They had cleared the plates together, shoulders brushing. Now the quiet between them felt full, comfortable in a way that made Emma’s tired heart unclench.
“So what did you get up to while I was gone?” Emma asked, voice low so it would not crack with the exhaustion pulling at her edges.
Natalie set her own glass down, fingers tracing the stem. A small smile touched her mouth, the one that made the fine lines at the corners of her eyes deepen. “Mostly working. Readingthrough the script again, making notes. Trying to decide how I want to approach different scenes.” She paused, gaze drifting toward the window where rain tapped steadily against the glass. “And I took some time to go through Gran’s things. Her bedroom mostly. It felt like the right moment.”
Natalie stood then, the chair legs scraping gently against the stone floor. “Wait here.”
She disappeared up the stairs. Emma heard her footsteps overhead, the creak of floorboards.
Natalie returned a moment later carrying a thick stack of envelopes. She placed them on the table between them. Emma recognized her own handwriting on them.
“These are the letters you wrote to her,” Natalie said quietly. “She kept every one of them. I found them in her bedside drawer, all in order. But this one…” She slid a single envelope free from the stack. “This one is from her to me. I think you should read it.”
Emma’s fingers trembled as she took the envelope. The paper was cool and heavier than she’d expected. She glanced at Natalie, who nodded. Emma slid her thumb under the flap and pulled out the single sheet. The handwriting blurred before she recognized Bridget’s script. She had to blink back tears as she read the letter.
I’ve done up a formal will, and Mr. McMorrow will have it, but these things take time. I just wanted you to know that the house is yours. I’m leaving my savings to Emma.
The words stopped her cold. She read them again, slower. The meaning didn’t change. Bridget had left her something.
The house going to Natalie made sense. This didn’t. She’d helped with the turf and the shopping and the Sunday papers for years, but never expected anything back. The amount didn’t matter—two thousand or two hundred thousand. Bridget had seen her as family. Had written it down so there could be no mistake.
Emma’s throat tightened. She kept reading, the letters swimming now.
She’s only been gone a few months, and I already miss her something terrible. She’s been like a second grandchild to me, and I want to make sure she’s taken care of.
Emma’s eyes burned. She blinked, but tears spilled down her cheeks.
Natalie rose from her chair without a word. The next thing Emma knew, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her up and into a solid embrace. Emma turned her face into the soft fabric of Natalie’s hoodie, letting the sobs come fully now. Her hands fisted in the material at Natalie’s back. The exhaustion from the long flight mixed with the ache of missing Bridget and the overwhelming sweetness of being wanted like this. It all poured out against Natalie’s steady heartbeat.
“I can’t believe it,” Emma managed, voice muffled and thick. “She didn’t have to… I never thought…”
Natalie’s hand moved in slow circles between her shoulder blades, the touch warm and sure. “She loved you, Emma. The way you looked after her when I couldn’t be here. I know I’ve told you probably a hundred times by now over the years, but thank you. For everything you did for her. I’m glad she decided to do that.”
Emma pulled back just enough to look up at her, vision blurry. Natalie’s own eyes glistened, though no tears had fallen yet. Emma wiped at her face with the back of her hand, embarrassed by how quickly she had come apart. Natalie smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear.
“The money doesn’t matter,” Emma whispered, though her voice still wavered. “It’s that she thought of me that way.”
“Of course she did.”
Emma tilted her face up and kissed Natalie softly. The kiss held no urgency tonight, only the deep relief of coming home after too long away.
22
The morning light filtered through Emma’s bedroom window. Emma was still asleep, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, one hand resting on Natalie’s hip where it had been when they’d finally drifted off the night before. Natalie lay perfectly still, memorizing every detail. The way Emma’s lashes curved against her cheeks. The small crease between her brows that never quite smoothed even in sleep.
Three and a half months. She’d counted the days on her phone while Emma was in the shower yesterday. One hundred and seven days, give or take, between her flight out of Shannon later that day and the tickets she’d booked for December twentieth.
Emma stirred, her fingers pressing slightly against Natalie’s hip before her eyes opened. When they focused on Natalie’s face, a slow smile spread across her features.
“You’re watching me sleep.”
“I was memorizing.”
Emma pushed herself up onto one elbow, the sheet falling away from her shoulder. “Memorizing what?”
“Everything.” Natalie reached out and traced the line of Emma’s collarbone with her fingertip. “The way the light hits your hair. The sound of your breathing. I want to be able to close my eyes in LA and picture it exactly.”
Emma caught Natalie’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. The gesture was so simple, so intimate, that Natalie felt it like a hook behind her ribs. She’d spent years perfecting the art of leaving, and in all that time, she’d never once felt like this on the morning of a departure. Like she was being asked to leave a part of her body behind.
