Page 18 of Pumpkins & Promises
"So what's the plan? Can we get more content? Maybe some photos from this Thanksgiving dinner? The family angle willreally sell the whole 'Wesley learns the value of community' narrative."
"I have to go," I say abruptly.
"Wesley, wait?—"
I hang up and stare at Emily's photos, Oscar's words echoing in my head.She clearly understands how this works. Very strategic. Smart girl.
The kiss last night. Emily's smile when she said maybe our relationship didn't have to stay fake. The way she looked at me like I was something precious instead of something broken.
But what if Oscar is right? What if Emily is smarter than I gave her credit for? She runs a business, after all. She knows the value of publicity. And she was the one who suggested taking additional photos for my social media just this morning.
The thought makes me sick, but I can't shake it. Everyone else in my life has had an agenda. Why would Emily be different?
My phone buzzes with another text from Emily:Also making apple cinnamon pancakes this morning if you want to grab breakfast before the family chaos begins!
I stare at the message for a long time, trying to read between the lines. Is this genuine Emily wanting to spend time with me? Or is this Emily maintaining the relationship that's suddenly making her internet-famous and bringing attention to Highland Hollow?
I type and delete three different responses before settling on:Can't this morning. Need to work on some writing. Rain check?
Her response comes quickly:Of course! I understand. See you later for dinner?
Even through text, I can hear the disappointment she's trying to hide. And that should make me feel terrible, but instead it makes me more suspicious. If she really cared about me and not the attention, wouldn't she be more upset?
I spend the morning trying to write, but all I can think about are Oscar's words and Emily's smile and the way she felt in my arms last night. By the time I need to get ready for Thanksgiving dinner, I've convinced myself that I need to be more careful. More guarded.
The last time I let someone get close, I ended up as content for entertainment outlets.
I won't make that mistake again.
When I arrive at the Holloway farmhouse, Emily greets me at the door wearing a burgundy dress that brings out the gold in her eyes. She looks beautiful and genuinely happy to see me, and for a moment, my resolve wavers.
"Hi," she says, reaching up to straighten my tie. "I missed you this morning."
"Sorry about that. I got caught up in work."
"Everything okay? You seem..."
"I'm fine," I say, taking a step back. "Just tired."
Emily studies my face for a moment, and I can see her trying to figure out what's changed since last night. But before she can ask, Dylan appears behind her.
"Wesley! Come on in. Mom's been cooking since dawn, and Dad's already started his annual argument with the football announcers."
Thanksgiving dinner at the Holloway house is exactly what I expected. It’s warm, chaotic, and overwhelming in the best possible way. Twenty-seven family members crowd around tables that have been pushed together and extended with folding chairs, and somehow everyone fits.
I'm seated between Emily and her cousin Beth, who's been trying to sell me essential oils for the past twenty minutes, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Oscar again.
"Excuse me," I murmur to Emily, stepping away from the table. "I need to take this."
I slip into the quiet hallway, where the noise from the dining room becomes a pleasant hum.
"Wesley, perfect timing," Oscar says without preamble. "I just got off the phone with your publisher. They want to discuss a multi-book deal. This Emily thing has them convinced you've found your authentic voice again."
"Oscar, I'm at dinner?—"
"This will just take a second. They're talking about a whole series. Small-town romance, family values, the works. They think your real-life relationship could inspire an entire brand refresh."
