But pretending was what Natalie did for a living. And Emma had watched her walk away and never mention it again, which meant one of two things. Either it hadn’t mattered enough to acknowledge, or it had mattered so much that acknowledging it would have required Natalie to change her life. And lately, Emma suspected it was the second one, which was worse, because it meant Natalie would rather lose her than risk her career.
That was probably it. Although, was she being too hard on Natalie?
When exactly would she have said something? When Natalie came back the next summer, Emma was already in Australia. And just like Emma couldn’t say it last week—that she couldn’t forget about her—it wasn’t the right time. They were both grieving.
A hand appeared on the bar beside her glass. Trish. Her sleeves were pushed to her elbows, a tea towel over one shoulder. The lines around her eyes were deeper than five years ago. Everything else was the same.
“It’s good to have you back in Kilvolan again, Emma.”
Emma felt something loosen in her chest. “Good to be back.”
“Oh, the snug’s freed up,” Natalie said, already standing, gathering what was left of her second pint. “I’ll go grab it.”
Her fingers curled tighter around her glass as Natalie moved away from the bar, the warmth of her presence lingering like the ghost of a touch. Emma kept her gaze fixed on the condensation sliding down her pint, but her awareness stretched after Natalie—the slight sway of her hips beneath those worn-in jeans, the way her dark hair caught the dim pub light as she turned toward the snug. Every step imprinted itself on Emma’s skin without her ever lifting her eyes.
Then she turned her attention back to Trish, who was leaning one hip against the counter in that unhurried way she had, as if time moved differently on her side of the bar.
“So how long are you back for?”
“For good.” The words came out before Emma could soften them. “I mean, I have to go back to Sydney and take care of a few things. Resign properly, sort out the flat. But then I’ll be back. For good.”
Trish went still. Then she leaned across the bar and put her hand over Emma’s, her palm warm, smiling.
“I’m sorry about the circumstances that brought you home.”
“I know.”
Emma watched Trish’s fingers tap against the bar twice before she pulled her hand back and reached for a clean glass. The movement was casual, but Emma caught the way Trish’s gaze flicked toward the snug where Natalie had gone.
“You two seem to be spending a lot of time together,” Trish said, polishing the glass.
Emma shrugged, pressing her thumb into the condensation on her pint. “I don’t think either of us really wants to be alone right now.”
Trish smirked, setting the glass down with a softclink. “That might be true. But it’s the same look in your eye that you had ten years ago and you had nothing to be sad about then.”
Emma exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. “Christ, Trish.”
Trish leaned in, voice dropping. “You think I haven’t noticed how you watch her? Or how she watches you?”
Emma’s pulse jumped. She took a slow sip of Guinness, buying time. “That’s not?—“
Trish arched a brow.
Emma glanced toward the snug. Natalie was angled toward them, fingers curled around her glass, eyes fixed on their conversation with a stillness that wasn’t casual at all.
Emma turned back to Trish, feeling heat creep up her neck.
“Tell me,” Trish murmured, her voice carrying that particular pub-keeper tone that suggested she already knew half the answer, “how many hearts did you break in Oz?”
Emma managed a smile that felt more rueful than she intended. “Is that what you think of me? That I went around Australia leaving a trail of broken hearts?”
The truth was more complicated than that. There had been Maria, and she wasn’t proud of the way things went, so maybe Trish had the right idea. She hoped that she hadn’t broken her heart though.
“I think,” Emma said carefully, “that I learned some things about myself. About what I actually want.”
Trish’s expression shifted slightly, something knowing flickering behind her eyes. “Something possibly out of reach?”
Emma bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah.”
