She stared up at him for a moment with pinched brows, as if considering her forgiveness. Finally, she nodded to the space on the stone ledge next to her.
He took it.
The music still throbbed, but it sounded distant. He looked around, only now noticing how hidden their spot was from the rest of the party. How the shadows and the hedge made them almost invisible.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I needed some space.”
He nodded.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I fucking hate techno.”
She laughed, the loud and uninhibited sound so surprising that he felt it in his chest. He tore his eyes away from her and focused on his hands. “Listen. I’m sorry. About earlier.”
“It’s okay.”
“No it’s not.”
“No, I mean… this is how we work, right? I say something, you correct me.” She sighed and shrugged. “It’s fine.”
She didn’t mean it as an insult, but it still felt like one. Is that how she saw him? A man who was only there to highlight her faults? Jesus.
Before he could dwell on it, she shifted next to him, catching his attention. The lights from the house silhouetted her profile. “You look lovely tonight.”
She rolled her eyes as she tipped her head back and drank the last of her champagne.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “You look beautiful.”
“Well, I went through, like, a million outfits. I think this is Lanvin,” she said, running her hands down her legs. “Or maybe Rotate? I don’t know.”
“I’m not talking about the outfit, Woodhouse. I’m talking about you.”
Her eyes darted away from him, finding something interesting in the grass at her feet.
“Thank you,” she replied softly.
Silence filled the space between them again, but it didn’t feel as foreign as it had earlier. This was familiar. Comfortable. Like here in this dark corner next to a bush and an empty fountain, away from the music and the crowds, was that lost nugget of what they once had.
“It was nice seeing you and Nadine earlier,” he said after a moment.
She turned to him. “Was it?”
He nodded. “It made me realize I was wrong before. When I said that you were being selfish with her.” He let his eyes survey the yard again as he considered. “It’s been a tough year for you. Sayinggoodbye to Margo. Getting ready for graduation. Applying for this Met internship. It’s good to see that you have someone there for you through all of it.”
She cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. “I mean… I’m glad you have a friend. I’m glad you have a best friend.”
“Well, yeah. Nadine is an amazing friend,” Emma agreed, glancing back to the party. “But she’s not my best friend.”
“No?”
“Of course not. You are.”
He turned to her. She was staring down at the brown grass again, running her toes along the stiff blades. But he could still make out her expression in the shadows, how her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth. The slight flush of her cheeks. There was no hint of ego or defense. There was just Emma.
