“I’m not.” I bury my face in the pillow, muffling my voice. “At least I’m not sure.” I peek out at her. “Not yet.”
Emma props her head on her hand, grinning reproachfully. “I’ve spent the last month convinced that my best friend hadbeen captured by the beast and locked away in his castle. I came armed with my Taser.”
“You did not.”
“I did.” Emma shakes her head, her blonde hair fanning across the pillow. “And the whole time, you were living with Prince Charming.”
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. A sigh escapes me—dreamy, involuntary, embarrassing.
“He is charming, isn’t he?”
“Disgustingly so,” Emma confirms. “The way he looked at you in the bar? I was about to throw up. In a good way.”
I laugh, loose and warm, untethered from the anxiety that’s been my baseline for months. I roll back to face her. “What about your cowboy?”
Emma’s teasing grin fades into a more complicated smile. “Remy Evans”—she rolls the name out as if she’s trying it on for size—“is nauseatingly hot.”
“Why didn’t you go home with him?”
“I came to be with you.” She nudges my shoulder. “And he’s going to remember me better this way. A man like that has women throwing themselves at him every weekend. I would’ve been another notch on his belt and nothing more.”
I reach for her hand under the covers and squeeze it. “Well, if you want to torture him a little more, we’re going to his family’s farm tomorrow for their Halloween festival.”
“Glad I brought my sexy jeans, then. I hope he has a strong heart.”
We laugh until our stomachs hurt, the sound muffled against our pillows and drawn comforters. When the giggles subside, the silence that follows is peaceful. The comfortable quiet that only exists between people who’ve known each other so long that words become optional.
I almost don’t recognize the warmth bubbling inside me, but for the first time in forever, I’m happy.
I’m with my best friend. I have a new job I love, colleagues who respect me, and a town that’s starting to feel like home. I have a man I’m crushing hard on who’s crushing back on me.
The situation with my parents is difficult. Matt’s shadow still looms over everything. But my mom and dad will be fine. They’re strong, and they’re moving closer, and having them nearby will be wonderful.
I fall asleep with this effervescent joy fizzing through my blood, ticklish and bright, and I hold it carefully, afraid that if I breathe too deep, I might startle it away.
* * *
The rest of Emma’s visit passes in a blur. On Saturday, we drive to Hollow Creek Farm. The pumpkin patch is transformed for Halloween weekend—hay bales draped in cobwebs, scarecrows wearing witch hats, the corn maze entrance flanked by two massive carved jack-o’-lanterns with flickering candles.
Rebecca beckons us over to the apple fritter booth. Incidentally, it sits next to the cider stand, where Remy is working. He’s serving drinks in a plaid jacket, and the double take he does when he spots Emma is so dramatic he misses the cup he was filling entirely, pouring cider onto the counter.
January, who was waiting for the drink, turns toward us and when she spots Emma she can’t hide a wince. She takes the ladle from Remy and pours the cider herself, walking away.
Remy doesn’t seem to notice he annoyed his best friend; he wipes his mess and is quick to recover.
“Well.” He sets down the towel. “The devil came back.”
“Couldn’t resist the fritters.” Emma shrugs, maintaining eye contact with her cowboy.
Remy leans his palms flat on the counter, blue eyes bright. “Is that the only thing you couldn’t resist?”
“Yep.”
She pops the P, and I swear the poor man is about to keel over.
Liam nudges my arm. “Should we leave these two alone?”
I nod. “You want to give the corn maze another go? We have to redeem ourselves.”