gloves around Annie, the way her friends back in Connecticut had.
After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled into her neighborhood and loosened her hold on the wheel—and her emotions.
It was only then that Annie let herself cry. She had allowed herself to believe that tonight would get her one step closer to a deeper understanding of who she was. Maybe it was the universe, karma, and the tooth fairy—who still had it in for Annie since she’d refused to hand over her teeth for a measly twenty-five cents a pop—all coming together to tell her, “Understand now?”
Maybe she had to grow up and face the facts that all this searching wasn’t going to change a thing. And that hollowed-out feeling in her chest she felt at night when the house was quiet and the rest of the world was at peace? It was never going to go away.
And okay, some of the tears came from a severe lack of sleep. Annie was so tired that she was tired of being tired. Tired of hoping and wishing and winding up all alone. Just when she thought she couldn’t be any more pathetic, Adele’s song, “Someone Like You,” filled her car.
The soul-crushing words slowly trickled through the night, sliding down her spine and into her heart, poking needle-size holes through her chest, as if it were the only way to let the pain drip out, tiny bits at a time because all at once would be too much.
Annie wasn’t crying over Clark or her birth parents or even what had happened tonight. She was crying because she really, really loved this song. She loved it so much that when the chorus started, she cranked it up, belting out the lyrics with Adele, as if this was carpool karaoke and Adele was in the car singing with her.
After grabbing a take-out napkin stashed in her glove box, she dabbed at one eye and then the other before giving a quick blow. Just then, a shadowy figure emerged from the mist.
“What the hell?” Annie screamed, and jerked the wheel.
Heart hammering, she stomped on the brakes, sending up a quick prayer that she’d reacted fast enough. Her car slid across the slick road, stopping mere inches before she would have engaged in a very messy game of chicken with a pedestrian who, she noticed, was wearing a pair of low-hung jeans that encased one hell of an amazing butt. A very drenched butt she’d been secretly admiring all too often lately had crossed the road right in front of her car.
She watched until he reached the sidewalk, then turned off the radio and took a few deep breaths to calm herself.
He had no umbrella, no raincoat, and absolutely no reason for walking in the middle of the road on this dark and stormy night. Not that he seemed to care.
Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her coat, she slowly pulled alongside him. One last sniffle—God, she hoped it was dark enough outside that he would not be able to make out the telltale puffy eyes and red nose—and she rolled down the window.
“You know, there’s a crosswalk ten yards ahead,” she said out the window.
Silently, he stormed past her car without even sparing her a glance. Emmitt was in a mood—and working hard to ignore her.
Slowly, she crept forward until she was again by his side. “You okay?”
He stopped and turned to face her. Those usually warm brown eyes flickered with fire, but it was the way the soft planes of his face had folded in on themselves that had her worried. He was clearly in pain.
“Seriously, Emmitt, are you okay?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Hop in and let me give you a ride home.”
He waved her off. “No thanks. I’m in a shitty mood and need to clear my head.”
“In the rain?” The water was flowing across the street in sheets. “Why don’t you clear your head in my car, where it’s dry and warm. If you want, I can open the moonroof and it will be just like you’re outside. Only you won’t get wet.”
“Already wet. Don’t care,” was all he said, and continued to head due north.
Annie took her foot off the brake and kept pace with him. Ignoring the rain pelting her in the face, she stuck her head out the window. “I care because you get grumpy when you’re wet and I don’t want to have to deal with Grumpy Emmitt.” She gentled her voice. “Did