Operation Get Her Back

by Claire Kingsley

  “I’ve always wanted to say that,” she says, then turns and flits out of the cafe before I can stop her.

  I have a bad feeling about this.

  How the fuck did I end up here?

  I glance over at Clover. She’s dressed in a dark green t-shirt and pair of camo shorts, and her hair is pulled up. She smiles at me and hunkers further down in the ditch.

  Yes, I’m in a ditch.

  Across from Gabriel’s house.

  This is the literal worst.

  “Clover, this is a really bad idea.”

  “Shh,” she says, putting a finger to her lips.

  She did in fact text me at eight, giving me a set of cross streets with the word “coordinates.” Curiosity got the better of my judgment. I picked her up and parked up the road from where I’m currently sitting. She had a look of triumph on her face when she declared she’d not only figured out where Gabriel lives, she found out Emma is in fact staying with him, and she drives a blue Toyota Corolla.

  Then she somehow talked me into hiding in a ditch across from his house, waiting to see if Emma comes out.

  “What am I supposed to do if she comes out?” I say, gazing at the blue car in the driveway. Is that really hers? It looks like something she would drive. Small and practical, but still cute. It’s at least a few years old, and I wonder if she’s been getting the oil changed regularly.

  “Go talk to her.”

  “What?” I ask. “I should just pop out of the ditch and say hello?”

  “Okay, follow her, then,” Clover says.

  “We really don’t need to sit out here,” I say. “Now that I know where she is, I can come over and knock on the door like a normal person.”

  “Will you?” Clover says, arching an eyebrow at me.

  I don’t answer.

  “See,” she says. “You need motivation. You saw her once, and it was enough to get you to bring me in on this. You need to see her again. I bet she walks out that door and you can’t help yourself. You’ll go for it this time.”

  “Clover, you are completely insane. I—”

  I stop talking, my thought completely gone. Emma just walked out the front door.

  My heart starts beating too fast again, and I take a few deep breaths. She’s dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, with her hair down and blue sandals on her feet. I’m mesmerized. I almost could have convinced myself I imagined her at the market on Saturday, but now that I see her again, she’s so real.

  Emma pauses at her driver’s side door and looks around. I duck behind the embankment. Oh god, please don’t look over here. Please don’t look.

  Clover has a hand clamped to her mouth, and her eyes are wide. I shake my head at her and mouth a very emphatic No.

  The car starts up, and a few seconds later Emma drives away.

  “Go!” Clover says. “Get to the truck!”

  We dash down the road to the empty lot where I parked my truck, and take off after her. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I feel like I can’t let her get away. The rational part of my brain is trying to remind me that I know where to find her now. I don’t have to follow her like some psycho. But I catch a glimpse of blue bumper, Clover shrieks and points it out, and I keep driving.

  I hang back, keeping my distance, my heart racing. This is so stupid. What am I supposed to do when she stops? What if she leaves town and gets on the highway? I can’t keep following her, but the thought of missing my chance to talk to her makes my stomach turn.

  Relief washes over me when she turns into Charlie’s Grocery. I see her pull into a parking spot, so I circle around the block. I don’t want to follow her in. I feel like such a creeper already.

  “Go back,” Clover says. “What are you doing?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Go to the grocery store, obviously,” she says. “This is perfect. You can wait for her to come out and pretend it’s all a big coincidence.”

  “And what, spill my guts to her outside her car?”

  “I don’t know,” Clover says. “Maybe invite her to coffee or something.”

  I shake my head. “She won’t do it.”

  “You know this?”

  “Would you?” I ask. “If you saw the man who left you ten years ago, and he appears out of nowhere in a fucking parking lot, would you be happy to see him and go grab some coffee?”

  She pauses, like she has to think about that one.

  “See?” I ask.

  “Well, we did not go to all this trouble for you to drive around like a big baby,” she says. “Go back to the store, and wait for her. I’ll wait in the truck while you get out and talk to her. It’ll be fine.”

  I take a deep breath and pull into the grocery store parking lot, just across from where her car is parked. I turn so I can see the front door, and wait.

  6

  Emma

  I’m incapable of not overbuying at the grocery store. I was supposed to grab a few staples so I’d have more than Gabriel’s leftovers to eat when he’s at work, but apparently that meant a cart full of stuff. I push it out to my car and start unloading everything into the trunk.

  My back prickles again, like someone is looking at me. It makes my shoulders clench. I put another bag in the trunk, telling myself I’m being paranoid. I haven’t seen Wyatt in months. I need to stop worrying that he’s following me around.

  Of course, he did follow me around for the first six months after I left him, so I suppose my concern is justified. But he’s not here. He can’t be here.

  The feeling doesn’t go away. I keep unloading my groceries, and finally decide the best thing to do is look. It’s probably just a seagull staring at me or something. I’ll see that no one’s there, and I can stop worrying about it.

  I glance over my shoulder, and my heart feels like it’s literally in my throat.

  It can’t be.

