Page 24 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I was about to answer when I got a text.

Unknown number

This is Emerson Hughes with Inspired Building. I understand you’re my point of contact for the theater we’re restoring on Main Street. Hopefully you aren’t as slow to complete work as you are to pick up a phone.

I was unamused. I knew some stuff had fallen through the cracks—Bridget thought she’d forwarded my calls to JP, but she’d actually sent them to a random voicemail. My teeth ground as I forced myself to type a civil reply.

Sorry if you’ve had a hard time reaching someone. I’ve been in traction for a few weeks with a broken leg, among other things. I’m just getting up to speed.

That sounds made up. If you’re going to tell me wild stories, get better at lying first.

Inexplicably, I’d laughed. After weeks of everyone treating me as if I were pitiable, Emerson Hughes’ utter lack of sympathy was sort of refreshing.

I’ll work on it.

Work on it AFTER you’re done with my theater.

I’m not sure what I thought was going to come of it, but during the months we texted, it really felt like the start of something.

Have I not given up on the idea of her? I guess if I had, I wouldn’t still be scrolling through our old texts. I guess I wouldn’t be sitting in my house alone, laughing over the one she sent tonight.

That suggests to me that you’ve never destroyed an enemy before. It’s actually quite fulfilling.

Yep, I definitely haven’t given up.

15

EMMY

Snowflake needs to pee.

Most days begin this way now that she’s sleeping in my room. I’d have expected to find it more irritating than I do, but she’s a good girl, shifting restlessly as she waits for me to rise. It’s not her fault I’m a light sleeper.

It’s at least an hour until the guys are here to work in back. I pull a cardigan over my pajamas and take her downstairs. She bounds out the door happily and I follow, standing on the porch. The air is soft this morning, like early spring rather than summer, and I’m in a weirdly good mood, though I don’t know why. I feel the way I used to as a kid—light as air, full of hope, as if the world contains too many good things to be squeezed into my day.

Which it doesn’t. At all. I know this.

Snowflake pees and then runs around the yard. “I’m not going back in the woods after you, so don’t even think about it,” I call.

She listens this time but waits, looking toward me expectantly.

I have no idea what she wants, but I’ve got a few minutes. The grass is damp beneath my bare feet as I venture into the yard.

I grab a stick. “Um, fetch?”

I toss it. It’s a small thrill when she bounds away and brings it back to me, proud as a toddler producing her first stick-figure drawing. I throw it again, going farther. It’s a lot more satisfying than I’d have thought, making someone or something happy.

“Good girl,” I say, squatting low to sink my hands into her fur. She licks my face, which is absolutely vile given other things she’s licked. “That’s sweet, Snowflake, but no thank you. I’ve seen where you put that tongue.”

She does it again and I laugh. “We’ll work on it. You’re a good girl anyway.”

“I thought you were allergic to the yard,” says a soft voice. “And possibly the dog.”

My head jerks up. Liam is approaching from the side of the house, two massive beams of wood over one shoulder.

“I’m not allergic to anything except for strangers on my property at the crack of dawn.” I rise stiffly, pulling my cardigan close over my silk cami and sleep shorts. “Why are you here so early?”

He shrugs. “I’m getting stuff set up here since I’ll be downtown all day. Got this really demanding client. She wants me to install a bunch of seats in a theater and potentially build her a bookstore.”

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