by Barb Curtis
Which led to a new hashtag. #ReuniteTimAndMel
Emily’s hand started to tremble. Leyna grabbed the phone and shoved it in her coat pocket. Tears stung Emily’s eyes, and they pooled over and ran down her face before she could even consider trying to blink them back.
She’d been so relaxed about the attention the entire time. She hadn’t let the vicious messages from total strangers get to her, or the fact that Tim was practically being stalked by single women. She’d let it all just roll off her. But this. This was like everybody voicing what she’d feared all along for the whole world to read. That she’d never be good enough for Tim.
A sob escaped her throat. She turned away from Leyna and buried her face in her hands before frantically swiping the wet smears on her face.
Leyna’s hand clasped her arm. “Hey. Please don’t believe their words, Em. It’s like I said, they have nothing better to do than sit on their asses, hide behind their phones, and judge other people.”
Emily stomped to the bathroom and grabbed the partial roll of toilet paper from the back of the toilet. She gave her nose a loud blow. “I mean, I know I’m no Melissa, but I didn’t think I looked that bad…” She trailed off when her voice cracked, and another sob worked itself up her throat. Her shoulders looked amazing. Nobody had even noticed.
“Stop.” Leyna’s sharp tone startled her. “Melissa is chiming in all of a sudden because the audience has turned on her. Casting doubt on your relationship with Tim is a ploy to gain popularity again, plain and simple. You are twice the woman she is. Do not even compare yourself. You’re gorgeous. So maybe you were a little sweaty and tired. You were in the middle of moving. Nobody looks amazing all the time—certainly not the people on TV when their hair and makeup people aren’t fawning all over them.”
Emily blew her nose again. “I know that. It’s just harsh, right? I would never say something like that about anybody, whether I liked them or not. God, Tim and I don’t even have to be on the show to be dragged into the drama.”
Leyna pulled her into an embrace, but her response was drowned out when Tim burst through the apartment door.
“Emily!” His tone mirrored Leyna’s when she’d shown up at the door a few minutes ago.
A tear rolled down her face when she lifted her head off Leyna’s shoulder. He halted halfway across the kitchen, his eyes tortured with emotion.
Leyna whirled around, like a mama bear guarding her cub.
Tim lifted his hand before she could say anything. “I deleted the post. I just saw it now, Em. I’m so sorry. I feel terrible.”
“See what you get for coming up with this charade, Tim?” Leyna fired back. “This whole thing was your mess to figure out, and you just had to drag someone into it with you. Now she’s being scrutinized by a bunch of haters who do nothing but watch TV and judge real people for not looking amazing all the time.”
“I never expected anything like this to happen.” He craned his neck around Leyna, eyes pleading with Emily. “Em, you always look amazing to me.”
His words were like a vise on her vocal cords. Emily wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, and that Leyna was just getting fired up and taking it out on him, when it was completely out of his control. But she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat was too raw.
Leyna took a step toward Tim. “Fix this. I don’t care how. But do something about it. Now give us some space here.”
Tim caught her gaze again, his expression pained. He backed away. “Okay, I’ll give you guys some time. Em, I’m sorry. I will fix this, I promise.”
Suddenly chilly, she folded her bare arms and nodded.
A long run in the bitter cold followed by a hot, steamy shower was the best Tim could do to clear his head from the social media frenzy that had taken place today. Goddammit, he’d been pissed when he saw those comments. He’d wanted to put his fist through the screen of his phone. He’d immediately deleted the post, but the damage was done. Emily had read the insults.
Seeing her, looking so helpless and small, crying in the middle of her empty apartment, had gutted him. And then there was Leyna, standing between them like she was protecting her from him, which he supposed she was. The whole thing was all his fault.
He cracked open a beer, sunk into the couch cushions, and tried to think. He scrolled through his phone and brought up a photo of them he hadn’t posted yet, a candid Jay had taken of them at Rosalia’s last week. Emily looked radiant, smiling at the camera, and Tim was looking at her. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth was open—a laugh more than a smile, because she’d told a story about the time she’d singed her eyebrows while barbecuing that had made him spit his drink across the table. Anyone would look at that picture and think, This guy adores her.
They wouldn’t be wrong.
He began to type a caption, and before he knew it, he had written a lengthy post about the ways she complemented him and how she challenged him and brought out the best in him—in everyone. It was the most heartfelt thing he’d ever said about anybody. It floored him, how much she’d grown to matter.
So much so that he almost held down the backspace button, but instead he pushed away the flash of panic and hit Post.
Revived from a hot shower, Emily applied her night cream and combed out the tangles in her wet hair. It was getting long—below her shoulders. Maybe she should lop it off to her chin again and go a little blonder. Shake things up a bit.
She applied some lip balm and went to the kitchen—which was still only partially unpacked—and poured herself a glass of rosé. She’d relax a little, maybe unpack a few more things, and call it a night. Get to bed early and get a full night’s sleep.
Tomorrow those comments would be nothing but old news.
Being upset always made Emily go on a cleaning spree. Her old apartment sparkled by the time she locked the door and trudged down the hall to the new place, hopefully leaving the horrid experience of reading those comments locked inside. She was all cried out, that was for sure.
