Pete Beach, Saturday, February 27, 6:45 p.m. Emma shivered. It had been a beautiful day, the warmth welcome after the snow in Cincinnati. But the air cooled quickly as she watched the sun set from the wide balcony outside Crabby Bill’s bar. She pulled on the jacket that went with the dress she’d agonized over for hours. Was it too dressy? She didn’t want to look too dressy. She didn’t want him to get the idea that she’d come to take him up on his seventeen-year-old offer. Was it too casual? She didn’t want that either, didn’t want him to think that this apology was something she just did because she had nothing better to do. Emma drew a breath and huffed it out on a laugh. She was compulsing, as usual. He’d probably come in khaki pants and a polo shirt like everybody else here. They’d have a relaxed dinner, she’d humble herself in apology, then she’d go home to Cincinnati, her conscience appeased. He’d return to the life he’d built here.
