Page 77 of Just This Once

Emily sauntered past me into the parking lot, playfully brushing her finger over the tip of my nose. “That’s fucked up.”

I sighed and let my hands drop. “Yeah, I guess it probably is.”

“I’ll talk with my dad tomorrow.” She walked backward, seemingly unfazed by the outing of our secret relationship. Emily crooked her finger. “Now get over here.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

EMILY

The clinkof a spoon against her teacup was the only sound that filled my mother’s kitchen. Her eyes slid to mine as my fingertips drummed a silent beat on the countertop beneath me. Perched in my spot—sitting atop the kitchen counter in the corner—I waited just like I had any other time I knew I was in deep shit.

Mom swirled the spoon in her cup. “William is...”

“I know.”

Her brows pinched. “And his family ...”

“I know.”

She sighed. “And your dad ...”

“I know.”

I thought for a moment. “So is he ‘I’m twenty minutes late for curfewmad’ or ‘Poppy Kerr and I got into that fender bendermad’?”

My mother paused her stirring and lifted her eyebrows. “He’s ‘you got drunk at prommad.’”

Oh fuck.

It wouldn’t shock anyone to know that I was a good girl in high school. I made perfect grades and hung out with nice kids and rarely made any trouble. But once, during my junior year, I briefly dated a boy one year older than me. He took me tothe seniors’ postprom after party and asked, “You drink, right?” while he made a screwdriver that was mostly vodka with only a hint of orange juice.

To which, of course, I lied and stumbled, “Definitely. Yes. Love the—that alcoholic beverage.”

Spoiler: I didn’t love it.

In fact, even thinking of a screwdriver all these years later made the bile rise in the back of my throat. One drink in, and I was shit-faced. Thankfully, my boyfriend was a decent guy, and after I spilled water all over my lap in a failed attempt at being sexy and rendered my khaki skirt completely see-through, he decided to take me home early.

Unfortunately for him and for me, my stepdad had been waiting up just in case I needed anything. It was the only time I ever saw that look in his eyes—the one that clearly communicated,I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

I fucking hated that look.

I would have much preferred being punished with extra chores or community service—literally anything but having to deal with the mopey look on his face, or how he would go quiet and simply shake his head and walk away. It didn’t matter how old I was, disappointing the man who wasn’t required by biology to love me, but did it anyway, was gut-wrenching.

When I let my head hang in defeat, my mother crossed the kitchen and placed her hand on my knee. When she squeezed, I gathered the courage to look her in the eye.

Her denim-blue eyes were soft and understanding. “Just hear him out, honey. I think you’ll be surprised by what he has to say.”

I picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on the frayed hem of my jean shorts. “And what do you have to say about it?”

Her hand patted my knee. “I think you’ve really come out of your shell in the last few months. You smile more. Of course Ilove that you’re here in town. That happy little Melly I know is right here ...” She tapped my chest just under my collarbone. “I’ve gotten to see more of that little girl in the last few months than I have in years. And if that’s William King’s doing, then I’m happy for you.”

Her weighted words landed with a thud in my belly.Had I even noticed that I had changed? Was it Whip’s doing, or was it being in this town? This place that suddenly felt like home?

“He’s a part of it, I think,” I admitted. “But it’s also that for the first time I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.” I sighed and let my hands rest in my lap. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

My mother gripped her hand in mine. “I know exactly what you mean. There’s something magical in these Michigan waters.” She gave my hand a squeeze, and when I looked at her, she winked. “The men around here aren’t too bad to look at either.”

I laughed and leaned in to hug my mother. My whole life, she had been steadfast and strong—a lighthouse to guide me while still allowing me to find my own path.

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