Fever dream

CHAPTER 26

Julia

WHEN EMMETT LEAVES, I creep in the opposite direction. I follow the perimeter of the building and decide my best next step.

I’m not required on set tonight since the bar requires no further prep. I delivered the paperwork to Richard, checked in with the manager, and made sure that everything to do with Romance Ranch was in order for filming. I can easily be available by phone.

I’m just rubbernecking at this point.

It’s like I can’t look away. I don’t need to stay and spend hours watching women squabble over a guy that I’ve come to… I don’t even know.

Want? Because wanting him feels surprisingly good. Like fucked-up as this all is, craving someone is breathing life back into parts of me that I thought might be just… gone.

Is like the right word? It feels bland and childish for whatever is happening between us. Which is a problem.

I make a beeline for my car on the opposite side of the parking lot, deciding that getting the hell out of Dodge is the best answer to my problems. Strapped into the driver’s seat, I wrap my hands around the wheel to pull away.

But I come up short of starting the engine. I’m torn between wanting to walk back in there and help Emmett and the sinking sensation in my stomach that tells me I don’t want to see whatever is going on in there.

I trust my gut, start my car, and drive away from the set. Pulling out, I turn right. It’s not the way home or the way back to Stal Brandt. It’s just one random way to go. And I spend the next couple of hours driving around the valley, stopping at a few of my favorite spots, including my dad’s gravesite.

I never got to know him that well, and in some ways it’s hard to navigate how I feel about his passing. It’s difficult to miss what you never had. But if nothing else, visiting my dad brings me solace.

I’ve heard wonderful stories about him, seen the impact that he had on my brother and on my mom—a woman who has entertained brief relationships but who I don’t think will ever truly move on.

So he seems as good a person as any to confess my confusion to.

I sit on the dry earth and talk to him. “Well, Dad. I got the dream first job. The one that steers me straight down the path to that big-time movie job you convinced me I could do if I set my mind to it. But I… I’m worried I’m going to fuck it all up.”

With a dark chuckle, I run my palms over the bristly grass in front of his headstone. Then I blurt it all out.

I tell him about the cruise ship and Emmett. I tell him about Emmett’s reputation and the tension between him and Theo. I tell him about the quiet hours spent chatting at the diner. I tell him about the kiss. I tell him about the bitter jealousy that swirls inside of me as I’m forced to watch Emmett navigate this show.

I tell my dad details that most daughters probably wouldn’t, but he’s dead, so what the fuck ever.

Hell, I get really comfortable and even tell him about the prickles in my ass and the boner episode that followed.

Getting it all off my chest leaves me more centered. Like I’ve gained some perspective. Like the pressure in my lungs that made me feel as though I was about to explode has finally dissipated a bit.

It’s also left me hungry. Which is why I trudge back to my car, hop in, and head straight to the diner. It’s never too late for an omelet.

I weave through the darkened streets of Emerald Lake until I pull up in front of Martha’s Diner. As I step out of my car, the neon sign on the roof hums, filling the air. One deep inhale of the dusty parking lot comforts me. It urges me forward. I yank the door open with a jingle, and Martha’s head snaps up from behind the cash register.

“Wasn’t sure you were coming in tonight, but that boy of yours is waiting already.”

“Boy of mine?” I ask, confused for a moment.

She winks at me. “Right over there, doll. Table in the corner. The one with the curly hair? He’s not dressed like a cowboy businessman tonight. And honestly?” Her tone turns wistful as she glances in his direction. “If I had to switch teams…” she says with a raspy chuckle.

My gaze lands on Emmett sitting in the corner booth at the back of the restaurant. “Yeah.” I breathe the word.

Because I know exactly what she means. He has that effect on women. Or maybe it’s just that I’m thrown off Emmett’s here. At my place. Waiting for me.

“You all right, Julia?”

“I don’t know,” I confess to her, eyes still on Emmett. “I’m worried I might be in the process of making a very big mistake.”

“Good,” Martha startles me by saying. “You’re about due for some mistake-making. You know Danielle and I love having you here every night. But, baby, that’s not healthy. Two middle-aged women shouldn’t be your only friends in the world. And I for one am glad to see you’re not isolating yourself so much. You’re young. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. Life is messy, stop being a germophobe.”

A sad laugh pitches from the back of my throat. I have been isolating myself and I’m not even sure I noticed it happening. I got scared and I went into hiding. Now the thought of emerging from the safety of my burrow feels… daunting.

