Grooving to Life's Beat

Ink and High Heels: Meet Emma Spencer

At 23, life is like trying to follow a recipe without the ingredients: improvising as you go and crossing your fingers for a decent outcome that won't end in complete chaos. And love? Well, that's the most complicated part of my existence. On one hand, I'm constantly trying to please everyone and live up to their expectations. On the other hand, what I feel and what I truly want often have nothing to do with what others expect of me. Maybe I'm just a weirdo. But the worst part? In this rush to make everyone happy, I often end up losing myself.

I'm Emma Spencer by the way, a walking-talking contradiction wrapped in a silk dress and high heels. You'll probably see me strutting down 7th Avenue, Hermès bag swinging, like it's my personal runway. Confidence? Oh, I wear it like armor, polished and untouchable. But behind my oversized sunglasses, I'm just a girl trying to keep it together. A little too emotional. A little too lost. A little too much of everything.

On the outside, I've got the world at my feet, born into a family where wealth and status are as commonplace as morning coffee. But inside, I'm just someone trying to figure out where I fit in a world that seems to have me all figured out. Growing up in a family of lawyers and architects, I was the odd one out, the dreamer who preferred stories over statutes, novels over blueprints. My parents, with their plans and expectations, always had a different path in mind for me.

My law degree became the crown I never wanted, more duty than desire. It was a choice made to keep the peace, to meet the expectations of a family that couldn't understand why I'd want to trade the security of a law career for the uncertainty and unconventional life of a writer.

Then there was Alexander, my high school sweetheart. The perfect first love. Sweet, steady, safe. We talked about everything, dreamed about forever, and then somewhere along the way... we got stuck. Our love became too comfortable, too familiar. So we took a break. We called it a pause for clarity.

But sometimes a break breaks everything.

I packed my bags and left. I needed air. Space. A chance to figure out who I was when I wasn't busy being perfect for everyone else.

That's how New York happened. Loud, chaotic, thrilling New York. The place where I could finally start becoming the version of myself that had always lived in my journal margins.

I signed up for a descriptive writing class. One small, rebellious step toward the life I actually wanted. A slow rebellion, maybe. But mine.

And just as I was settling into this new, creative life and overpriced coffee, my phone chimed.

Logan: "Hey stranger, I heard you're in NYC. I'm in the city for some meetings. Wanna catch up sometime?"

Logan. Alexander's best friend. A name from another life. One I hadn't thought about in weeks and now he was here, in my city, in my inbox.

I stared at the screen, brain short-circuiting as I tried to figure out how to respond. And then, in a true Emma Spencer fashion way, while overthinking every possible reply, I crashed into a solid wall of muscle.

My phone flew from my hand. My knees hit the sidewalk.

"Ouch!"

And then I looked up.

Sharp jaw. Fitted hoodie. Baseball cap turned backward. But it was the eyes that hit me hardest. Icy blue, piercing, and so clear they might as well have punched the air out of my lungs.

He blinked down at me. His expression unreadable.

"What the fuck?" he muttered, stepping back like I'd thrown myself at him on purpose.

"I... I'm sorry," I stammered, scrambling to my feet. "My phone... I wasn't looking, I just..."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Man, I'm so fucking tired of dumb people not watching where they're going."

Dumb people?

A flush crept up my neck. "I said I was sorry."

"No shit." He was already walking away, muttering under his breath like I was just another problem in his day. "Try watching where you're going next time."

I swallowed hard, grabbing my phone. "Sorry..."

And just like that, he walked away without a second glance. Meanwhile, I stood there, heart still hammering, watching him. Rude. That was my first thought. My second?

Well, I had no business noticing how good he looked walking away.

Not exactly the textbook definition of handsome, not in the polished, cute guy kind of way. More like reckless, bad boy, street style kind.... witch is totally not my type!

...But still. Handsome. Damn it.