Page 43 of The Emerson Effect
“Bye, Twila.”
My screen goes black as she ends the call. And, God, am I glad she did before I did something stupid like tell her how much I fucking like her. How my excitement has more to do with doing thiswith her,rather than what it’ll do for my reach on the app.
I can hide it, now. But what’s going to happen when we meet face-to-face?
I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. She’s going to know within hours––maybe even minutes––because there’s no filter on my face. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and I’m not going to be able to hide them from her for long.
But I guess I’ll deal with that when the time comes. Because right, now, I have some flowers to buy.
TWENTY-THREE
Twila
Emerson’s video is, well, amazing. He’s wearing the blue shirt he showed me, the sleeves cuffed to that perfect length that shows off his forearms. His hair is messy perfection, that matching scruffy beard sparkling in the glow of his ring light. His icy blue eyes sparkle even brighter, and the crooked grin on his face as he walks toward the camera and offers the bouquet of daisies is…
Mesmerizing.
Hell, I’ve lost count how many times I’ve watched it as the likes and comments flood in. And, shit, I need to stop and film my part.
I’ve already changed and did my makeup and hair. When Emerson sent me a picture of his bouquet earlier, I found a nearly identical one in my local grocery store’s floral department. I grab it from the refrigerator and set it on the counter before I grab my ring light stand.
Emerson filmed his video from his entryway, facing out where he stood on the front porch like I’d just opened the doorfor him. So, I open my front door and set the stand on my porch. It’ll film from “Emerson’s” point of view with me just inside the door.
I pull up his video in the app, then tap the icon to make a tack with it. After choosing the same song, I film the ceiling for almost the length of his video, stopping just short enough to give me time to edit the beginning so the two videos sync perfectly. Placing the phone on the stand, I set the timer and press the bouquet to the camera lens.
I pull the bouquet back, revealing myself as I smile widely. I hug the flowers to my chest, spin in a circle, then bury my face in the bouquet before inhaling deeply. I shoot the camera a flirty smile, then lean forward to end the recording.
It only takes me a few minutes to edit out the ceiling footage and the shot of me stopping the recording at the end, and fuck, it turns outperfect. You can see the front doors in our shots are different, so people won’t think we’re actually together. They’ll know I tacked his video to reveal myself. And I managed to get the two videos lined up so well, you can barely hear the tiny blip in the music between our two halves.
After grabbing the stand from the porch and closing my door, I rush into the living room and plop down on the couch. I nibble my lip as I stare at the blank description section. The caption on Emerson’s video simply said, “I like you.” We didn’t discuss this part, but I shouldn’t overthink it too much.
I quickly type out, “I like you, too.”
I take a deep breath and hold it until my lungs burn. This is it. Moment of truth.
I tap the icon to post the video, then blow out the breath. There. It’s done. Now, I wait.
It’s time to see if people are paying attention, and if this whole thing will work as well for me as it has for Emerson. He’s BingBang’s darling now, and I’m a little nervous the viewers willhate the idea of us together. Like maybe I’m not good enough for him.
Sure, people have gushed about us when they simply suspected it was me, but suspecting and knowing are two very different things.
My phone rings, startling me, and I bobble it twice before getting a grip on it. Emerson’s name flashes on the screen, and when I swipe to answer it, my greeting cuts off at the sight of his face. His eyes are wide and kind of glassy, his mouth is hanging open, and he’s shaking his head.
“What?” I ask, flinching at the slight tremor in my voice.
God, I hope he didn’t hate the video.
“Jesus, Twila. That. Was. Perfect. And you look gorgeous in that dress, by the way. Like a goddess in blue silk.”
“Thank you,” I say, ducking my head as my cheeks heat with the compliment.
“What’s wrong?” he asks when I look back at the phone’s camera with an unsure expression.
“What if they hate that it’s me?”
“What? They won’t hate it. They’llloveit. Why would you even think that?”
“You’re so…you.The whole app is in love with you, and they might think I’m not good enough for their Emerson.”
