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“Sounds good,” he said. “See you, guys.”
“Go!” Carol said. “Change into something feminine. Wear perfume. Men love that. Don’t they, Levi?”
Emmaline left, glad for the brief drive home, which gave her time to think. She rolled down the window and let the frigid air cool her cheeks.
Yeah, fine. She’d take Jack. Of course she would. When a Greek god said he’d go to a wedding with you, a wedding where you desperately needed to appear over the groom, you didn’t say no.
Even if it meant the loss of your dignity. Even if this was one cash transaction short of prostitution. The truth was, she’d rather take a stranger, because, for some reason, that seemed like it’d be easier to tolerate than a person who was so...nice. Who might (perish the thought) pity her.
She wondered why Jack was game. He sure as hell never asked her out. She wasn’t even sure he knew she was female, for all the interest he’d ever shown before.
But the day she’d moved back to Manningsport, her heart raw and scraped by Kevin, a floating, terrified feeling enveloped her as she lugged boxes into her little house. The whole thing was surreal. Could this really be happening? She was moving here? Instead of getting married? It had been a wet day in April, cold rain pelting her, mocking the brave little pink buds on Nana’s magnolia, and Em felt like she’d never be warm again. She’d never have Kevin next to her in bed again.
It was shocking.
No crying, she told herself. Just buck up. Big deal. You were dumped. Happens all the time.
Didn’t stop the hot tears from sliding down her cheeks.
Then a pickup truck stopped, and a man got out.
“Need some help?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a box and carried it inside the little bungalow. “I’m Jack Holland,” he said. “My family owns Blue Heron Vineyard.”
“Emmaline Neal,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
“Welcome to town.” He smiled, kindly ignoring her tears (because if he was a serial killer, he wouldn’t care about that—he’d just kill her and wouldn’t that serve Kevin right), and went back to her Subaru for another box.
She remembered the Hollands; she’d been a year ahead of Faith in school. Jack probably wasn’t a serial killer. She would’ve told him that she’d lived here for four years, that she once played at his house as a kid. But heartbreak was swallowing her whole, and it was all she could do not to sob. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in Michigan with the love of her life. Her wedding was supposed to be in seven weeks.
Jack and she unloaded the rest of the boxes in silence. “Take care,” he said, then drove off.
Every time she saw him from then on, Jack Holland said hello. She briefly entertained a revenge fantasy in which he fell for her, and Kevin would be wild with jealousy and dump that horrible Naomi. But no. Jack got engaged shortly after Em moved to town, and then married.
He stayed nice. His wife was very friendly, too; Jack introduced them once at O’Rourke’s. Hadley seemed to be the epitome of girlie-girl—she bought foamy coffee drinks, always wore a skirt or dress. When she was in O’Rourke’s she drank pink cocktails and nibbled lettuce leaves.
The town gossip said she wasn’t good enough for Jack.
Turned out, it was true. When his marriage imploded, the gossip machine ran red-hot. Hadley had cheated on him, people said. Took up with the stockbroker who owned Dandelion Hill, who died (in the saddle, according to the rumors) shortly thereafter.
Even so, Jack stayed Mr. Nice Guy. Didn’t get drunk, didn’t pick up the many women who hit on him, didn’t put his fist through a window.
As for Em, she just thought he was...nice. And, yes, beautiful. She checked him at hockey one night, a full-body slam, and for a second, they were tangled together, and it had been so long since Kevin, a full year and a half, that Emmaline had forgotten how it felt to be pressed up against a man, even if they were both clad in bulky protective gear and fighting for a puck. Then she was free, sailing down the ice again, wondering if Jack had felt anything, too.
He didn’t. Or if he did, he treated her as romantically as he treated Levi or Jeremy or Gerard, which was to say, nada.
Em walked the dog, smooched his cheeks, fed him and then walked to O’Rourke’s.
This was so embarrassing.
Jack was waiting just outside. “Hey,” he said, opening the door for her.
The pub was about half-full: Colleen was kissing her husband; the Iskins were there, Lorena as loud as ever, Victor silent. The Meerings ignored each other, as usual. Cathy Kennedy and Louise Casco were deep in conversation. There were Bryce and Paulie, arm-wrestling at a table. The Knoxes waved—Em had been out to round up their chickens from the road just that morning.
Emmaline went to a booth in the back and took off her coat. Crap. She’d forgotten to change. Most nights, she went from her uniform to her pj’s. Well, it didn’t matter. Besides, she loved her uniform. Especially her weapon. And Taser.
“Hey, guys. What can I get you?” Hannah O’Rourke asked.
“I’ll have a beer. Cooper’s Cave IPA?” Em said.
“Same for me,” Jack said.
“You got it, kids.” Hannah waltzed away.
Jack didn’t say anything. Smiled at her, which made her stomach hurt. “Um, do you want dinner?” she asked. “I’m buying.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Great,” she said.
Hannah returned with their drinks. “Anything to eat tonight?” she asked.
“Nope, we’re good,” Jack said with a friendly smile. “Thanks, Hannah.”
“Great. Let me know if you need a refill.” The waitress went to check on another table. She was pretty. Maybe Jack and she should hook up.
Get to it, Emmaline.
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she said. She drained half her beer, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “My ex-fiancé is getting married, and I don’t want to go alone, but I certainly can go alone. My sister and parents will be there, and, actually, Colleen and Lucas, too, and it’s not like I’ll be a pariah or a laughingstock, and I’m not going to set myself on fire or burst out sobbing during the ceremony or anything like that. I just would like to have a date, sort of a human shield. But I can take a friend if you don’t want to go.”
“I thought we were friends,” Jack said mildly.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” She paused. “But listen, Jack. You don’t have to go. I imagine it’s been a pretty rough couple of weeks for you—”
“I’d love to go. Thank you for asking.”
“I actually didn’t ask. You offered.” And now she sounded like a shrew. “Or your sister asked, but I didn’t ask her to ask you.” Stop talking, her brain advised. Her mouth didn’t obey. “My point is, you don’t have to come. I mean, yeah, it’d be nice to go with a guy who looks like a Greek god—” here he smiled “—but I’m not one of those women who—”
“Hi, Jack.”
Oh, shit on corned beef. It was Hadley. The beautiful ex-wife with the wicked cool name.
“I saw you sitting here and just thought I’d come over and say hey.”
She was gorgeous. Em had forgotten just how much. Crikey. Emmaline practically had a crush on her, she was so flippin’ beautiful. She smelled fantastic, too. Huge brown eyes, silky blond hair, pink cheeks, heart-shaped