Page 1 of Not You Again
Chapter 1
Carly
Day 1
Carly Hart was what one former friend had called “an emotional basket case.” She cried openly, in public, with very little concern for who saw. And it wasn’t just big moments that caused her to tear up—a breakup, losing out on a job, having to fly out from LAX—but the little things, too. Like when she tripped on a sidewalk crack and accidentally squished a caterpillar, or the time she went to take a shower after a workout and the water came out cold instead of hot. Carly felt deeply without much effort. Crying was cathartic, natural and part of her way of life.
But it had been a week since her dad died and still, not a single tear. She’d imagined his funeralwould be the thing that finally broke her. Yet, here she was, sitting in front of his casket, and... nothing. Flower arrangements lined the walls, white folding chairs were arranged in neat rows and a blown-up photo of her dad from thirty years ago with a film camera on one shoulder and a four-year-old Carly on the other was placed in front of the coffin. The evidence of her dad’s departure was all around, but still, none of this felt real.
Cry,she told herself,just like you’d write into a movie.Yes, if this were a scene she were drafting, the heroine would emit deep, guttural sobs, the camera would pan out and the screen would fade to black.
But this wasn’t one of her screenplays. There would be no swell of orchestral music, and no comforting hugs from a secondary character, apparently. Because no one else was there—the room was empty, except for her. Was she actually going to be the lone attendee at her dad’s service? Was this how Bruce Hart would be remembered?
A floorboard creaked and Carly stood, hopeful that a friend of her father’s had arrived, but it was just the funeral director.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.
Adam. His name was Adam. Now she remembered. He was probably in his thirties, tall and lanky in a fitted blue shirt with a blazer and loose tie. His floppy red hair fell just above the sharp lines of his jaw.
“It’s fine,” she said, but her voice was much softer than she’d ever heard it. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Fine.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” she managed to respond.
“We’ll move outside in about twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” He clasped his hands, and she registered how his brown eyes had flecks of honey in them.
Carly blinked.Outside, as inthe burial. She gave a quick glance at the coffin, then studied her shoes. “Sure,” she said. Though there was no way she’d be able to watch her dad get lowered into the ground. She just couldn’t.
Her eyes began to mist. Was this the moment she’d finally cry?
But then Carly’s knees buckled just enough for her to sway. In a flash, Adam was next to her with his arm wrapped around her waist. “I’ve got you.” His tone was as firm as his grasp at her side.
He maneuvered her into a chair, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by the nearness of him. Who even was this guy? Why was he here, at her side, instead of anyone else in her life? She didn’t want to be in this room, let alone be taken care of by someone who was about to bury her dad. She had a hard time getting the words, “I’m fine,” out, but she’d done it.
Instead of taking the hint and leaving, Adam opened a bottle of water that had been strategically tucked under a seat and handed it to her. “Here.”
Her hands were shaky, though, and the water dropped and began to spill all over the floor. He deftly picked up the bottle and found a cloth to place over the spill.
Carly should’ve apologized, offered to get towels, or anything other than what she did next. “Please just leave,” her lips trembled over the words.
He stopped cleaning, looked up. “Of course.” He stood, and his expression turned firm. “Just don’t step in the water. I don’t want you to fall—”
“I don’t need you to save me.” Her eyes narrowed at him. Carly understood that she was lashing out at Adam because of her grief, and the fact that she forgot to eat that morning probably didn’t help either. But she also didn’t care. This was her dad’s funeral. No one else had shown up. And she didn’t want to be comforted by this man she barely knew. She didn’t want his hand at her waist, or the water, or him. She wanted to get the hell away from this room.
His firm expression softened, but then a door down the hall opened, followed by footsteps.
“Excuse me.” Adam walked away from her all too quickly and approached the hallway. Carly’s heart anxiously beat again—finally, maybe this was someone to see her dad?
But no.
“Shireen?” Adam’s voice was surprised.
“Can we talk?” The woman attached to the voice appeared—also tall, but curvy, with the most gorgeous dark curls Carly had ever seen. Her expression, though, was concerned.
“I’m working.” He tilted his head toward the room where Carly sat. His work was the business of burying her dad.
“It’s important,” Shireen said quietly.
