It takes me a second to recognise it, then I laugh, though my chest tightens with the effort. “Bernard’s pig?”
“Not the same one,” she says quickly, smiling now. “I didn’t steal his. But I found one just like it.”
I hold it up, the tiny stitched snout pointing accusingly at her. “You’re giving me a comfort pig?”
“An emotional support pig,” she corrects. “To match his.”
I shake my head, still grinning. “You realise this is going to be hard to explain if Will ever drops by.”
“He’ll cope,” she says softly. “You both will.”
I look at the little toy again, then at her. “Thank you.”
She meets my eyes, her smile fading into something quieter. “You scared me,” she whispers.
“I know.” I reach out, my fingers brushing hers. “But I’m here.”
For a moment, that’s enough. The room feels still again, filled with the kind of silence that doesn’t need fixing.
After a while, I clear my throat. “So… where do we go from here?”
She hesitates, then gives a small shrug. “I can stay another week or two. I can work from here.”
I nod, though I already know what she’s not saying. “But London’s not your place.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “No,” she admits quietly. “It isn’t.”
I lean back, the idea forming as I speak. “What if we go back to St Claire for a bit? Rent one of the cottages. Somewhere near the hills. You can work, I can recover properly, and Bernard can supervise.”
That earns a small laugh, the first real one I’ve heard from her in days. “And for how long, exactly?”
I smile, slow and certain. “A few weeks to start. And if we like it… maybe forever.”
She looks at me for a long time, searching my face like she’s trying to see if I mean it.
Then she nods, the tiniest movement. “All right,” she says softly. “Let’s try.”
I reach for her hand again, and she lets me hold it.
Her fingers fit against mine like they’ve always known where to rest.
For a while neither of us speaks. The city buzzes quietly beyond the windows, but here, everything feels still, like the world’s finally decided to give us a moment to breathe.
“I need to tell you something,” I say after a pause. My voice still isn’t strong, but the words come easily.
She tilts her head. “What’s that?”
“I don’t remember much about what happened out there,” I say slowly. “It’s all bits and flashes—noise, heat, light. But I remember the last thought I had before everything went black.”
Her brow creases, waiting.
“It was you,” I say simply. “Not the work, not the fear, not whether we’d make it out. Just you. Your voice, your laugh, the way you looked when we said goodbye at Skipton.”
Her breath catches, and her eyes shine again, but she doesn’t look away.
“I love you, Eve,” I say. “I think I did long before I realised it.”
For a moment she just stares at me, as if she’s trying to memorise every word. Then she leans in, rests her forehead against mine, and whispers, “I love you, too.”