  I blink hard, sure I’m seeing things. It’s like the market yesterday. I’m so anxious about being in Jetty Beach, about facing all the memories of the two of us here, that it’s making me hallucinate. Hunter is not standing next to a green pickup truck, looking at me. He’s not.

  I blink again. He’s just as tall as I remember, but thicker—broad chest, arms bulging with muscle. His hair is shorter, and he looks older. He’s no longer a boy; he looks like a man—a big, strong, beautiful man … and my body is utterly betraying me, turning my knees to Jell-O at the sight of him. His eyes are fixed on me, his expression unreadable. He’s totally unmoving, like he’s as frozen as I feel, like we’re both caught in some sort of time vortex, hovering between this moment and ten years ago.

  He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling against his black t-shirt. When did he get those tattoos on his arms? He walks toward me and I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

  This can’t be Hunter. This can’t be real.

  “Emma,” he says.

  That voice. Oh my god, he sounds like Hunter, only better. Deeper. Rougher.

  I swallow hard, trying to think of something to say, but all I can do is stare.

  He stops a few feet from me and rubs the back of his neck. “I, um. I’m sorry to surprise you like this.”

  Wait, did he just use the word sorry? Hunter Evans, the man who ripped my heart to pieces and threw it in the fucking trash? Oh, he is not sorry. But he’s going to be.

  Anger floods through me, breaking me out of my stupor. I slam the trunk closed and he blinks, taking a step back.

  “Are you serious?” I ask. Even I’m surprised at the venom in my voice. I’m not usually so aggressive.

  “I…” He stammers a little, not quite getting anything coherent out.

  “What the hell?” I say. “I haven’t seen you in ten fucking years, and you’re going to just walk up to me in a parking lot and say hi?”

  “Emma, you have every right to be mad—”

  “You bet I do.” I’m on a roll now, and he’s not stopping me. I’ve been waiting ten years
to unload on this asshole. “I’m not just mad, Hunter. I’m livid. Yes, even after all these years, and I don’t care what kind of pathetic loser that makes me. You left, in the middle of the fucking night, without a word. And then nothing. I hear nothing from you. Do you have any idea what kind of a hell that was?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” I say. “It was the worst experience of my entire life—and after the year I’ve had, that’s saying something. You do not have the right to walk up to me like some old friend.” Tears are threatening to fall, but I don’t want to cry in front of him. I don’t want to cry at all. I thought I used up all the tears I had for him a long time ago.

  His brow furrows, and his eyes show so much pain. I should not care that he looks sad. I should want to hurt him. Seeing him makes me feel like a teenager all over again, a little girl with a broken heart. I imagined this moment a thousand times over the years, and none of them involved him looking at me like that. So sad. So sorry.

  No. I’m not letting him get away with it.

  “Fuck you, Hunter,” I say. I’m losing it and I know I should get out of here. I go to my driver’s side door, abandoning the cart where it sits.

  “Emma,” he says.

  I stop.

  Open the door, Emma. Open the door, get in, and drive away. Don’t listen to him.

  “Emma, please,” he says. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. That isn’t why I’m here.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I … fuck, I don’t know,” he says. “I saw you the other day and it was like getting hit by a train. After I got back, I left you alone. I didn’t want to interfere, but then I saw you and—”

  “Wait, when did you get back?” I ask.

  “Last year,” he says. “March, I guess.”

  More than a year ago? He’s been home that long? The desire to know what happened to him wars with my desire to still be mad. A million questions run through my mind. Why did he come home? Where does he live now? Is he married? Kids? What has he done with the last ten years of his life?

  Why did he leave me in the first place?

  “Look, maybe we could go somewhere and talk?” he asks.

  “How did you even find me here?” I ask.

  Surprise crosses his face. “Um,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck again. He pauses before answering. “I actually followed you.”

  “From where?”

  “Your brother’s house.”

  A fresh wave of anger pours through me. “What?”

  “I know,” he says. “That sounds really bad. I didn’t mean … fuck … I don’t know how to explain this.”

  A woman gets out of his truck, and my mouth drops open. She’s petite, and way too fucking cute for me to deal with right now, with curly blond hair, and a pair of very tiny camo shorts showing off an amazing set of legs. She has a big rock on her left hand. Is this his wife? What the fuck?

  She stands next to Hunter and grabs his arm, bouncing up and down onto her tip toes. “Hi,” she says, holding out her hand, and flashes me a wide smile. “I’m Clover.”

  I’m completely speechless.

  Her face falls a little and she lets her hand drop.

  “Clover, I don’t think now is the time,” Hunter says.

  My eyes move from Hunter to Clover. Is that seriously her name? My chest feels like it’s going to cave in. I shouldn’t care that he’s married. I was married. Why can’t he have found someone?

  But if he’s married to this, why is he standing in a parking lot trying to talk to me like it matters what happened between us a decade ago?

  “I’m sorry, did I ruin things?” Clover asks. “She looked really mad and I thought you could use a little help.”

  “What the hell?” I ask.

