“I just climbed out of a pub window with you,” I say. “Of course I am.”
Freya shakes her head, laughing under her breath. Then she slips her hand into mine like it belongs there. “Come on,” she says. “Before someone realises the party room is empty.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
I squeeze her fingers as we start walking away from the pub together, the sound of music and laughter fading behind us into the warm Oakwood night.
Chapter forty-nine
Freya
The night air feels colder once we’re properly away from the pub. Rory falls into step beside me easily, like we’ve been walking home together after nights out for years. Which, in a way, we have. Just… not like this.
“Cold?” he asks after a few steps.
“A little.”
Without hesitation he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders before I can protest.
“Rory…”
“Just take it.”
His hands settle briefly on my shoulders as he adjusts it, pulling the collar up slightly around my neck before his arm slides naturally around me. It’s the sort of movement that feels instinctive. Protective without being overbearing. His arm warm and solid around me as we walk. I don’t even think about leaning into him.
My phone buzzes in my hand. Then buzzes again. And again. I glance down. The girls’ group chat is exploding.
Clara:Frey? Where are you?
Emma:You’ve been gone ages.
Hannah:If you two have disappeared to have sex in the pub cellar I swear to god.
Emma:Please confirm if you are alive.
Clara:Or not alive but in a good way.
I snort.
“What?” Rory asks.
“Nothing.”
“That laugh sounded like trouble.”
“It’s the girls.”
“Ah.”
I tilt the phone slightly so he can see. He reads the messages. Then laughs.
“Fair assumption, to be fair.”
“Please do not encourage them.”
Another message appears from Clara outside of the group chat.
Clara:Freya Collins if you don’t answer I’m assuming he’s finally snapped and dragged you off somewhere to make up for the years of not having sex.
