“Aw,” Emma said, stroking her. “What a sweet girl.”

Killer was a lot of things. Too smart for her own good. Independent. High maintenance. But sweet? No. And frankly, Alison was boggled as Emma handed over Killer and then grabbed a mop and went back out front to clean up the mess on the floor.

Okay, fine. So Emma knew her stuff. Maybe she’d make the perfect person for this building. Maybe. She followed Emma out, watching as she waved at Miss Kitty and got a warm wave in return.

Huh.

“She comes with the place,” Alison explained. “Not negotiable.”

“She’s welcome,” Emma said in a tone that made Alison’s spine go ramrod straight.

Miss Kitty bowed her head at Emma, for a beat actually looking sweet and compliant. Feeling oddly jealous, Alison crossed her arms. “Okay, I feel behind. Catch me up. You and Simon are . . . what exactly?”

“He’s my PT.”

The memory concerning Emma’s arm suddenly clicked in for Alison as she flashed back to the news stories about Emma’s accident.

Killer, who’d caught sight of Hog again, now standing as close to the front door as he could get, was back to growling low in her throat.

“Stop before you get peed on again,” Alison told her.

Killer did not stop.

Emma headed toward Hog—the strangest name for a dog Alison had ever heard—and glanced at Killer on her way. “Hush now. I know he’s scary big, but I promise you, he’d never hurt you.”

Killer leapt from Alison’s arms right into Emma’s, while Alison just stared because her dog—whom Alison counted on to hate everyone—had just made a friend before her.

Emma kissed Killer’s cute little face. “Sweet girl. I’m going to set you down now, and you’re going to be nice to my baby. There’s enough love for everyone here. Yeah?”

Killer blinked her two lovestruck-puppy eyes. Emma laughed, kissed her again, and set her on the floor. Then she pulled Hog away from the door he’d hugged himself up to. No easy feat given that he must’ve weighed well over a hundred pounds. Emma crouched in front of him. “I know she was mean, but she’s sorry. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

The big oaf licked her from chin to forehead and Alison shuddered at how much slobber must’ve been involved. Emma simply smiled and kissed her dog between the eyes. “Remember, we don’t give in to bullies. We’ve got this.”

“Hey,” Alison said. “You think we’re the bullies? Are you kidding me?”

Emma looked up. “You told everyone in our entire school that I put out to get A’s in AP Biology and AP History.”

Alison bit back her wince. “You have no proof that was me.”

“You keyed ‘bitch’ into the car I drove to school.”

When Alison had woken up that morning, she’d never in a million years known she’d be facing her past later. Which she hated to do on a good day. But now it was a bad day and it was all coming back to her, flooding her head with the miserable memories.

In their junior year of high school, Alison had volunteered at the local women’s center, logging hours for scholarships. Once she’d had enough on the books, she’d quit so she could get a job bagging groceries for actual money, which she’d needed, badly.

Emma had taken over Alison’s volunteer position at the women’s center. And when someone from the scholarship board had called to verify Alison’s hours, Emma had said Alison didn’t work there. Not “she did work here for a time” . . . just “she doesn’t work here.”

Alison had lost the scholarship—and the chance to go to her dream school, UCLA. She’d ended up having to stay in Wildstone, which she hated.

So yeah, she’d started the rumors about Emma. Keyed her car. She wasn’t proud of it, but she’d certainly paid the price. And in the end, none of it had hurt Emma, though it’d nearly destroyed Alison. “We’re not here to talk about our history.”

“Maybe we should,” Emma said. “Get it all out in the open. And actually, you’d be helping me since I’ve got some serious holes in my memory. To be honest, high school’s just a blur.”

What kind of bullshit was that? She’d ruined Alison’s life and didn’t even remember doing it? “Great idea. Let’s ignore the past.”

Emma stared at her. “That’s literally the opposite of what I just suggested.”

“Look, do you want to lease this building or not?”

Emma laughed roughly and sat. Right there on the floor, like maybe her knees were weak or something. She took in a shaky breath and began to rub her thigh and calf muscles.

“What are you doing?” Alison asked as Hog plopped at Emma’s side and pressed up tight against her.

“Sorry.” Emma ground her teeth. “Cramp.” Sweat broke out on her temple and she went pale. So pale she was nearly see-through. Alison pulled out her phone to call 911.

“Don’t.”

“Do you need help?”

“Not from you.”

Okaaaay. Alison slid her phone away and wondered how to proceed. A tactful person she was not. “I, uh, heard about your accident last year.” Hard not to, it’d been all over the news. Emma had been out for a run and stepped off a curb. The stop sign had been hidden behind an old, gnarly, overgrown oak tree. An oncoming car missed the sign and hit Emma before spinning out of control, in turn getting hit by a second car in the intersection.

Someone had died. Emma had nearly died as well, but after a coma, she had made a miraculous recovery. “I saw that the town sent you a life-size card with a bunch of get well signatures. I go to the town hall meetings to represent my uncle and his business, and it came up.”

“Did it?” Emma asked, rubbing her leg. “Because I didn’t see your name on the card.”

“There were hundreds of signatures on that card, how could you possibly know I wasn’t one of them?”

“Because I read all the signatures.”

“All of them?”

Emma sighed. “Look, I know you can’t possibly understand unless you’ve gone through it, but try to imagine being in a coma for two months, during which time you were kinda sorta aware of what was going on around you, but mostly felt like you were living in a weird, distorted nightmare. For fifty-nine long days and nights, completely and utterly alone, unable to move. Then you wake up and learn that not only can you not go home, but you have to go to a rehab facility. For the rest of the year.”