“Did something happen?” she asks.
“Well, I had sex with him,” I say, because I want to change the subject.
“Oh, hon.” She smiles, a bit sympathetically. “I know. It was obvious that night you two came over for dinner after going to the crime scene.”
“We hadn’t actually had sex yet at that point.”
“Obvious that there was tension, I mean. I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing. He does look like an Avenger, after all.”
I laugh despite the crushing weight on my chest. “Thanks, Grandma.”
My phone dings, and I glance down at it as I slump into the couch next to her.
It’s an email from my agent, informing me that I shouldn’t worry about my books being sold out everywhere, because the publisher is already in the process of printing an additional fifty thousand copies of each of them. “So exciting!!”
I guess it is, but I can’t really feel anything but numb right now.
“Turns out people actually did want to buy romance novels from a suspected murderer,” I say as I lower my phone.
“Of course they do,” Grandma says. “Like I told you, better to be interesting than likable.”
She flips the TV off. “Ben told me you’re convinced that he thinks you did it.”
I frown. “That’s basically what he said. He wrote out a whole ending about how I did it.”
“He says that was just one rough draft, and you weren’t supposed to see it. Just him working through some thoughts. He sounded really frustrated, if you want to know the truth. I don’t think he has an ending.”
“He’ll decide I did it, just like everyone else did.” I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“Not everyone,” Grandma says softly, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back in an effort not to burst into tears, but I fail. They leak down my cheeks and suddenly I’m crying on my grandmother’s couch like I’m ten years old again. She scoots closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“I think I did it,” I whisper, eyes still closed. “I think I killed her.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You don’t know.”
“Neither do you! You just said you think you killed her. You still don’t remember, do you?”
I open my eyes and roughly wipe my hand across them. “No.”
“You didn’t do it.” Her mouth is set in a hard line, the wrinkles around her eyes more prominent as she frowns harder.
“Stop having so much faith in me.”
“No.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Horseshit.”
“I haven’t told you everything.” My hands are shaking, and she reaches over and clasps them both.
“I don’t need you to tell me everything.” She holds my gaze, her dark eyes serious. “I don’t need you to lay out every single secret and detail of your existence for me to judge. I know you.”
I dissolve into tears again, and she wraps her arms around me and pats my back.
“Don’t give up, sweetheart. Don’t give up.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
LUCY
I drive home slowly. It’s dark, and the streets of Plumpton are empty. I almost roll down the windows like I would on a quiet night in L.A., but the humidity is as thick as ever.
When I stop at a light downtown, I look out to see Emmett decorating the window of the art shop.
A guilty voice in the back of my head reminds me that I never answered his last two texts. I also haven’t told him I’m going back to California.
The light turns green. He’s noticed me staring at him. He lifts his hand in a hesitant wave.
Shit. I press lightly on the gas and park the car on the side of the road. I step out.
“Hey.” I point to the big yellow sunflower he’s painting on the window. “That’s pretty.”
“Oh. Thanks. Some kids wrote ‘vagina’ over the last one, so the owner asked me to do one that’s less erotic.”
I bark out a laugh. “Was your last flower erotic?”
A grin spreads across his face. “Well, I didn’t think so, but apparently some kids saw something I didn’t.”
I lean against the brick wall next to the art shop. “They could have at least been more creative. Vagina isn’t very clever graffiti.”
“I agree. Put some effort in, kids.” He turns back to the window, brush poised.
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts. It’s been…”
“Busy?” he guesses without looking at me. He sweeps yellow across the window, forming a petal.
“No. I’m never busy.”
He shoots me an amused look.
“Horrible,” I finish, trying for honesty. “It’s been horrible being back, reliving everything with Savvy and my marriage…” I take a deep breath, and I’m mortified to realize I’m about to start crying again. I thought I had gotten it all out at Grandma’s. I try to blink quickly enough to hide it, but tears slide down my cheeks.
Emmett lowers his brush. Men usually look terrified when women start crying, but he looks more intrigued than anything.
“Sorry.” I wipe my cheeks.
He steps forward and kisses me, which is the last thing I expect. Maybe he’s trying for comfort. I don’t love it.
I’m still against the wall, and he presses his body against mine. His lips are too rough, his tongue too eager. His saliva is all around my mouth far too quickly. No one asked for this.
I consider pushing him away, but it seems easier to just ride this out, smile politely, and then bolt while discreetly wiping my face off.
I don’t remember him being a bad kisser the time we made out in my house. My memory of that night is fuzzy; I must have been drunker than I realized.
He puts a hand on my breast over my shirt. Seriously, no one asked for this.
I put a hand on his chest, ready to push him away. His other hand is on my cheek. I smell paint on his fingers.
“Lucy.”
His hand is the one on my breast five years ago, I realize. The sounds of laughter and music drifting over from the wedding. He’d slipped one of my straps down, and his thumb was tracing circles over my nipple. He had green paint underneath his fingernails.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he’d said to me, his lips against my neck. He reached for his zipper, and I realized he intended to fuck me right there, with the smells of rotting food drifting over from the nearby dumpster.
What the hell, I’d thought. I’d been drunk. Not too drunk, but enough to think that fucking Emmett was a great way to get back at Matt, who probably had a woman bent over the bathroom counter right at that moment.
“Lucy.” Savvy’s voice was sharp, almost angry. I’d turned to see her standing a few feet away, hands on her hips. “Let’s go.”
Her voice, her look of disapproval, had snapped me back to reality. I’d quickly put my boob back in my dress and hurried after her.
“No, Lucy, wait.” Emmett had caught my hand, not gently. I’d yelped as he pulled me back to him.
“I’m sorry.” I’d apologized to the man who had just hurt me, in a baffling choice. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I’d run after Savvy then, and that’s where the memory fades.
In the present, I’m still kissing Emmett.
Actually, it would be more accurate to say that he’s kissing me. I’m mostly a statue at this point.
Someone loudly clears their throat, and we both turn.
Nina.
She’s standing near the curb, wearing light blue scrubs. She shoots me an icy glare as Emmett steps away from me.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks Emmett.
He sighs heavily but nods, and then shoots me an apologetic look. Nina walks inside the art store, and he follows. The bell chimes as the door closes behind them.
I walk quickly to my car, and then sit in the driver’s seat, breathing heavily.
Why did Savvy look mad about my making out with Emmett at the wedding? Did she have feelings for— I freeze as the memory comes into focus.
LUCY
FIVE YEARS AGO
Savvy stomped to her car and threw open the door.
“Wait, are you mad?” I asked as I scurried behind her.
“Just get in,” she snapped. She climbed into the car and slammed the door.