  “Hunter just really wanted to talk to you,” Clover says. “It’s my fault he followed you here. That was my idea.”

  “Okay, Clover, maybe that’s enough helping for today,” Hunter says.

  “Sorry, Emma,” Clover says. “It was really nice to meet you.” She turns to Hunter and whispers loudly. “I’ll bounce. Cody can come get me over at Old Town. I’ll walk.”

  She gives me a cheerful wave and starts walking toward downtown.

  I gape at Hunter. “Why? Who?”

  He looks between me and Clover. “Her?” His eyes widen and he holds up a hand. “Oh, my god, no. No, she’s Cody’s fiancée. Shit, that probably looked like—no. No, Clover was just trying to help me out, in her own weird way. She works for your brother, so she found out where he lives. And like an idiot I let her talk me into following you.”

  The relief I feel makes me want to cry again. He’s not married? I try to focus on his hands without making it obvious I’m looking for a ring. No ring. Just those calloused hands with thick fingers, his strong forearms, and those tattoos…

  Stop it, Emma. You’re mad at this man. Furious.

  “This is not going well,” Hunter says. “Emma, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, and I carry a lot of regrets. Like I said, I’m not here expecting you to forgive me. But I hoped you might be willing to talk. Even just catch up. Not a day has gone by in the last ten years that I haven’t thought about you. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but can we talk?”

  I feel like I’m sinking. After all this time, is Hunter really standing in front of me? If I let him go now, I might never see him again. I want to stay angry, but should I walk away from this chance? How often have I dreamt of this moment?

  I want answers. I want to know why. Maybe if he explains to me why he left, I can finally be free of him.

  No. I can’t give him any more of my time. I’ll be free of him because I choose to be. He had his chance years ago, and what he did left scars that will never fully heal. Why doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything. Nothing can change the past.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, we can’t talk.”

  I turn away from his face. I can’t see that expression, the one that looks like I just slapped him. Maybe hitting him would give me some closure, but I don’t do it. I know I can’t touch him or I’ll melt into a big puddle in the middle of the parking lot, and I won’t have the strength to refuse him.

  I get in my car, turn it on, and drive away as fast as I can.

  7

  Hunter

  I stare at Emma’s car as she drives away. I already memorized the license plate. That probably makes me a bad person, and I didn’t really mean to. The thought went through my mind that it would be good intel, and before I could stop myself, it was burned in my memory.

  That doesn’t mean I have to do anything with it. She made it pretty clear how she feels. She wants nothing to do with me.

  I straighten, taking another deep breath to clear my head. No. That is not how this ends. Seeing her face, hearing her voice … it was magic. She’s magic. She always has been, and I let her go once. I’m not going to let her go again.

  Granted, I have to get her back first.

  Cody pulls up, with Clover in the passenger seat. He leans out his window, and I realize I’m still standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring up the street at a car that’s been gone for at least two minutes.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Did you really see Emma?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  I tear my eyes away from the street. “She left. She didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “Ouch,” Cody says. “Sorry, man.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. “I just realized something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to marry Emma Parker.”

  Cody gapes at me, but I’m not worried about him right now. I know, in that deep place in my soul where Emma has always lived, that she’s going to be mine. She doesn’t know it yet, and I’m going to have to work my ass of
f to regain her trust. But even if it takes another ten years, I will. I’ll prove to her that she can trust me again. She can love me the way I love her.

  Because holy shit, if seeing her again proved anything to me, it’s that I never, ever stopped loving her.

  Maybe I shouldn’t approach Emma as a mission, but it’s how my brain works. It’s a pleasant afternoon, so I sit out on my back porch, spiral notebook in hand. It will be a multi-phase operation, and I write down some notes.

  Phase one: reconnaissance. Clover already took care of most of that, but I should probably pump my mom for some more information. I don’t like going in blind, and details could help me avoid surprises.

  Phase two: initial contact. Today was a botched attempt at phase two, which is why I have to proceed with caution before I try again. Success will be measured by acceptance of an offer for coffee together. I’ll need to make it hard for her to refuse, or at least easy to accept.

  Phase three: building trust. This could be a long phase, and I’ll probably need to divide it into sub-phases. I’m not starting at zero here, I’m starting at about negative fifty. Success will be measured by acceptance of an escalating series of dates. I’ll start with coffee—the transition from phase two to three. That’s not too much of a commitment. Once we have coffee—as many times as it takes for her to feel comfortable—I’ll try for something more serious and date-like. Dinner, with me picking her up at her place. Until then, I’ll plan to meet her at neutral locations.

  Phase four: official relationship. Success will be measured by her willingness to refer to me as her boyfriend. This phase feels particularly tenuous, because it’s entirely in her hands. I can’t push for phase four too hard, and defining it will depend on a lot of factors that are outside my control.

  Phase five: engagement and marriage. Success will be defined by an accepted proposal. Phase five seems a long way off, given how she looked like she might hit me earlier today. But the mission parameters should always be defined ahead of time. And that’s the goal. That’s where this ends. There’s no question in my mind.