Rory glances at me briefly. “You alright?”
I shrug lightly. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
A small pause settles between us while he finishes tightening the straps.
“You?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
He straightens, handing the bag back to me. Another quiet moment hangs there, the sort that feels heavier than it probably should.
“Freya,” he says.
“Yes?”
He hesitates just long enough to make me suspicious. “About last night.”
My heart skips a beat. Shit. Is he going to say it was a mistake? Is he going to go back inside his Rory shaped shell and pretend it never happened?
“Yes?”
He looks at me, expression steady but softer than usual. “No regrets.”
It isn’t phrased like a question. It’s a statement and my reply comes easily. “None.”
Something in his shoulders relaxes slightly. “Good,” he says.
Then one of the instructors starts shouting about loading bags and the moment disappears into the general chaos of departure.
The coach takes ages to load. Bags are crammed underneath. Children scramble into seats with snacks and card games already in hand. Teachers do the final frantic headcount to make sure nobody has accidentally been left behind in a bush. Theo and Isla claim their seats together near the front again, already halfway into a discussion about whose compass was more accurate yesterday. I slide into a seat halfway down the aisle. A moment later Rory drops into the seat across from me. Not beside me. Across. Probably sensible. Also, faintly ridiculous considering the circumstances and the fact that he was inside me less than a day ago.
The coach pulls away from the campsite with a low groan of gears and a cheer from the children. The road winds through the hills, the forest slowly thinning as we move further away from the wilderness.
Inside the coach the noise builds quickly. Games appear, snack packets rustle, chats about the trip erupt. Someone starts singing something loudly and incorrectly. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes for a second.
Across the aisle Rory is listening to Isla explain something complicated involving maps and shortcuts and the reason her group was technically not lost yesterday. He glances over at me. I open one eye.
“Do you think they’ll talk this much all the way home?” I ask quietly.
He considers this. “Yes.”
“Excellent.”
“You could always volunteer to lead a sing-along.”
“Absolutely not.”
He smiles faintly at that.
The coach bumps slightly over a pothole. Under the seats, his shoe nudges lightly against mine. He doesn’t move it. Neither do I. Whatever last night was… It wasn’t a mistake. And it doesn’t feel like the end of anything. If anything, it feels more like the beginning.
Chapter forty-six
Rory