“He’s already got two menus over there for you, doll. Go make that mistake. I bet that man could teach you a thing or two. Plus, look at those forlorn little puppy eyes. Go put him out of his misery.”

I peek over at him, and sure enough. Those emotive baby blues are latched on to me. Practically begging me to come closer. I give Martha a quick smile, and a side hug, murmuring, “Thank you for the pep talk,” before walking away.

Wishing things were as simple as the wise woman seems to think.

I weave through the long, narrow diner. Emmett’s face lifts to take me in as I draw near.

“Hey,” I say cautiously.

He smiles, but it’s pinched and doesn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t know if you were going to show up.”

“How long have you been waiting here?” I pause near the booth as he shrugs and looks out the window.

“I don’t know. An hour? Maybe two?”

Two hours.

I was sitting at my dad’s gravesite, chatting away, spilling my guts, and Emmett was sitting here waiting. Hoping that maybe—just maybe—I’d show up.

“Why didn’t you call me? Or text me? Or something?”

“Left my phone on the table at the bar after we finished recording for the night. Didn’t feel like going back in once I’d made my way out. I’ll get it tomorrow.” He waves a hand across the air in front of him dismissively. “You going to sit down or just stand there gawking at me like an awkward weirdo?”

I chuckle, because I am standing here like an awkward weirdo. Thrown off by his presence. Confused that he’d wait an hour for me, somewhere he wasn’t even sure I would be.

Honestly, I’m confused that he’s looking for me at all.

I slide into the seat across from him and reach for the menu. Ridiculous, since I know it by heart, but I need something to do with my hands so that I don’t fiddle with my fingers until they knot themselves together.

I’m nervous. Nervous because one kiss can be a mistake. A one-off. But I’ve never heard of a two-off. Which means this might be a bad habit we’re developing.

Martha shows up with a cup of piping hot coffee before I can get a word in edgewise. She refills Emmett’s, and he doesn’t stop her. Which is fu

“All right, two Julia omelets for two lovebirds,” she singsongs with a teasing giggle, forcing me to groan and tip my head back in embarrassment. Someone should let Martha know this is just a two-off.

But when I look back up, Emmett has a touch of a smile on his face. He doesn’t correct her. Instead, he just stares at me.

It’s u

But he beats me to the punch, masking his point with a teasing tone. “Julia, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have to stop kissing me.”

I bark out a laugh and lean back against the red vinyl bench. “Oh, is that how it is? I have to stop kissing you.”

“Yes, it’s absolutely out of control. I understand—I do. You’re obsessed with me. And I can’t blame you.”

I run a hand over the back of my head, gri

“It’s fu

He shrugs, hitting me with a cocky smile. “All I remember is you shoving your tongue down my throat and riding my leg like I was your favorite pony.”

“Emmett!” I squeal, leaning forward, giving his hand an absolutely flirtatious smack.

I know I shouldn’t do it, but god, he makes it so easy.

He reaches for me, fingers sliding over the top of my outstretched hand. We both stare at the point of contact for several seconds before his fingers flex, drawing my attention back up to his face.

“All jokes aside, Jules, we have to be careful.”

I swipe my tongue over the front of my teeth, hating the taste of what he’s just said and knowing it’s true all at once.

“I’m pretty sure Richard’s producing us at this point, or at the very least blackmailing us. Before tonight, he pulled me aside and told me you were proving more difficult than he expected, but that he noticed how responsive you are to me. And so, he asked me to go out of my way to make sure I keep you on track.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told him I would—”

“Is that what you were doing outside the bar? Keeping me on track? Because you waltzing around in that little denim dress with your hair all wild and free only makes me want to break the rules.”

A full-body flush sweeps over me. He’s so… direct.

But I don’t let him distract me. “Emmett, I’m serious. He’s on to us. It’s like he’s keeping tabs. And the fact that the crew and producers just happened to show up at The Sugar Saloon when we were there—it’s weird. I tried to throw him off by mentioning going on a date that Riley set up for me. He told me multiple times that he wants me to report back on how it goes. It was u

“Like hell—”

“This is my first job out of school,” I cut him off, because we can’t start crossing those lines. Especially considering he still has several weeks of filming left to go. “This is important for my entire future. I’m barely qualified for this gig. I’ve broken the bank to get these degrees under my belt. I’ve worked long hours and won scholarships, all to make it out without crippling debt. If I leave this job with a black mark on my résumé, it could haunt me forever. And you? You need this. I know you do.”

He groans and flops back, but rather than dropping my hand, he stretches his arm, maintaining the contact.