Chapter Twenty-Three
Panic is not productive. Panic is not productive.
There’s got to be a simple explanation for this. She ran down for a piece of pie at the diner, and we just crossed paths. Someone called with a dress emergency. It is Saturday, and I vaguely recall she had a bride with a wedding this afternoon.
But she hasn’t picked up her phone, nor has she answered my texts, which she’s been good about since we shared our secrets. It’s this alone, that makes my skin crawl with worry, that feeds my imagination with the worst possible scenario.
I’m not a stalker boyfriend. Emmaline can go wherever she wants. If she wants to meet a friend for coffee and forgets to tell me, that’s her right. I trust her. Maybe she ran out of lace and needed to drive to Manhattan. Cell service is sketc
