Emmitt knocked on my door the afternoon following our talk. The boys were outside playing, and I was alone. I quietly backed away from the door. It seemed every time we spent time alone, I let too much slip. We needed distance. I needed distance. So, I snuck to the bathroom and avoided him with the skill of a master thief.
After his footsteps faded in the hallway, I risked a quick look out the bathroom door. The sunlit pattern of the French doors on the kitchen floor caught my eye. The island blocked a good portion of it, but not the top half. The shadow of a man drifted through the bright patch. I spent the afternoon reading on the toilet.
It proved more difficult to avoid Emmitt the following day. He stood outside the apartment door when the boys ran out in the morning. Stunned by his unexpected appearance, I gaped at him for a moment before my brain kicked in.
“I have to take a shower,” I said in a rush then slammed the door in his face.
I stayed under the hot spray until my fingers pruned, then I crept around the apartment, stealthily checking the windows and doors. When time passed without spotting Emmitt, I changed into my swimsuit and grabbed a book. No more toilet reading. My legs had gone numb the day before. I eased open the French doors and tiptoed onto the porch.
The warm summer air surrounded me, and I took a slow, deep breath and shook out my blanket.
“Michelle?”
The sound of his voice directly behind me almost made me scream. Heart hammering, I clutched the blanket to my chest and spun to face him. My master thief skills were more like apprentice level. I caught a glimpse of his hurt expression before he smoothed his features into a carefree mask of indifference.
“I need to go into town for more paint soon. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me and help pick out the color.” His eyes held mine as he spoke. He stood a few feet from me, wearing paint splattered cargo shorts and an equally colorful printed shirt. A brush hung from a loop on his shorts.
I didn’t answer immediately, and he tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting. My stomach did its weird flutter. After talking to Nana, it felt more like a tug. It made me nervous all over again. Why did I react like that to him? It had to be the reason I couldn’t seem to keep my mouth shut.
“I’ll pass. I’m more comfortable here,” I mumbled. Riding to town to get paint meant taking the car since Jim had the truck. Thinking of any amount of time in the confines of Nana’s little putt-putt, alone with Emmitt, did funny things to my insides.
“Okay,” he said with a small nod. Then he turned and walked away. My shoulders sagged in relief.
He left me alone for an hour. Laying in the shade of the third floor porch, I heard his footsteps approaching, but didn’t scramble to my feet fast enough. He caught me on my knees.
“Thirsty?” he asked holding out a sweating glass of water. Who is Blake? The last time he’d offered me something to drink, I’d said too much.
Fine. The drink had nothing to do with it. Not really. Emmitt was the problem.
“No.” I popped up as if pulled by a string connected to the top of my head. “I have to pee.” I dashed through the French doors and closed myself in the bathroom. Again.
After a few minutes, I ducked into the bedroom, threw on a shirt, and rushed downstairs to ask Nana and the boys if I could join them. The boys eagerly welcomed me while Nana gave me a curious look. She didn’t stop her lesson, though.
Since she kept her door open, I saw Emmitt pass by several times before lunch. Each time my stomach trembled, and I wished the stupid thing would stop causing me so much trouble.
When Nana announced her lessons complete for the day, I left the apartment with trepidation and led the boys upstairs for lunch. Our door stood open. I made Liam go in first while I hid around the corner.
“Emmitt! Are you cooking lunch today?”
Liam’s excited greeting caused me to throw a spontaneous quiet tantrum in the privacy of the hallway. There was a lot of silent foot stomping and some pantomimed fainting involved. Thankfully, Aden walked in right after Liam and missed my awesome display.
Straightening my shoulders, I stepped through the door. For the first time ever, Emmitt didn’t look up at me. Not even briefly. He focused on the boys and their sandwiches.
“Yep. I thought maybe I’d eat with you guys. How about we carry these sandwiches downstairs and eat on the grass?” He handed each boy a sandwich and, carrying one for himself, left with the boys.
Owl-eyed and confused, I stared at the empty door as the lone sandwich he’d left on the counter mocked me. I’d hurt his feelings with my avoidance. Drifting to a stool, guilt ate at me. Dejectedly, I took a bite of the sandwich. Turkey. With bacon. Frowning at the delicious taste, I set the sandwich aside. Didn’t he know I had no choice? Couldn’t he stop asking me questions for five seconds? Cradling my head in my hands, I grimaced remembering his questions today. Simple, harmless questions.
