Because I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . Or maybe I did. But I was only listening. Not obsessing.
“Oh, whatever,” Lilly said. “You just need to go talk to him again. Give yourself another chance to make a better impression.”
“I’m not
ever
going over there to talk to him—not without a personal invitation or a really good, completely pl ausible, verifiable-with-physical-proof reason. Even if I did have a reason, I would never ask him to go to Grayson’s wedding. That would just be . . .”
“Amazing,” Lilly interjected. “It would be amazing.”
“I was going to say awkward.”
“Emma, just think about it. Everybody at that wedding is going to remember you as the Emma who was going somewhere. You said yourself Grayson acted like your star had dimmed. Who knows what kind of things he’s been telling people about your fall from Cleveland.”
“I didn’t
fall
from Cleveland. I left. On purpose.”
“I know that, and you know that, but no one else does. What better way to show everyone you’ve still got it than by showing up to the wedding with Elliott Hart?”
“So, use his celebrity to make myself look . . . what, more important? More accomplished? You know that’s not my style.”
She frowned. “Okay, no. It’s not your style. But . . . I dunno. He’d still be the hottest guy at the wedding. It might be fun for that reason alone.”
He would definitely be the hottest guy at the wedding. He was the hottest guy anywhere. But I still couldn’t ask him. Because asking required talking, and I wasn’t plann ing on talking to him ever again. It was the only surefire way to guarantee I didn’t humiliate myself.
“Have you seen him around at all?” I asked Lilly.
“Who, Elliott?”
I held my hands up and shot her a look.
“Calm down,” she replied. “I’ve just seen him once. He helped me carry my groceries in yesterday. Have
you
seen him around?”
I shook my head. “Only a few times, but I don’t think they really count. I saw him, but he didn’t see me.”
“Yeah, I guess he wouldn’t if you’re hiding in the bushes.” Lilly stood and stretched her arms over her head, then stifled a yawn. “Emma, you live here. You can’t hide from him forever.”
“I know! But I still feel so stupid. You can’t know the extent of our conversation, Lil. It was quite possibly the worst conversation I have ever had with a man. Or maybe with anyone. Ever. There is no way to recover from that.” I flipped the light in the kitchen and followed her into the hallway.
“So that’s it, then? You’ll just never talk to him again?”
No.
Yes.
I have no idea.
“Maybe not forever. But the next time we talk, it has to feel completely natural. I just don’t want it to be forced, you know? It has to just happen.”
* * *
The irony of my comment was not lost on me when the following Sunday morning, just after sacrament meeting, old Sister Sheehan snake d her way through the crowd and snagged Elliott before he’d made it three steps away from his pew. She gripped his arm and had a gleam in her eye as she looked pointedly in my direction. I was in for a confrontation with Elliott that was anything but the organic encounter I’d been hoping for. With Sister Sheehan at the helm, his second impression of me might actually be worse than the first.
I hid behind the Stevenson kid, grateful for his high-school-linebacker–sized shoulders, and almost made it to the safety of the hallway, now bustling with people. But when my shield stopped to flirt with a girl lingering in the back pew (curse you, high school romances), Sister Sheehan managed to cut me off before I could make my escape.
“Emma dear. I’m so glad you’re here today.” When she finally released Elliott’s arm, he shook his sleeve and shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. He didn’t look annoyed, really, just sort of . . . weary.
“When I saw this handsome young man in the back row, I knew he had to be
“Oh, whatever,” Lilly said. “You just need to go talk to him again. Give yourself another chance to make a better impression.”
“I’m not
ever
going over there to talk to him—not without a personal invitation or a really good, completely pl ausible, verifiable-with-physical-proof reason. Even if I did have a reason, I would never ask him to go to Grayson’s wedding. That would just be . . .”
“Amazing,” Lilly interjected. “It would be amazing.”
“I was going to say awkward.”
“Emma, just think about it. Everybody at that wedding is going to remember you as the Emma who was going somewhere. You said yourself Grayson acted like your star had dimmed. Who knows what kind of things he’s been telling people about your fall from Cleveland.”
“I didn’t
fall
from Cleveland. I left. On purpose.”
“I know that, and you know that, but no one else does. What better way to show everyone you’ve still got it than by showing up to the wedding with Elliott Hart?”
“So, use his celebrity to make myself look . . . what, more important? More accomplished? You know that’s not my style.”
She frowned. “Okay, no. It’s not your style. But . . . I dunno. He’d still be the hottest guy at the wedding. It might be fun for that reason alone.”
He would definitely be the hottest guy at the wedding. He was the hottest guy anywhere. But I still couldn’t ask him. Because asking required talking, and I wasn’t plann ing on talking to him ever again. It was the only surefire way to guarantee I didn’t humiliate myself.
“Have you seen him around at all?” I asked Lilly.
“Who, Elliott?”
I held my hands up and shot her a look.
“Calm down,” she replied. “I’ve just seen him once. He helped me carry my groceries in yesterday. Have
you
seen him around?”
I shook my head. “Only a few times, but I don’t think they really count. I saw him, but he didn’t see me.”
“Yeah, I guess he wouldn’t if you’re hiding in the bushes.” Lilly stood and stretched her arms over her head, then stifled a yawn. “Emma, you live here. You can’t hide from him forever.”
“I know! But I still feel so stupid. You can’t know the extent of our conversation, Lil. It was quite possibly the worst conversation I have ever had with a man. Or maybe with anyone. Ever. There is no way to recover from that.” I flipped the light in the kitchen and followed her into the hallway.
“So that’s it, then? You’ll just never talk to him again?”
No.
Yes.
I have no idea.
“Maybe not forever. But the next time we talk, it has to feel completely natural. I just don’t want it to be forced, you know? It has to just happen.”
* * *
The irony of my comment was not lost on me when the following Sunday morning, just after sacrament meeting, old Sister Sheehan snake d her way through the crowd and snagged Elliott before he’d made it three steps away from his pew. She gripped his arm and had a gleam in her eye as she looked pointedly in my direction. I was in for a confrontation with Elliott that was anything but the organic encounter I’d been hoping for. With Sister Sheehan at the helm, his second impression of me might actually be worse than the first.
I hid behind the Stevenson kid, grateful for his high-school-linebacker–sized shoulders, and almost made it to the safety of the hallway, now bustling with people. But when my shield stopped to flirt with a girl lingering in the back pew (curse you, high school romances), Sister Sheehan managed to cut me off before I could make my escape.
“Emma dear. I’m so glad you’re here today.” When she finally released Elliott’s arm, he shook his sleeve and shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. He didn’t look annoyed, really, just sort of . . . weary.
“When I saw this handsome young man in the back row, I knew he had to be
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