Leyna was still fired up on her behalf, claiming Emily might have grounds to sue the show.
She had no interest in that. She just wanted the comments to go away.
Tim texted a number of times. He was beating himself up about the whole thing, so she’d sent him a quick message earlier insisting she wasn’t mad at him. Neither of them had asked for this.
Her hand hovered over her phone. Did she dare open the gates again? He’d deleted the post, so hopefully that had taken care of it. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn’t help herself—she opened Twitter, and an image of her and Tim at Rosalia’s last week popped up.
Seventy-seven retweets.
What the hell?
She clicked on the link to take her to Instagram, where he’d originally posted it.
See this? This guy, laughing with this girl? He had no idea what he’d been missing out on all these years. She’s one of my oldest friends, but turns out I barely knew her. There is so much more to her below the surface. She’s beautiful inside and out. Her smile is like the first ray of sunlight after a dark and deafening thunderstorm, and I swear her energy and light could lift me higher than any drug. She challenges me and inspires me. She’s spontaneous and fun. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and her optimism is contagious. Her heart is so vast, and when I’m with her, mine is too. She makes me believe I can be better.
By the time she read to the end, Emily’s heart was pounding and she had a hard time catching her breath.
She dumped her remaining wine down the sink, stuffed her bare feet into a pair of fuzzy white slippers, and bounded up the stairs.
After he’d posted the picture of him and Emily, Tim turned his phone off. He needed a break from it for a few days—maybe longer. Leyna’s words wore on him all day, and he chided himself for dragging Emily into all this. They should probably just stop with the charade. He could delete all his social media.
Maybe then everyone would just leave him alone. The problem was
, he didn’t want to stop the charade. He wasn’t ready to let her go.
He spent the evening next to the only lamp on in his apartment, reading a sailing magazine. It was the best he could do on a bitter February night to escape. A soft knock at the door had him glancing up.
Setting the magazine aside, he padded to the door and opened it. Emily stood in the hallway, shivering in little pajama shorts. Her wet hair separated into wavy tendrils, and the ends dripped, soaking through her thin white tank top. Her face was flushed from her shower, and he could smell her coconut shampoo from three feet away. She exhaled a shaky breath, and he knew without asking that she had read his post.
Tim stepped back and opened his arms, and without hesitation, she walked right into them, circling her arms around his neck and resting her warm cheek against his chest. He nudged the door closed and held her, closing his eyes. Lowering his chin onto her head, he brushed his fingers through her cool, damp hair and inhaled her scent—a tropical island he never wanted to leave.
Thank God she didn’t hate him.
The minutes ticked by as they stood there in his dark kitchen. Emily’s heart hammered against him. When it finally leveled out, she backed away. Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the light from the lamp in the other room.
Seeing her cry ripped out his heart all over again. “Hey.” He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs.
She sniffed, and when she spoke, her voice trembled. “What you said in that post…” She trailed off.
He clasped her hands and brought them to his pounding heart. “I meant it. Every word.” His throat burned so hard that he left it at that.
A sob tumbled out of her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around him again and buried her face into his thin gray T-shirt.
“Shhh.” He tried to relax her, rubbing his hand over her back and swaying back and forth. He combed away hair that clung to her face and brushed soft kisses on the top of her head.
She tipped back her head, and he trailed his lips down her heated cheek, tasting salty tears. Finally he found her mouth, warm and sweet. With feathery flicks of his tongue, he took his time, trying to prove a little more with each swirl the enormity of what he’d written for the whole world to read.
Something moved through his chest—a tidal wave crashing into a rocky shoreline.
This relationship was no longer an act.
He’d known it when he wrote the post. When he couldn’t put his feelings into words without tears piercing his eyes.
Emily’s fingers tangled in his hair, and she clung to him, soft and warm.
He tugged on her hand, led her to the living room, and eased her down on the couch, where he could see her in the dim glow of the lamp.
She raised her head, eyes blue as sapphires glistening under thick wet lashes. She had no makeup on, but she didn’t need it.
He traced his finger across her flushed cheekbone, then brushed her tangled wet hair away from her face.
“Your hair is curly.” A totally random thing to comment on in the moment, but he’d never seen it like this. He fingered the damp waves.
Emily ran her fingers through it to lift it away from her face. “Yeah, it’s naturally curly when I don’t blow-dry it.”
He swallowed hard, rubbing the wet tips through his fingers. His gaze trailed down to her lips, a little swollen from being kissed so thoroughly. “I like it like this,” he whispered, leveling his gaze to hers again.
Wiping away another tear, she sniffed, but at least she smiled this time. Her gaze fell on the antique anchor on his mantel, and she traced her finger along his tattoo. “Can I ask you something I’ve been curious about for a while?”
He pressed his lips together and peered at her. “Sure.”
“What’s the deal with sailors and anchors, anyway?”
Tim glanced at the mantel, where his dog tags hung from the stock of the anchor. “They’re just a symbol that holds a lot of significance.”
