When Cora kissed her, there, on the street for everyone to see, it didn’t feel like explosions and fireworks, but instead, Frazer felt a settling. Like all her little pieces were coming back together.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

“Have I mentioned I really don’t like flying?”

Cora’s hair whipped around and flicked her in the eye. “What?”

Swallowing, Frazer gave her a sheepish wince. “I absolutely hate it.”

“And you waited until we are on a twenty-hour flight to Ireland for your best friend’s wedding to tell me this?”

“Maybe.”

“But you told me you’ve flown before.”

Fingers clutching the arm rest, Frazer shrugged. “Once. To Japan. It was horrible.”

“Do you hate it like a hyperventilating mess, or do you just need distraction?”

“Distraction.”

Frazer wiggled her eyebrows and Cora raised her own.

“No. We’re on a dirty plane. Not happening.”

Nerves had her stomach twisted up and not much could put Frazer in the mood for that right then, anyway. Still, she pretended to look crestfallen. “No urge to join the mile-high club? Even after being on a plane three times—”

“Four.”

“Four times to your volunteer places the last year?”

Cora shook her head, grabbing Frazer’s white-knuckled hand and pulling it onto her lap to link their fingers. “None.”

With a sigh, Frazer said, “Fine. Distract me with words, then.”

Frazer thought she was going to talk about Daniel and Rob’s upcoming wedding, but Cora just cocked her head and stared at her. It was unnerving, and the vibration of the plane’s engine truly starting up was making Frazer’s stomach revolt.

“Did you mean it?” Cora finally asked.

A year together, and Frazer still couldn’t always follow Cora’s thought processes. “That I don’t like flying?” The engines beneath them rumbled as the plane started to reverse and Frazer felt as if her stomach had dropped out of her body. She nodded rapidly. “Yup. Definitely meant it.”

“No.” Cora’s thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of Frazer’s hand as she spoke. It was gentle and soothing, and Frazer felt her stomach partly crawl back where it belonged. “I meant what you said when you came into my bed drunk last week after Rob’s stag party.”

Even in her mildly terrified state, Frazer felt heat creep up her previously—or so she had assumed them to be—wan cheeks. That night had been filled with a lot more alcohol than was healthy. There had been some kind of shot someone had lit on fire, as if that was ever a good idea, and later a blue cocktail that looked radioactive. “Which part?”

“The part where you asked me to move in with you, after serenading me by singing how we’re better when we’re together.”