiles up at her son. I squeeze Emerson’s hand, and he doesn’t squeeze back, but he doesn’t let go. I hope he realizes I’m about to be the best fake girlfriend he’s ever had in his life.
Is this crazy? Stupid? Genius?
Is he relieved? Angry? Shocked?
No time to wonder.
The Sam Train has totally left the station now, so he’d better get on board.
Chapter 27
“Darling!” Emerson’s mother greets him cheerfully as she moves in for a hug. She is the picture of understated elegance in a blue silk blouse that plays up her eyes. They’re not as mesmerizing as Emerson’s, but they're still a striking light blue. The blouse is tucked into wide, flowing trousers that aren’t too big on her thin frame. She’s about my height—not short, but not lanky either.
“Mother,” Emerson replies flatly, though his face does light up a smidge. I let go of his arm so he can embrace her. She kisses his cheeks and then looks confused as she pulls away.
“Babe, did you not tell them I was coming?Sosorry, Mrs. Clark. You know how men are. I should’ve made sure myself!”
“Evelyn, please.” She reaches out her hand but based on how warm and open she seems, I go in for a hug instead.
“Samantha. And it’s so great to finally meet you!” She looks pleased as I pull away.Yes! Good choice on the hug, Sam! Trust yourself! You got this!I take in the impressive foyer, winding staircase, and fresh flower arrangement the size of my torso. “The estate is absolutely breathtaking. I can’t wait to see the house.”
