EPILOGUE
Noah
7 Days Later—New Year’s Eve
What a difference a week can make. Since Christmas Day, Emma and I have barely spent a minute apart and our relationship has gone from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye.
And soon we’ll be welcoming in a new year together.
It’s one of the rare afternoons we’ve spent apart during this silly season, and even though I saw her just the morning for brunch, I miss her already. It’s the strangest thing. One moment she’s a stranger sharing my wall, an annoying stranger at that, and now she’s…everything.
My phone dings with a notification, and I smile when I read the text from Emma.
I miss you!
I refrain from running next door and sweeping her into my arms—only just—texting back that I miss her too and I’ll see her soon.
We’re spending New Year’s Eve together. Like every other morning, day and night this week. And during this week, that time of year during which you wake up and you have to think hard to figure out what day it actually is, we’ve gotten to know each other. Like really know each other.
We’ve spent time at the beach; me teaching Emma to surf, Emma buying me ice creams from the Gelato truck. We’ve spent time at home; me on the couch watching cricket, Emma re-organising my pantry.
I’ve learnt that Emma is Type A-level organised. She loves to do puzzles in her spare time and she’s teaching herself to knit. We’ve spent countless hours watching movies (mostly from the DVD collection I gave her), with Emma’s knitting needles click-clacking next to me. She showed me a box of finished scarves (the only thing she knows how to knit) in her scarily organised “just in case” cupboard. It’s the same cupboard that housed the now infamous ear plugs and her working DVD player. She really has everything a person could need in there.
On Boxing Day, after we’d spent a magical Christmas together, we’d Face called my family to wish them a Merry Christmas. Emma had sat next to me, smiling and blushing (while Gavin grinned and mouthed “Margot Robbie! I knew it!”) and when we hung up, she started knitting a scarf for my mum. She’s planning one for each of them.
The day after that, we’d visited her best friend Carly, who after overexerting herself with Christmas festivities is now on bed rest. She’d greeted us with an unhappy frown, which turned into pure joy upon seeing the chocolate cake I’d baked fresh for her that morning. I’m pretty sure she’s my best friend now, too.
On the other days—the long, summer days that melted into each other—Emma had tried to get me out running with her every morning. She succeeded twice. I’ve been teaching her to make her own sourdough bread. She’s succeeded no times. We’ve gone out for long leisurely brunches together, watched endless amounts of movies with popcorn and wine, and soaked up every bit of information a person could know about another.
I feel closer to her in this week than some people I’ve known my whole life, and I can’t wait to end this year with her, knowing we’ll be starting a new one together.
That’s it. We’ve had enough time apart.
I hurry through my final stages of getting ready and walk the four steps to her front door. The scene of the crime. With a grin I can’t contain, I knock and call out for her. When she opens the door, all the air whooshes out of my lungs.
Emma stands in front of me in a dress sparkling as bright as her eyes. It’s tight and black, covered in diamonds, ending mid-thigh to show off the long expanse of her beautiful, bronzed legs. Her golden hair is curled around her face and she’s wearing the highest of heels.
She looks…amazing.
I put my hands on her hips, pulling her in for a kiss that starts off soft and gentle and grows to something that leaves us both breathless.
“What’s this?” I ask as she twirls in front of me, a pretty blush on her cheeks growing under my heated gaze. “I thought we’re spending the night in?”
She kicks off her heels with a relieved sigh. “We are,” she assures me. “Carly just wanted to live vicariously through me and made me get dressed up in my ‘smallest dress’—her words, not mine—because she can’t. The poor thing is so miserable, stuck at home in bed, I couldn’t say no.”
“Well,” I pull her back into my arms, nuzzling her neck with my nose. “She’s getting another cake as a thank you from me.”
Emma’s giggle is light and happy, and I revel in it. Gone is the woman who cried alone on her couch less than two weeks ago; this version of Emma is loving life. With me.
“So, we’re not going out?”
“Nope.”
She grabs a bottle of wine off her kitchen bench and takes it to the couch, where she’s set up all the snacks that we’ll need for our night in. There’s just one thing missing.
“Hang on,” I tell her, stepping back outside and retrieving the box I’d left there to surprise her. “Here.”
Her face lights up as she takes it from me, the biggest box yet. Over the last week, I’d arrived on her doorstep with a smile and a box of cookies, and she’d delighted in both every time. Today, I may have gone a bit overboard, baking her two dozen cookies. A mixture of all her favourites.
“Noah, this is too much.” She’s sorting through them all: sugar cookies, gingerbread cookies, chocolate chip cookies. Even the fudge double chocolate cookies that are a pain to make. They’re all in there for her eating pleasure.
“It’s not nearly enough,” I tell her, planting another small kiss on her lips. Just to taste her. “I know how much you love them.”
Her eyes shine with sincerity. “I do. I really do.”
“Good.”
We sit down together on her couch, Emma with a cookie in her mouth, looking at the pile of DVDs we have left to choose from. We’d gotten through about half of the ones I’d left for her as a joke—joke’s on me, they are all pretty entertaining—and have picked Kill Bill Volume 1 as our favourite. Who would have thought it?
“Which one are we watching tonight?”
Emma gives me a sly smile, one that has me on alert, as she picks up a DVD I haven’t seen before.
“ New Year’s Eve ,” I read from the cover, my heart sinking at the sight of it. It looks so bad.
She snuggles into me, pressing a kiss on my cheek and batting her long lashes in my direction. “It’s fitting, don’t you think?”
“Uh, what’s it about?”
“Well, it’s got a whole heap of couples and singles and intertwining storylines…” she trails off, biting her lip, looking sheepish.
“It sounds like Love Actually .” My voice is flat, but I can’t help the smile that’s tugging at my lips. The minx is trying to torture me with Love Actually 2.0 !
“No!” she disagrees, much to my relief. “It’s not nearly as good as Love Actually .”
I choke on nothing—how is it possible for a movie to be worse than Love Actually ?—and am ready to argue, when I look into her eyes, those big green eyes, and instead of arguing, I melt. Turns out, I’ll watch just about anything if it means sitting on the couch with this woman who I’m falling in love with.
“Fine.” She squeals and claps loudly. “But you owe me.”
She pats my hand. “Sure, whatever you say. Tomorrow we can watch some ball sport, to keep your man card in check.”
I laugh and settle back, tucking her under my arm, feeling a deep sense of peace. As Emma presses play on yet another terrible romantic comedy I’m going to suffer through, I’m transported back in time. To listening to the muffled sounds of Hugh Grant talking about finding love everywhere. And as Emma sighs happily next to me, squeezing my hand in hers, I find myself agreeing.
Love can be found anywhere.
Even through a wall.
The End