Just like that, she felt herself give way, to slip inside his soul, and allowed her heart to open to the possibility of what could be.

“You changed your mind?” He pulled away, a little breathless, a little surprised.

“Yes. No. I mean, I can’t come with you.”

His face fell as he let go of her. “Oh.”

“Because it’s your dream.” There was no space between them and yet he felt so far away.

“You said that already.”

Emily ran her finger around the collar of his shirt, felt him stiffen then relax against her touch. “If I came with you, it would be for the wrong reasons.”

“You said that too.”

“But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t come back.” She stepped closer, placed both hands on his chest, felt the rise and fall of his breath. “Or I meet you halfway?”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her fingertips.

“Halfway is the middle of the ocean, Em.” Two arms came around her waist and she leant into him, breathed in his nearness.

“My point is, I need to figure out what it is I want to do.” She tilted her face to look up at him. “And I can’t do that if I’m following you.”

He was smiling down at her, a new look on his face. One she hadn’t seen before.

“What?”

“You look very beautiful when you’re all fired up about something.” He kissed her forehead, her scar, her mouth, and she waited for the moment when she would choose to step away, surprised herself when it didn’t come.

“Where will you go?” he whispered against her lips.

Emily smiled. “Home.”

23

MAGPIE

Pica pica

The garden was still. The leaves were beginning to turn, signaling a new season was on its way. There was a freshness to the air, which carried the sound of the church clock, chiming out another hour. Emily stopped a moment, let the sight of her home fill her heart anew.

Could it really have been only nine days since she’d left? So much packed into such a short space of time. So much more she now wanted to do, to discover, to begin to live the way her grandmother would have wanted her to.

A magpie swooped down as she opened the front door, hopped in after her and called out his greeting.

“Hello, Milton,” she said, bending down to give him a stroke, but he jumped out of the way and onto the answerphone, which was blinking all of its messages, none of which she had any inclination to listen to. There was a pile of post stacked neatly on the hall table, and a thick, padded envelope on the top, with a foreign stamp, a postmark telling her it had been sent from Italy.

Noah. Perhaps he had decided to send her the letters from Catriona. But it could wait, and maybe she didn’t need to read anything more, not just yet.