Page 9 of Hot Knot Summer
“Where you headed?” he asks.
“I’m staying at a rental cabin,” I explain, rattling off the address. “I just need to drop off my duffle bag first. Then, if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind taking me back to town? I need to pick up some supplies before heading back, and I’d rather not lug the bag around with me.”
“No problem. Town’s gonna be packed, though. Brace yourself.”
Forty-five minutes later, my coffee cupis empty, and I’ve dropped off my duffle bag at the rental cabin. Now, we’re back in town. I see what the driver means. Whispering Grove’s Main Street looks like it was plucked straight from a Hallmark movie, charming storefronts with colorful awnings, hanging flower baskets, old-fashioned lampposts, and currently, it’s swarming with people. Every sidewalk cafe is filled, people window-shop in groups, and there’s a line outside an ice cream parlor despite the early hour. In truth, it’s beautiful.
“You can let me out here,” I tell him, spotting a grocery store. “I’ll call another ride when I’m ready to head to the cabin.”
He wishes me luck before pulling away. I stand on the sidewalk for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer humanity around me. So much for my peaceful mountain getaway.
The grocery store is blessedly air-conditioned, and I take a moment to cool down before grabbing a basket. I mentally run through my list, essentials for a two-week stay, plus comfort food. Heartbreak demands chocolate and wine in medically inadvisable quantities.
I’m debating between cheap wine in large quantities versus good wine in smaller amounts when I hear it, a laugh that stops me cold, a sound that featured in countless brunches and girls’ nights before it became the soundtrack to my nightmares.
No. It can’t be.
But it is.
Megan stands at the end of the aisle, examining a bottle of sparkling water like it’s a fascinating artifact. She looks precisely as she always does, sleek dark brown hair falling in a perfect curtain, designer jeans, and not a drop of sweat despite the heat outside. A silk scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, the fabric printed with a pattern of tiny gold moths swirling through inky blue. Her scent, jasmine and leather with that underlying sour grape note I never quite liked, drifts toward me.
For a moment, I consider retreating. I could abandon my basket, duck out the back, and avoid this confrontation entirely. But then I remember her text on Chad’s iPad, and white-hot anger surges through me, overpowering any instinct for self-preservation.
Before I can reconsider, I’m marching down the aisle, my basket swinging dangerously from my arm.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I blurt out, my voice sharper than the fancy cheese knife Megan got me for my last birthday. “Small world. Or should I say, small bed?”
Megan’s head whips around, her eyes widening in genuine shock. “Emma? What are you?—”
“Doing here? Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” I step closer, noticing with vicious satisfaction how she takes a small step back. “Were you going to meet Chad here? Was that the plan? A romantic getaway while he was supposed to be in the cabin he booked with me?”
Her perfectly contoured face pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Because Chad’s iPad knows. It knows all about how you can’t wait to see him, Alpha.” I mimic her breathy, syrupy tone from the text I saw.
Megan glances around nervously. We’re attracting curious stares from other shoppers, including an elderly woman who’s abandoned all pretense of shopping to watch our drama unfold.
“Emma, please,” Megan hisses, lowering her voice. “This isn’t the place.”
“I’m sorry, is my public confrontation inconvenient for you? Next time I discover my friend is sleeping with my boyfriend, I’ll be sure to schedule it at a more appropriate venue.”
Megan reaches for my arm, but I jerk away. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh? So you weren’t texting Chad about whether he’d broken up with me yet? You weren’t planning to meet him?”
“I—” Megan falters, her calculated composure slipping. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s really not.” I laugh, a brittle sound that doesn’t remotely resemble humor. “It’s actually incredibly simple. You’re a backstabbing fake friend, and he’s human garbage. See? Simple.”
Megan’s expression hardens. “You don’t understand. You never saw what was right in front of you. Chad and I… we have something special. A real scent bond. Something you and he never had.”
The words are like a slap to the face. Chad had said almost the exact same thing to me. To hear it echoed by someone I’d considered a friend twists the knife deeper.
“A real scent bond,” I repeat flatly. “So special he couldn’t tell me the truth about why? You two deserve each other.” I’m fuming, my breaths coming fast.
“He was trying to spare your feelings,” Megan insists. “He cares about you, just not... not like that.”
“Spare me,” I snap. “If either of you cared about my feelings, you wouldn’t have been sneaking around behind my back. How long has this been going on?”
