Emma watched Natalie’s face change. Not visibly—not in any way the woman or her friends would notice. But something shifted. The line of Natalie’s mouth softened into a smile that was warm and gracious. Open but bounded. Generous but measured.
“Of course.” Natalie took her sunglasses off and held them at her side. “Here, come stand beside me.”
The woman laughed and pressed in close. One of the friends took the photo. Natalie said something Emma didn’t catch, something that made the woman laugh again, and the interaction was over in forty seconds. Natalie touched the woman’s arm as they separated, and the woman walked back to her friends glowing.
But the damage was already spreading.
Other people were noticing Natalie. A man to their left had stopped walking. A teenage girl three meters away held her phone up, filming. The recognition spread outward in waves.Someone gets a photo. The people nearby look to see who. Others look to see why everyone’s looking. Within ten seconds, the anonymous stroll was over.
Natalie put her sunglasses back on. Her chin lifted slightly. Her shoulders drew back, no longer relaxed but not quite tense either.
“Natalie.” Emma’s hand found Natalie’s elbow. “We should go.”
Natalie nodded.
Emma turned them. Not sharply or fast—nothing that would draw attention. She angled through a gap between a couple with a pram and a group of Spanish students, then set a brisk pace. She knew these streets the way she knew the hospital corridors.
The day’s warmth pressed against her neck and arms. Natalie kept pace beside her, silent, sandals tapping against the paving stones. Emma didn’t look back. She’d planned to suggest a walk on the prom after lunch, maybe ice cream in Salthill, the beach if the tide was out. All of that was gone now. It had vanished in the time it took one woman to say the wordfan.
They reached the car park on the seafront. Natalie’s rental car sat in the corner space where they’d left it, baking in the sun. Emma held out her hand.
“I’ll drive.”
10
The fire cracked and sent sparks into the air. Natalie watched them rise and vanish against the bright sky. Nine o’clock and the light was only now beginning to soften. Shadows from Emma’s back wall stretched across the patio stones and reached the firepit’s edge. The flames warmed Natalie’s bare arms against the cooling air. She’d been here since they got back from Galway. The hours with Emma had passed quickly.
She could still taste the salad dressing from lunch—lemon and something sweet, maybe honey. Emma had whisked it together while Natalie chopped tomatoes and cucumber and peppers.
They ate outside in the sun. Emma opened a bottle of wine. The hours passed easily, and now Emma had made dinner too and the second bottle was half empty and the fire was going and Natalie was still here. She couldn’t pinpoint when staying had become a decision. It had just happened.
Which was the dangerous part.
She tried not to think about the photo. The woman’s face. The friends with their phones. Some of those images were online by now.
The back door opened. Emma came out with the bottle from the fridge, water beading on the glass.
“Would you like a top-up?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Natalie held her glass out. The wine was cold and pale and tasted like grapefruit. She watched Emma pour, watched the level climb in the glass, and then asking Emma to stop. She’d already had more than she should.
Emma settled into the chair beside her. The firelight moved across her face.
“I’m sorry about today.” Natalie said it before she could talk herself out of it. “I know you haven’t brought it up. But I should have known better.”
Emma looked at her. Patient. Listening.
“I just hope it doesn’t affect things here,” Natalie said. “That people won’t start doing detective work, connecting dots.” She turned the glass slowly in her fingers. “I don’t want to hide when I’m in Kilvolan. That’s what I love about being here. Driving through Connemara, going out to Dog’s Bay, all of it. I’ve never had to be afraid of what might happen. Galway was too much. Or at least Galway in July on a gorgeous day.”
“I honestly doubt it’ll snowball into anything.” Emma tucked one leg beneath her in the chair, casual, unhurried. “One photo on someone’s Instagram stories and it’s gone tomorrow.”
“I hope so.”
Natalie took a sip and let the cold wine settle against her tongue. The fire popped. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go on.”
“The car.” Natalie shifted in her chair, turning slightly toward Emma. “Putting a deposit down today. I assumed you were going back to Sydney.”
