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Back The Companion Project Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  3. ONE
  4. HENRY
  5. TWO
  6. EMMA
  7. THREE
  8. HENRY
  9. FOUR
  10. EMMA
  11. FIVE
  12. EMMA
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. HENRY
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. HENRY
  20. ELEVEN
  21. TWELVE
  22. EMMA
  23. THIRTEEN
  24. HENRY
  25. FOURTEEN
  26. HENRY
  27. FIFTEEN
  28. SIXTEEN
  29. EMMA
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. HENRY
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. HENRY
  34. NINETEEN
  35. HENRY
  36. TWENTY
  37. TWENTY-ONE
  38. EMMA
  39. TWENTY-TWO
  40. EMMA
  41. TWENTY-THREE
  42. HENRY
  43. TWENTY-FOUR
  44. EMMA
  45. TWENTY-FIVE
  46. EMMA
  47. TWENTY-SIX
  48. EMMA
  49. TWENTY-SEVEN
  50. HENRY
  51. TWENTY-EIGHT
  52. EMMA
  53. TWENTY-NINE
  54. HENRY
  55. THIRTY
  56. HENRY
  57. THIRTY-ONE
  58. HENRY
  59. THIRTY-TWO
  60. EMMA
  61. THIRTY-THREE
  62. HENRY
  63. THIRTY-FOUR
  64. EMMA
  65. THIRTY-FIVE
  66. EMMA
  67. THIRTY-SIX
  68. HENRY
  69. THIRTY-SEVEN
  70. EMMA
  71. THIRTY-EIGHT
  72. HENRY
  73. THIRTY-NINE
  74. HENRY
  75. FORTY
  76. EMMA
  77. FORTY-ONE
  78. HENRY
  79. FORTY-TWO
  80. FORTY-THREE
  81. EMMA
  82. FORTY-FOUR
  83. EMMA
  84. FORTY-FIVE
  85. HENRY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Henry sighs, shoulders sagging, cinder blocks weighing him down. “I knew I felt something familiar and natural when I talked to you. Toward the end, the same spark was present when I talked to you in person, too. Everything I said as JD was true. I’ve never been the guy to spend hours talking to a woman, especially if the possibility of sex is off the table. You were different. I craved checking my phone. I wondered what you were doing. I hoped you were having a good day. I’d find something silly to send you because I missed you, Emma. You’re special. It was like I knew you, deep down.”

“It was the same for me,” I admit, ambivalent about sharing the truth with him. Ignoring the heaviness of severe consequences that could come from sharing what I’m about to say, there’s an urge to speak candidly and let him know he’s not alone. “I’ve never talked to a client this much. Seriously, it’s normally only a couple messages once or twice a week. It was easy to converse with you, and I wanted to answer your questions and ask my own. I thought—think—you’re extraordinary.”

“That’s good, right? If it’s a mutual feeling, we can figure this out. It’s salvageable. I meant every word I said to you in those messages. It doesn’t change because it turned out to be you.”

“I need to think about this,” I murmur. It’s a lot to process. Is it worth the risk of the unknown? How badly will we get hurt in the process?

“I understand. There’s no rush. If you say no and change your mind, I respect your decision. I won’t badmouth you. I won’t share your identity, or mention this to anyone. Ever. Emma, I swear on my life. You have my word. I’ll sign an affidavit if it will put your mind at ease. Forget about me. I want you to be okay with this, no matter which direction it goes.”

He looks, for a lack of better words, pathetic. Achingly pathetic, the sliver of hope and possibility slipping out of his fingers.

I want to hug him. Bury my face in his shirt, lace my arms around his waist, and squeeze him tight, promising to find a solution.

Together.

“The last thing I want is for you to be uneasy around me or my family for an extended period of time,” he continues. “I’m a big boy. I can handle rejection. The ball is in your court. Let me know what you decide.”