It Wasn't Always Like This - Joy Preble Page 0,4

met them, too, though not in any way that could be explained to the authorities.

She remembered bringing Matt home now. Remembered eating those greasy tacos. “Give me a bite,” he’d said, grinning. But she hadn’t shared the taco. Even drunk, Emma was particular about her food.

He’d tried to kiss her a few times on the walk from the bar, and she’d giggled, batting him away. They’d stumbled into the apartment, and her mood changed. The air was fresh inside from the little Christmas tree she’d put up this year—her small acknowledgement that it was the holiday season, fa-la-la. She’d f lipped on the tiny Italian lights and forgotten to turn them off. They were still twinkling in the branches. She’d been very drunk. It had been very late.

She should have focused on the case. She should have trailed that guy she’d followed, Elodie’s classmate, back to his house. Or made sure Coral got home from that party. But it was just after Christmas, almost New Year’s. And even after all this time, all that loss took a cheap shot at her, and there she was: bringing someone home, someone who hadn’t looked at her carefully. Who tried to kiss her while she shoved tacos in her mouth and let her pretend the pain wasn’t there, who had no clue that the world hurtled forward while she stayed exactly the same.

Someone who wasn’t—would never be—Charlie.

Matt’s lips twitched. “We could go to breakfast . . .” The offer did not sound particularly heartfelt. He scratched the back of his head. The word believe was tattooed in blue on his forearm. Last night it had seemed the most interesting thing about him. Emma had almost called him on it: “Believe in what?” But even drunk, she’d known that this question could have led anywhere.

Now she moved toward the window. Clicked off the tiny Italian lights. She felt sticky and tired, but the hangover was already fading, as it always did.

“This was fun,” she lied. He needed to get the hint. She needed to call Coral. She needed to brush her teeth.

Matt took a step toward the bedroom door. Emma watched as he patted his pockets, touching wallet and phone. She could see their indentations against his thighs. There was a spot of something that looked like queso on the left knee of his jeans. She tried not to think of tacos, but her stomach was already recovering, too.

He paused, his gaze landing on the ornate gold-chained pocket watch hanging from the wall by her bed.

“Didn’t peg you for the old-fashioned type.”

She shrugged. Maybe he meant that no one wore pocket watches these days, which was mostly true. As far as she could tell, the people in charge of the latest fashion mined the past the way everybody mined the past—perpetually and always.

She wanted to snatch it away, wanted him to leave now, but instead she said more defensively than she meant, “It was a gift.”

His gaze shifted back to her, looking her up and down. “You know you could pass for younger. Sixteen, even.”

Good, he was done talking about the watch. Now he was stuck on the age thing. Maybe he was worried he’d broken the law.

“You killed it at history trivia,” he said. He paused, as if trying and then failing to remember any other salient details about the night. In Emma’s estimation, this was for the best for the both of them. Matt hadn’t broken the law, but he hadn’t been good at history trivia, either. Or books. Or movies, except war movies.

Matt could quote every war movie he’d ever seen. Matt had a def inite thing for war movies. “Wanna know what Patton said about winning a battle?” he’d asked and she’d shrugged, which he’d taken as a yes. But the bourbon had muddled whatever his answer was.

“See you later,” she said now, a lie. She handed him his striped dress shirt. It smelled of beer and sweat and some kind of cologne that should have been a deal breaker. Christ.

Matt tucked the shirt over his arm rather than putting it on.

Then he smiled as if he wanted to say something gentlemanly, but thought better of it. Good for him.

When Matt was f inally gone, Emma stood under a hot shower for a long time, washing the previous evening away. Having grown up before indoor plumbing was a given, Emma had a keen adoration for endless hot water.

Then she dried and dressed and brushed her teeth. She f lossed. Emma