“Because they keep the boat in place?”
He considered. “Yeah, kind of. When lifted from the water, the anchor represents embarking on a new voyage—a new adventure. There’s hope for what’s to come.” He paused for a second and cleared his throat. “When an anchor is lowered into the water, we rely on it, trust it not to move. Even through the stormiest of weather, the craziest of tides, it remains grounded and doesn’t waver. It symbolizes strength, hope, and stability. And a safe end to a long journey.”
She pressed her lips together, nodding. “I like that.” When she rested her cheek against his chest again, he pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over them. “Em, I want to be straight up with you. I…have feelings for you…feelings I didn’t plan on. But you know how I feel about relationships. It’s only been like five months since Melissa, and what happened with her really screwed me up.”
Emily pulled the blanket up higher, around her bare shoulders. “I know it did. And for the record, I feel the same way. I know this wasn’t part of the plan, but if you’re willing to take a chance, see where it all leads, I’d really like that. We could just take it slowly. One day at a time.”
Tim found her hand under the blanket and clasped it in his. “I didn’t see this coming. In fact, I never wanted to ever feel this way again.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I’ve been struggling lately, reminding myself of my rules, and yet I don’t think I can turn my back on this. I might freak out occasionally, and if I do, just try to bear with me, okay? Because I really want to see where this thing between us goes.”
This time her smile reached all the way to the sparkle in her eyes. “I do, too.” She pressed her lips together, eyes glinting.
He grinned. “What?”
“It’s just…We kind of botched the fake relationship.”
Tim wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “Yes, we did. I think it’s safe to say our fake relationship is over.”
Chapter Fourteen
Despite the harsh wind, Tim smiled as he rounded the corner from the florist’s shop into town square. Valentine’s Day was two days away, and he’d ordered Emily a dozen long-stemmed roses. He’d intended to go with red, but the pale pink bouquets seemed more like her style. They were classy and a little more delicate than the overdone red.
On his way past the shoe store, the door opened and a gloved hand caught his arm.
Leyna.
“I owe you an apology,” she began, falling into stride. “I was a little harsh last week, and I know you were already feeling bad enough.” She tugged him toward the entrance of Rosalia’s. “Come inside so I can buy you a drink.”
“It’s ten a.m.,” he protested, yet he followed her inside toward the bar at the back. A lone server set tables for lunch. Already the restaurant was decked out for the slew of reservations they no doubt had booked Friday night for Valentine’s Day. He’d decided on the Nightingale Inn for dinner with Emily. They ate at Rosalia’s all the time, and the inn would be quieter and more intimate for their first dinner since they’d dropped the act.
He chose a stool, and Leyna took her usual place behind the bar.
“What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have the eighteen-year-old Macallan, since it’s on you.” He flashed her a grin.
Her gaze sharpened at the mention of the three-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch.
Laughter bellowed out of him, and he slapped his thigh. “Relax, I’m kidding. Coffee, with a shot of Baileys since you’re groveling.”
“That’s more like it.” She crafted his drink, topped it with a mound of whipped cream, and slid it over to him on a square bar napkin.
Tim tasted the coffee and gave her a thumbs-up. “An apology isn’t necessary. You were well within your rights as Emily’s best friend to give me hell that day. Those fans of the show are like a bunch of vultures, and I practically fed her to them with that picture.”
Even though he’d thought she looked great.
> Leyna leaned on her elbows. “You know, I wasn’t a fan of this fake relationship from the get-go.”
“You don’t say.”
“But,” she continued, “Emily agreed to it on her own terms, and she’s a grown woman who makes her own choices. The real question is, did you mean what you posted afterward?”
He leveled his gaze to Leyna’s. “Yes, and before you go grilling me on my intentions, I will just say this. Emily and I have been spending a lot of time together, and I’m connecting with her in an entirely new way. Did I plan it? No. Does it freak me out? Yes,” he admitted, rubbing at an ache in his shoulder. “Does it freak her out? Probably, which I’m sure the two of you have discussed anyway. We’re just rolling with it for now, and figuring it out as we go. We’re taking it slow and seeing what happens, so don’t go pressuring everyone around you to decide on a label for it, okay?”
He sighed, and took a long gulp of his coffee.
Leyna shrugged. “Okay.”
Tim tossed the napkin he’d squeezed into a ball and it rolled across the bar. “What, that’s it?” It wasn’t like her to back off so easily or have so little to say.
“Sure, I mean, she told me you guys decided to date each other for real, and you’re both adults.” Leyna diverted her attention to a spill on the bar. “She’d be good for you, you know.”
He didn’t answer, just downed the last of his coffee and stood. “Thank you for the coffee. Are we good?”
Leyna rolled her eyes, and tossed the towel. “Yes, we’re good.”
He left Rosalia’s walking a little taller. He certainly didn’t need Leyna’s approval, but the fact that he had it counted.
By Valentine’s Day, Emily figured she’d easily sold her weight in chocolate, maybe more. Her truffles were in such high demand that she’d gone in two hours earlier every morning for a week and ceased all production of anything else, with the exception of chocolate-covered strawberries.