Color Me Pretty

morning. And the fact that I can get up and run in the morning without passing out and without feeling sick, that's a miracle I'm not going to take for granted.
    Neither of us misses the fact that the purpose of this show is to raise money for teenagers and young adults suffering from depression.
    I doubt I received the invitation by accident.
    “Then you won't have to call them. You can write a note and tuck it in an envelope with an invitation. If they want to see you, they'll come.” Emmett smiles as he moves forward. “And they will come. I know they will.”
    “How?” I ask him, looking up, watching as he walks over to me and climbs onto the couch, dropping his head into my lap, curling onto his side. He looks so cute like this, so soft and vulnerable with his mussy hair and his stubbly jaw and his full lips. I want to kiss him forever, stay locked together and never part. Guess that's why I took the ring. I brush it against his cheek and wait for him to speak.
    “How do I know that?” he asks, cracking one eye and tilting his head to glance up at me. “That they love you? That they're probably grief stricken and lonely without you?” I give him a pair of raised brows. All he does is chuckle. “Because you're one of those people who's hard to forget. Think about Lianna Cheung.”
    “I think about her everyday.”
    “So call her.” He knows I won't, so he leans down and grabs my phone, pulls up the contacts and dials her number.
    “Emmett!” I shout, but it's too late to stop him. She'll see my name on her caller ID. At ten o'clock at night. Shit.
    “Hello?” Lianna doesn't sound sleepy. In fact, she seems wide awake, almost perky.
    “Hi there,” I begin tentatively. “This is Claire Simone … ” I trail off, hoping no more explanation is needed. It's embarrassing to try and remind somebody of who you are. Fortunately, Emmett must be right because she just laughs.
    “I knew you would call, Claire,” she says, and I hear the rumble of a sewing machine in the background. The sound makes my blood hot, and my fingers itch. I might have to draw again tonight. There's a whole stack of blank books on the counter that are calling my name, courtesy of Emmett Sinclair. “Do you think you could come into the office next Thursday?” I nod, realize she can't see me and murmur a surprised yes. “And bring that dress, if you could. I have plans for you, Miss Simone.” And on that note, she hangs up.
    Surprised wouldn't exactly be the word to describe how I'm feeling. Shocked, maybe? I have no idea what's going on. All I know is that a very, very famous talent agent and soon-to-be designer has asked me to come in, even after everything. And she wants to see my design. To say that this sort of situation is unusual would be an understatement. It doesn't even seem like a possibility.
    “I told you so,” Emmett whispers as I smack him gently on the cheek and then lean over to press an upside down kiss to his perfect mouth. “You're irresistible and unforgettable. One day, you're going to be so famous that you won't even remember the poor schmuck from the Super Smoothie.”
    “You mean my future husband?”
    “That's the guy.”
    “Maybe if he got me a cookie from the cabinet, I could imagine otherwise. I might decide to bring him along for the ride.” Emmett doesn't hesitate, just flings himself to his feet and gets what I've asked. Anything that has to do with food, and he's on it. Neither of us mentions that this is the first dessert item I've had since I moved back in. That piece of chocolate cake waves at me from the recesses of my memory. I tell it to fuck off.
    When Emmett returns and hands me the cookie, I cradle it to my chest for the longest time, pressing it against my heart while he sits down next to me with the rest of the package. I watch as he lifts one to his lips and eats the entire thing in one bite, winking at me as he chews.
    “I'm guiding the way,” he tells me with a smile, watching as I smell the cookie and twirl it around in my hands, touching it, getting myself acquainted. It's chocolate chip, soft and moist. Full of calories and fat. As soon as this thought hits me, I'm forcing it into my mouth and taking a massive bite. Can I just say: heaven.
    I finish my cookie at the same time Emmett downs his third, and then a grab a second. Together we finish the entire package.
    “You owe me a run in the morning,” I tell him and he laughs.
    I don't think about or mention the