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CHAPTER 5 ... part 1
(The Night We Met — Lord Huron)
THE red string theory is the belief that every pinky is connected by an invisible red string, woven into the very universe herself. It connects those who are destined to meet, stretching and tangling – but never breaking.
Embry Call believed that is what brought Alma Uley to him.
Like a bungee cord, despite how far she'd gone, she was pre-destined to spring back up to where he was.
He spent the rest of his shift thinking of her. The way her hair curled at the ends, the way lashes laid on her cheek when she blinked, the small scar on her upper lip from when she fell off a tree. He thought about how the sweet smell of vanilla and orange rolled off of her in waves, a tide that pulled Embry in further and further.
The amount of times he dozed off, how many orders he messed up, CeCe decided it was enough reason to let Embry leave early.
All else faded as thoughts of Alma began to plague his mind. If it was at all possible, Alma Uley definitely got prettier. Despite the large and bulky knee brace that was bolted against her leg and the fact that it was clear shed thrown on what was most convenient (a Duke hoodie paired with sweat shorts) – Alma still shone brighter than anyone in any room.
And her touch – God, when her fingers grazed his own, contact so simple yet so sincere, so intimate. His hands still buzzed from her touch, a pleasant electric shock coursing in his veins. Embry couldn't help the smile that painted his face, eyes sparkling as images of the future flashed against them.
Even before this moment, Embry thought Alma was tragically stunning. In fact, he was always aware of her beauty – but it wasn't until their freshman prom that it became much more than acknowledgement.
They had gone together, far too young and far too dumb to understand the meaning of love. The suit he wore was a few sizes to big, ill-fitting to the point that Embry looked more like a little boy than a teen. Luckily, Tiffany Call was handy with a sewing kit, making the bagginess look far more fashionable than deserved.
When he stood in front of the Uley household, hands gripping a hand-made corsage (of which Tiffany spent hours on), he wasn't expecting the sight in front of him.
Alma was always pretty, but that night? Soft pink blush hung about her like softly spun silks and silhouetted flowers decorated the fabric in pure elegance. Her body, of which Embry wasn't sure when it had gotten to this point, curved with the cinched in the bodice. Her long hair lay loosely curled; pink ribbons braided into the shining locks along with her mother's pearls. Rogue tinged her cheeks in a flushed manner, mascara adding to her doe eyes.