I sighed and admitted an ugly truth. The problem wasn’t Emmitt. It was me. I wanted to tell him everything. How stupid could I be? Not even a week had passed since he’d revealed his secret. Though I’d decided to learn what I could from him, I’d yet to resolve a few things in my mind. Primarily, the trust issue. It was too soon for that.
Hardening myself against the guilt, I decided to keep avoiding him.
****
A brief rain shower Friday morning, followed by a hazy, breezeless sky, spiked the humidity. Instead of lessons inside, Nana encouraged the boys to play in the sprinkler while they recited the things they’d learned during the last few days. The sweltering heat of the apartment drove me outdoors, too. I brought the blanket and book with me.
Emmitt painted upstairs until the heat drove him out. He stepped outside without a word to me. Calling to the boys to save him some water for later, he disappeared into the shadows of the garage and returned carrying a weed eater. After a few sharp pulls, it started with a loud drone, and he moved to the tree line, turning his back to the porch.
Part of my frustration with myself was my inability to stop looking at him. My eyes drifted to his back repeatedly, watching the play of muscles as he held the machine inches off the ground. I tried lifting my book higher to block the line of sight, but the book always drifted back down on its own. If only I could get over my fascination, maybe my stomach would stop freaking out and I would lose the urge to spill my guts.
He took off his shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his shorts. I lost the battle and outright stared, book forgotten.
Finished with the first section of trees, Emmitt killed the motor and moved to the next, glancing up as the boys shouted to him. I was in his line of sight. Caught staring, I blushed and lifted my book again.
When the motor started, I quickly offered to make lunch and sprinted upstairs. I could feel my resolve weakening. I needed help.
After lunch, Emmitt left with Nana’s car to get the paint he needed. He hadn’t repeated his invitation.
Nana asked if we wanted to walk in the woods where it would be cooler. Liam heartily agreed. Aden, pruned from so much time in the water, nodded. I insisted they go without me if Nana could manage. She laughed, assuring me they would be no trouble.
I ran upstairs, changed into cutoffs and a tank top, then waited on the porch. It didn’t take long for Jim to pull into the driveway.
“Jim!” I called popping up from my spot on the porch and moving to the truck before he parked. “Will you teach me how to drive?”
His eyebrows rose lifting his sweat soaked hair. “You don’t know how?”
“I’m self-taught and need practice. Everyone else is gone.” I crowded up to the driver’s side door and gave him a pleading look. Inside my head, a clock ticked. We still had hours before dinner, and Emmitt would soon return with the paint.
“Sure,” he cut the engine. “Can I shower quick?”
“I guess.” I didn’t bother to keep the disappointment from my face. I really wanted to leave before Emmitt got back.
He eyed me for a moment then grinned. “I’ll be back in less than five minutes.”
I stepped back as he opened the door. With a blur and a breeze, he vanished.
Blinking, I looked around. What game did he play now? We didn’t have time. Striding to the house, I heard him singing inside and stopped. A shower ran. I smiled. He moved fast.
I returned to the truck and settled into the driver’s seat. The keys dangled from the ignition. I touched them lightly. I could leave. So easy. Of course, my brothers held me—I wouldn’t leave without them—but I could take the keys and wait. Tell Jim I changed my mind. No. At some point, I had come to terms with the fact that we lived with werewolves. Did I like it? Not really. Did it bother me? Only when I thought about it, which I needed to do more often. The urge to leave primarily stemmed from my growing fascination with Emmitt. I needed to figure out a way to deal with that so I could become serious about getting answers about Blake.
The passenger door opened and closed with a gust of wind. Jim sat beside me. He was freshly showered and wearing clean shorts, sandals, and a wife beater.
“Start her up. What do you need to know?”
I cranked the starter and took a moment to remember our quick escape. “I figured out the gas and the brake. Sometimes I still mix them up,” I admitted. He gave me a worried look. “But it’s mostly the rules I need to know. Like who goes first at a stop sign, when to use your blinkers, what the ‘N’ stands for here.” I pointed to the shifter display.
Putting the truck in reverse, I didn’t wait for his reply. The gas pedal was touchier than I expected, and we flew backward. Had the garage door been closed, I would have bumped it. Just a little.