Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 146

Some people say, “If I’d known where I’d end up, I would’ve actually paid attention in high school instead of skipping so many classes.”

Others sigh, “If I’d known he liked me too, I wouldn’t have chickened out on graduation day. I would’ve told him how I felt. All these years–what a missed chance.”

Renee took a sip of her drink and said, “If I could start over, I’d never let myself be dependent on anyone else.”

Alcohol and honesty go hand in hand. As the drinks kept coming, the effect was palpable. The room grew misty–eyed with old regrets, everyone feeling the tug of memories—youth slipping into adulthood, and all the little things they wished they’d done differently.

“Emma, what about you? What’s your biggest regret? If you had a do–over, what would you change?” someone asked.

Emma was still holding her glass, the golden liquid catching the dim light. In her mind, she saw that Mid–Autumn night from years ago—the scent of blooming flowers in the backyard, twinkling like tiny stars.

She smiled faintly. “If I could start over…”

Just then, the door swung open. Theodore stood on the threshold.

“If I could start over,” Emma blurted, the alcohol making her bolder, “that Autumn Festival pastry from junior year–I’d eat the whole thing myself. Wouldn’t share it with anybody!” The ache inside her ballooned, pressing against her chest until even breathing felt difficult.

She took a deep breath and looked up, only to see Theodore in the doorway, his figure silhouetted by the murky light.

A classmate laughed at her wish. “Emma, what kind of festival pastry was it? Must’ve been amazing. Now you’ve got me craving it.”

“Yeah, was it from some famous old bakery? Do they still make it?”

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Chapter 146

Everyone assumed she was talking about a legendary pastry from some shop that had long since closed its doors, a taste from childhood that could never be found again.

Emma kept her gaze on Theodore, her eyes stinging and blurring from the alcohol. “It wasn’t anything special–just something my family used to bake when I was little.”

That set off a chorus of nostalgic complaints. “Seriously, I think all these fancy new pastries just can’t compare to the simple ones we had as kids.”

“I know, right? I always loved the old–fashioned stuff.”

“Hey, Theodore!”

Someone finally noticed him lingering by the door.

“Get in here, Theodore! You’re late!”

The seat next to Emma was quickly vacated.

Emma was already feeling dizzy, and Theodore’s image doubled in her vision. She tried to stop him from sitting beside her, tugging weakly at a friend’s sleeve, but didn’t manage. Theodore settled in next to her without

hesitation.

“Theodore, you’re late–shouldn’t you have to down three drinks as a penalty?” Carlisle, one of the guys, lined up three shot glasses in front of

him.

Theodore grinned, but instead of reaching for the drinks, he slipped an arm around Emma and looked down at her. “Sorry, man. I’m just here to pick up my wife–I’ve got to drive her home later.”

“Call a cab, then!” someone joked.

Theodore chuckled. “No way. Look at her–you guys have already gotten my wife tipsy. If I get drunk too, who’s going to take care of her?”

Emma was definitely tipsy, but she could still follow the conversation, even if her reactions were a bit more blunt than usual. Without thinking,

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she pushed Theodore away and muttered, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Go away.”

The words slipped out before she could stop herself, pure instinct.

“Emma, you’re really drunk. Let’s go home,” Theodore said, trying to help

her up.

But Emma pulled back stubbornly, her voice muffled as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “I’m not leaving. I’m not going home…”

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