I hover at the glass door, listening. Her singing moves me, soft andluminous. When I join her at the table, she’s so lost in it she barely notices me, fingers shimmering over the strings. She tears her eyes away long enough to offer me a fleeting smile before she’s drawn straight back under.
The sight of that fire sends a swell of admiration through me—one I don’t bother hiding as I settle back in my chair to listen.
Over the next few afternoons, it becomes a pattern: I come home to find her outside again, cast propped up, guitar in her lap, entirely absorbed.
It’s as if the world falls away when she plays.
I like this change in her. She’s written music here before, shaping songs old and new, but this… This is different. There’s a sort of fervour in her now, a hungry, unstoppable stream of creation she doesn’t even try to temper.
And in this light, in this music, I see it clearly: she isn’t Natalie, nor an echo of Nova. She never was. The fear I’ve been carrying all this time was never hers to bear.
She’s Lily. Entirely, unmistakably Lily.
***
Two days before her cast is due to come off, she surprises me by putting her notebook down and asking if I’ll join her in the garden to start the thirdHarry Potterbook.
It’s just as well, because I have a surprise for her too, though I wait until we’re finished and she’s set the book aside to give her the small silk bag.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“A present. I was meaning to give this to you with the roses.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks go pink. It’s the first time either of us has brought up that day. “You didn’t have to get me anything—you’ve already done so much.”
“I’d like to do a great deal more.”
Her breathing catches, her gaze lingering on mine before she loosens the drawstring and pulls out the bracelet. The pieces of sea glass clink softly, sparkling like undulating waves.
“Oh wow,” she breathes. “This is beautiful.”
“Something to remind you of Whitstable. And me.”
“Who says I’m going anywhere?” she teases, and the earth feels moresolid beneath me.
She struggles to secure the bracelet around her wrist.
“Here—allow me,” I say, fastening the clasp.
Against her sun-warmed skin, the turquoise beads glow, the bracelet’s handmade charm far lovelier than I’d imagined.
“Sean and his mother helped me make it.”
“How clever…Thank you,” Lily says breathlessly.
“You’re welcome,” I say, my voice lower than I intend, heat threading through my words.
Her gaze lingers on mine, a blush dusting her cheeks before she looks away.
I could kiss her.
God, I could.
The way she plays with the bracelet shyly, avoiding my eyes, tempts me. My breathing shallows as I imagine the feel of her hair tangled through my fingers as I lean in.
Suddenly, she grabs the book and clears her throat as though the moment has suddenly become too much.
“Shall we continue tomorrow?” she asks, voice wavering slightly. “Reading?”
