“This collage is one of my favorites in this collection,” I finish abruptly, already stepping back. “I apologize, there’s something I need to take care of…if you’ll excuse me.”

It’s horribly unprofessional to leave them hanging like that, but I have no choice—I feel like I might pass out or throw up or something else equally as mortifying.

I swallow down my nerves and press a shaking hand to my stomach, hoping to staunch the quell of unease building inside me. I edge around the side of the room, trying to put as much distance between me and the person who just strolled in as possible.

I wish I hadn’t recognized my old classmate right away. It’s been well over a decade since I last saw Emmett, so he should be nothing more than a stranger by now, especially considering the stark differences between the boy I knew at St. John’s and the man across the room. Even as I flee, I can’t help but peer back at him. He’s only grown more fearsome with age. It’s as if he’s taken a flame and burned off the edges of boyhood, only to step clear of the ashes wholly formed as a tall, confident man, the embodiment of arrogant grace.

He’s easily the most well-dressed man in the room clad in a black suit and tie with a decadently crisp white shirt. His sartorial accomplishments are mainly in the details though: the expensive tailored cut of his suit, the vintage black leather watch adorning his wrist, the gold cufflinks likely stamped with his family’s crest. I bet if I were to peer closer, there’d be two letters embroidered in cursive on the cuff of each sleeve: E.M.

It seems so unfair that he’s allowed to waltz into people’s lives like this.

I was able to detox from my infatuation with him once, but it was painful and exhausting. I’d rather not endure the agony of it all again, which is why I’m now lurking in a corner of the gallery like some ill-mannered recluse who’s only just stepped foot into society for the first time in her life.

I haven’t decided what I’ll do.

I could come up with some excuse and leave, but I don’t want to leave the gallery high and dry. We’re already short-staffed because Collette is out of town for a bachelorette party, which I now realize is a huge blessing. She’s a fellow St. John’s graduate who was—or is part of Emmett’s friend group. She would undoubtedly complicate this situation.

If Collette were here, I’d be forced into conversation with Emmett, and I haven’t determined yet if that’s something I want. The thought is intriguing. I’m not the same girl he used to know, but then…aren’t I? He knew me to be shy and quiet and, in large part, I still am.

I mean, look at me. It’s like I’m trying to become one with the wall.

If I’m not going to continue to flee (though I should), I have to leave this corner. I can pull off the eccentric loner look for a few minutes, but beyond that, I just seem weird. The waiters are already eyeing me curiously.