Cross My Heart, Hope To Die

Sun poured through the kitchen’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Emma perched at the island counter and watched as Mrs. Mercer measured loose-leaf tea into a purple-flowered teapot. “Remember playing tea when you were little?” Mrs. Mercer asked, smiling. “You would bring your stuffed animals down and sit them around the table and pretend to serve them crumpets.”



“Crumpets?” Emma rolled her eyes as she imagined Sutton would have done. “I did not.”



“Yes, you did. I don’t think you even knew what crumpets were—you just heard the word somewhere and liked how it sounded.”



Emma smiled. She liked hearing sweet memories of her sister.



I liked that my mom had sweet memories of me.



“How’s Ethan?” Mrs. Mercer poured hot water over the leaves. Lavender-scented steam billowed from the teapot’s spout.



“He’s good.” Emma couldn’t wipe a dopey grin off her face. “We’re having a picnic tonight.”



Mrs. Mercer raised an eyebrow. “How romantic.”



Emma ducked her head, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “We’re going stargazing—he’s really into astronomy. I was going to bake cookies this afternoon to take with us.”



“You’re making cookies?” Mrs. Mercer peered at her. “You don’t even know how to turn the oven on!”



“Oh, I’m sure I can figure it out,” Emma covered. It didn’t surprise her that Sutton didn’t know how to cook, but she’d been baking since junior high, making chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and peanut butter blossoms to try to win over her various foster families. Baking relaxed her. She liked to sit, listening to her favorite music on the used iPod she’d bought at Goodwill, inhaling the delicious smells of sugar and chocolate.



I just hoped she didn’t lick the batter from the spoon. Sutton Mercer did not get love handles.



“Well, I’m sure he’ll love them, even if they’re a little burned,” Mrs. Mercer teased.



“Gee, thanks, Mom,” Emma groused good-naturedly. Just talking about her night with Ethan made Emma’s heart speed up. It felt like ages since their date at the movie studio, and she couldn’t wait to feel his breath on her ear and his lips on hers. She smiled at the thought of his cryptic text from that morning: N 32° 12' 23.2554", W 110° 41' 18.3012" =