Free Color Me Pretty by C.M. Stunich Page B

care,” she tells me, as I turn away and wonder if I'm ever going to see her face again.
    I sure hope so.
    I'm really early, but I go back to my room and grab my suitcase before heading down to the lobby and pausing at the counter. The clerk looks like he's been there all night, and he gives me a half-lidded look and a yawn as I explain my situation to him. It's too early for me to go, he tells me, but I can get the paperwork out of the way, so I do.
    I sign on all the X's, and I dot all my i 's before I sit down to wait.
    It's the longest three hours of my life.
    I do not draw; I do not read. I just sit there, and I think, and I think, and I think. I have a lot of that to do. It isn't fun, not necessarily. I mean, at times I let my mind drift to thoughts of Emmett's taught belly and his moist lips, but mostly, I keep it introspective. I've never had much use for this sort of process before, but then, maybe that's why I ended up here. I don't delve too deep into my own psyche, just enough that I skim the surface of who I was, who I am, and who I'd like to be.
    By the time Emmett arrives, I'm practically in a coma.
    He sees me before I see him and comes over to stand at my side, silent but strong. Self-worth and understanding roll off of him in waves and soak into my damaged spirit. But, of course, as shallow as I am, the first thing I notice are the designer shoes in my limited field of vision. Stupidly, I think, Gee, who is wearing Dolce & Gabbana suede sneakers to this dump?
    My eyes flicker up and then immediately fill with tears. I blink them back and rise to my feet, slow and steady.
    “Hey there, beautiful,” he says with a slightly crooked smile. Emmett's brown eyes twinkle at me as my hands make their way up to his face and slide across the freshly shaved surface of his chin, moving back until they're wrapped around his neck and our chests are pressed firmly against one another's. “Waiting for someone?”
    I smile back.
    “Not really,” I say. “I just saw these ridiculously expensive shoes on the feet of a guy who's wearing thirty dollar Target jeans and wondered what the hell he was trying to play at.” Emmett grins and presses his forehead to mine. White, hot heat sears through me as he runs his fingers over my hips and twines them together in the small of my back. I forget to be self-conscious for just a second. That's the beauty of Emmett Sinclair; he makes me forget.
    “Whoa there, Claire,” he says, nipping my bottom lip with gentle teeth. The guy behind the counter watches us apathetically. “You are totally off your game. What kind of fashionista are you? These are actually from Old Navy, and they cost nineteen dollars on sale, okay? Get it straight.”
    “Oh, oops,” I say, closing the small distance between us with my mouth. “My mistake.”
    When our lips touch, gently, oh so gently, I know that the sky could fall down around me, and I wouldn't care. I'm just happy to be standing here with Emmett, feeling his warmth against my skin. Again, you want proof of life before life? Of existence beyond this small bit of earth? Just look at me and Emmett. My soul knows his. It's true. I didn't get that before, but I do now, in this moment, in this kiss. This blissfully, beautiful, gentle kiss.
    When we pull apart finally, regretfully, the man behind the counter says I'm cleared to go.
    I don't question him.
    Emmett takes my suitcase in one hand and me in the other, arm wrapped around my waist and guides me to his car. I close my eyes as he opens the door to avoid catching a glimpse of myself in the window. I feel okay at this moment, but if I see myself again, I might have a fit. When Emmett looks at me, I can tell he doesn't find me near as hideous as I find myself, but he can't possibly believe that I'm beautiful. I have no hair, for God's sake.
    I climb into Emmett's red sports car and let my fingers play across the leather seats. It's doubtful that I'll be getting my Fiesta back. I'm going to have