“Because if I mess this up,” I say quietly, “I don’t just lose a girlfriend. I lose my best friend.”
Her breath catches slightly.
“And Theo and Isla…” I continue. “Their friendship matters too. All of this matters.”
The words hang there between us. For a moment she just looks at me. Then she steps closer.
“Can I say something?” she asks.
“Always.”
“I’m scared too.”
That surprises me slightly. “Really?”
She nods. “I spent years thinking I wasn’t enough either,” she says quietly. “James cheating did a number on my confidence, whether I like admitting that or not.”
My chest tightens. I had no idea he did that to her. What fucking idiot cheats on Freya Collins?
“But,” she adds softly, “I’m glad it happened.”
I frown. “You’re glad?”
“Yes.”
She squeezes my hand gently. “Because if it hadn’t… I wouldn’t be here with you now.”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest.
“You are more than good enough, Rory,” she continues. “You always have been.”
I stare at her. She steps even closer, we are practically chest-to-chest now, her staring up at me with her icy blue eyes.
“So maybe we stop trying to protect ourselves from something that might actually be good.”
There’s a moment where neither of us moves. Then I kiss her with a deep, passionate and certain kiss. The kind of kiss that feels less like hesitation and more like finally stepping forward. Her hands slide up to my shoulders immediately as she kisses me back, warmth flooding through my chest in a way that makes the entire week suddenly make sense. Our tongues swipe against each other and our hands roam each others bodies, desperately wanting to feel everything that we’ve been missing for all of these years. When we finally pull back slightly we’re both laughing a little, breathless.
“Well,” she says.
“Well,” I echo.
She glances toward the door. “We should probably go back before Clara sends a search party.”
“Or,” I say, “we could sneak out the window.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
She looks at the window. Then back at me. A grin spreads slowly across her face. “Oh my God,” she says. “We’re doing it. Clara may kill me, or be proud of me, but we are doing it!”
I head over to the window and slide it upwards. Freya comes to stand beside me and peers out. “It’s higher than I expected.”
“It’s about four feet.”
“That’s still higher than a usual first floor window.”
“Very observant.”
