It had been one of those sticky, hot New York City days. The blast of AC in the modeling studio was a welcome relief. They were shooting a group ad that day, and she instantly disliked the other two models. She could tell they were the kind of girls who’d always been pretty, who’d never been teased a day in their lives. As she worked alongside them, all of Emerson’s old insecurities came railing back at her, like an assault. She wasn’t Em, the Neutrogena model, anymore. She was Emmy, the girl who would never deserve any of this.
But then the photographer, Remsen, a young, hot up-and-comer, started focusing on her. He put her in the center of the shots and had her inch in front of the other girls. He told her she was beautiful, perfect, the star of the ad; and the way he said it, she believed every word. She was this girl. By the end of the shoot, she was riding high. She could feel the other girls’ jealous glares, could feel their looking at her the way she’d looked at them only hours before. When Remsen asked her to the back room to comb through some shots, she was eager to accompany him.
But when they got there, there was no computer, no photos. Remsen closed the door. Before she could ask him what was going on, he pulled her to him and kissed her. It took her completely by surprise. It was different from kissing Josh: fiercer, more intense. For a second she found herself kissing him back. Then she heard it: the voice in her head, hissing like an angry cat. Josh.
She pulled away. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“No problem,” Remsen said easily. He smiled, his hands working their way through her hair, sliding down her arms. “I probably shouldn’t have anyway. But there’s something about you, Emerson.” He leaned in close, whispering into her ear. “You’re that girl, you know?” His breath was warm against her neck. “The one you always hope to find. You’re irresistible.”
He kept talking, about her beauty and her career, about her specialness; and she wanted so badly for it all to be true. For him to be right. Then he was kissing her again, and she felt it, as if she really was that girl: Emmy erased forever. The voice in her head tried once more—Josh—but Remsen was already pulling her onto the table. His hands slid under her shirt and unbuttoned her pants, and she was powerful, beautiful, the girl she was meant to be. Soon, the voice faded into nothing.
Afterward, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, beautiful,” he said. Then he pulled his clothes on and strolled back into the studio, as if it had meant nothing, been nothing. Standing there, alone and half dressed, the weight of what she’d done slammed into her. She’d never felt so awful in her life. She spent the next two days crying and avoiding Josh’s phone calls. She thought of a thousand ways to tell him, but in the end she knew it wouldn’t matter. What she’d done couldn’t be forgiven. So she’d tacked a note to his door, and she’d left.
“Nap time?”
Emerson’s eyes flew open. There he was, on her porch, watching her with those green-brown eyes. She couldn’t help but smile at his sweater with a retro walrus on it. He’d been obsessed with walruses when they’d dated.
“Josh.” She quickly extracted herself from the chair, balancing Holden in her palms. “What are you doing here?”
She was standing closer to him than she’d meant to, and a familiar warmth spread through her. It was the way he’d always made her feel: As if beneath all the excitement and nerves, there was something burning deep inside her, warming her from the inside out. Around other guys, she was so meticulous, careful—say the right thing, do the right thing, look the right way—but around Josh, she could just breathe.
“I came to check on my gift,” Josh informed her. He gave Holden a stroke on the back, and the duckling nipped at his wrist in response. “And I have to say, he actually looks healthy.”
Emerson narrowed her eyes. “I will have you know that he is on a very regimented eating schedule. And exercise routine. Last night we held some Olympics-worthy races across my bedroom floor.”
“Did you win?” Josh asked with a laugh.
“Well, it’s not really about winning,” she said, as Holden lifted his wings and made an awkward fly-leap into Josh’s hands.
Josh lifted Holden up until they were nose to beak. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“He’s one fast little duckling,” Emerson admitted. She held out her hands and made a soft clucking noise. Immediately Holden turned around and began waddling back down Josh’s arm. He let out a soft chirp as he clumsily jump-flew back into her outstretched hands. “I taught him that.”
Josh raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Emerson Cunningham, duck whisperer.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Emerson joked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. The darer’s notes sprang to her mind. Slut. She turned away, not wanting Josh to see the flush spreading across her cheeks.
“So I was hoping I could finally cash in my hour of your time,” Josh said. “Want to go for a walk? And before you say anything, let me provide you with your three acceptable responses. Response A: Okay. Response B: Fine. Response C—my personal favorite: Great!”
Emerson tried to conceal the grin tugging at her lips. “Sure,” she said smugly, drawing out the word.
Josh groaned. “You just have to be a rebel, don’t you?”
Emerson eyed Josh’s half Mohawk and patched-up leather coat. “That’s me,” she said wryly. “Rebel with a capital R.”
She left Josh laughing on the porch as she went to put Holden back in his cage. She took her time returning down the stairs, giving herself a pep talk on the way. It was just a walk. She would be friendly but platonic. Nice but hands-off. It didn’t matter what feelings Josh stirred up; she had no room in her life for a guy right now. Not with the darer throwing the Monstrous Matt Morgan Mistake in her face at every turn. She’d say what she needed to so Josh would let her be. As long as it didn’t involve the truth.
She paused at the door, smoothing down the vintage polka-dot shirt she was wearing under her favorite black blazer. She could do this.
“The duck’s all settled,” she announced, stepping back onto the porch. She beckoned for Josh to follow as she started down the stairs. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said. “All the way from the Big Apple.” She kept her tone light. The longer she could keep them on small talk, the less time Josh would have to ask her that dreaded question, the one she’d managed to avoid for over a year.
“Boston, actually,” Josh said as they strolled down the street. “I’ve been living there for the past year.”
“Mr. Manhattan himself abandoned the island?” she asked, feigning disbelief. Josh was a born-and-raised New Yorker. When she’d met him, he’d been entering his eighteenth consecutive year in the city that never slept. “What happened to starting at NYU?” As she spoke, she pointed him in the direction of downtown, and their steps fell into sync as they always used to on their walks in New York.
“Remember that manuscript I was working on that summer?” Josh asked.
“The one you would never let me read?”
Josh smiled sheepishly. “That’s the one.”
That whole summer Emerson had tried to get Josh to show her the novel he was writing, claiming she knew all about the writing process from her dad—even though her dad’s historical-fiction tomes usually put her to sleep by page three. It was strange how long ago that felt, like another, happier, Technicolor life. “I remember,” Emerson said.
“Well, I sold it to a publisher.” He stole a glance at her, his eyes flashing green-brown-green-brown in the sunlight. “So I deferred NYU and moved to Boston to work on my revisions. I felt like I needed a fresh start if I wanted to see the book in a fresh way, you know?”
“Oh my god, congratulations, Josh! That’s huge.” Simply finishing that book had been his dream. She couldn’t believe he’d surpassed that and actually sold it. “I mean really huge. You’re what, nineteen? And you’ve sold a book? Do you know what a big freaking deal that is?”
“I’m aware,” Josh said with a laugh. “It’s also, as I’m learning, a big freaking amount of pressure.”
“So are you just in Echo Bay for a vacation from it all?” she asked.
“Not exactly.” Josh paused, stealing another look at her. “After you told me so much about Echo Bay that summer, I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I ended up setting the second half of my book in a North Shore town. My editor wants me to rework the ending, so I thought I’d come up here and see if I could soak up some inspiration.”
They turned a corner and Echo Bay’s downtown came into view, with its brick buildings and colorful awnings. Trees dipped over the road, stretching toward one another like open arms. The packed streets of summer were gone, but the town was far from quiet, people spilling out of Pat-a-Pancake and crowding the arched windows at Bean Encounters. “Plus,” Josh went on, his voice softening, “I wanted to see you.”