Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Emma couldn’t remember the last time something had felt this easy.
She’d been braced for awkward silences, for Freya clamming up the second they’d stepped into the house, and for Vanessa’s nerves to somehow spill over and make everything feel ten times harder.
Instead, the opposite had happened. The moment she’d tossed Freya the netball in the garden, everything had calmed.
Her sister’s shoulders had dropped, her smile had come out unguarded, and Emma had felt that subtle change deep inside herself.
This evening, everything was exactly how it was meant to be.
Now, as the three of them trailed back inside, Emma knew she was grinning like an idiot.
Freya tucked herself against the wall to pull off her trainers, looking around as though she wasn’t quite sure if she was allowed to touch anything.
Vanessa crouched beside her to line the shoes neatly by the door, saying something quiet that made Freya burst out laughing, before straightening and brushing her palms down her skirt.
Emma’s heart just about melted.
“Alright,” she said, trying to sound casual even though she was terrified Freya would hate dinner. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Freya hovered by the kitchen door, fiddling with her sleeve, her eyes darting from the table to the counters and back again. “It smells really nice.”
Emma swallowed down the emotion threatening in her throat.
She wanted to tell her it wasn’t just dinner, but that it was home, too.
That she could be as comfortable here as she wanted to be because there wasn’t a single part of her that Emma didn’t want in this space.
But instead, she just smiled. “It’ll taste even better. I promise.”
Vanessa moved past Emma to slide the dish out of the oven, her movements precise, familiar, and grounding.
Emma reached out without thinking and touched her wrist as she set the lasagne down on the counter, craving that little hint of connection.
Vanessa side-glanced at her, the smallest of smiles tugging at her mouth as though she knew exactly what Emma was doing.
Her hand brushed over Emma’s, a squeeze so quick that Freya wouldn’t have noticed, but Emma felt it right down to her bones.
Vanessa smiled. “Why don’t you two set the table?”
Freya nodded quickly, clearly grateful to have a task.
She busied herself with cutlery from the drawer while Emma laid out plates.
Every so often, Freya’s eyes flicked up, as though she still needed to check she was doing it right, and each time Emma gave her a small nod, encouraging her without words.
When the last fork was placed down, Freya stood there for a moment, glancing between them. “Do you um…always sit in the same seats?”
“Not really. Though I think Vanessa’s partial to the one closest to the oven.”
Vanessa let out a soft laugh. “That’s because I don’t trust Emma not to burn the garlic bread if I’m too far away.”
“Hey!” Emma pressed a hand to her chest in mock offence. “That happened once.”
Freya laughed, the sound bubbling out of her unexpectedly, and Emma would have done anything in the world to bottle it up in that moment.
They all settled down, the oven fan humming quietly in the background.
Emma watched Freya tuck her hair behind her ear; she watched her dart another glance around the kitchen as though she was memorising it, but she didn’t have to.
Because if Emma had things her way, dinner over at their place would become a regular occurrence.
Vanessa slid into her seat and reached for her glass of water. When she caught Emma’s eye across the table, that look was there. A look she gave her when words weren’t enough. A silent promise. You’re not doing this alone. We’re in it together.
God, she loved this woman. And sitting there with Freya only a few feet away, she realised she wasn’t just introducing her sister to her house, or to her. She was introducing her to them. To the family they’d built, one day and one choice at a time.
Vanessa was already plating up the lasagne, dishing it around while offering out cheesy garlic bread, and Emma could only sit back and watch it all unfold.
Her stomach was no longer in knots with fear…
but with how right this all felt. She kept stealing glances at Freya, expecting her to shrink back inside herself or withdraw a little, but she hadn’t. Not once.
“Thanks so much,” Freya said with a shy smile aimed at Vanessa. “It smells delicious.”
Vanessa winked. “You’ll have to tell me if it passes the test. I think sometimes Emma just tells me it’s nice so I don’t refuse to feed her the following night.”
“I do not,” Emma said, glaring playfully.
“Hmm.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes, but that ever-present smile was there.
Freya giggled softly as she chewed on a mouthful of lasagne, stabbing her fork into the corner of her garlic bread slice. “I think I believe her. It’s really good.”
Emma picked up her fork and dug in, trying to pretend this was just another dinner in their kitchen, not the first meal she’d ever shared with her little sister.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the clink of cutlery and the occasional appreciative hum from Freya.
Then, halfway through her plate, Freya glanced up.
“Did you really like netball at school?” she asked Emma, her voice tentative as though she was testing the waters.
Emma swallowed quickly and sipped her water. “I did, yeah. I wasn’t amazing, but I loved it. Team sports were kind of my escape.”
Freya’s eyes lit up. “That’s how I feel, too. When I’m playing, it’s like…all the other stuff doesn’t matter. I just forget.”
Emma fought to curb her emotions. “That’s exactly it. I get it, Freya. Completely.”
Across the table, Vanessa watched them quietly, her eyes soft, her smile small but steady. She didn’t need to say anything; Emma knew she was simply holding space, letting Emma and Freya find their rhythm.
Freya picked at her bread. “I used to wish I had someone to cheer for me. Like, on the sidelines.” She glanced at Emma quickly, then back at her plate.
“I know you’ll already be at netball if I make the team full-time, but do you think you’ll ever come to one of my football matches?
We have lots of players, but we all get a turn during the match. ”
Emma’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. She had to set it down before her hands shook too much. “Of course I will. You won’t be able to stop me. I’ll be the loudest one there.”
“Okay,” Freya said quietly, as though she was storing the promise somewhere safe. “I’d really like that.”
Emma forced herself to take another bite, blinking back the tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry here, not now, not when everything felt so fragile yet good.
Vanessa nudged the basket of garlic bread towards Freya. “You’ll regret agreeing to that, by the way. Emma gets very competitive. She once shouted herself hoarse at Daisy’s nursery sports day.”
“Vanessa!” Emma groaned and lowered her head into her hand.
“It’s true,” Vanessa said innocently, sipping her water. “And for the record, Daisy is my three-year-old granddaughter. She can just about walk…never mind compete.”
Freya laughed and shook her head. “That’s kind of funny. Maybe it’ll be nice, though. Having someone like that.”
Emma lifted her head again and met Freya’s eyes. “Not someone. Me. You’ll always have me.”
For a second, silence hung between them. Freya looked down, fiddling with her fork as her cheeks reddened. Emma forced herself to breathe. She couldn’t overthink it now. She had to let Freya take things at her own pace.
And then Freya looked back up at Emma and beamed a smile. “I’d like to always have you.”
When their plates were cleared, Freya offered hesitantly to carry them to the sink. Vanessa guided her gently through stacking them and showed her where the dish soap was, as if including her in something domestic might help her feel less like a guest and more like family.
Emma leaned against the counter, her arms folded, just watching. The sight of Vanessa with Freya, side by side at the sink, laughing about the suds, was so simple. Ordinary, even. And yet, to Emma, it felt monumental.
When Freya finally dried her hands and looked back at Emma, her expression was different. Like she’d found a corner of safety she hadn’t expected.
Emma’s heart pounded, but for once, it wasn’t with dread. It was hope.
By the time they’d moved onto ice cream with sprinkles—something Vanessa had insisted on—it felt as though some invisible wall had crumbled. Freya was talking more easily and had even teased Emma when she’d accidentally dropped a spoon on the floor.
“This is good,” Freya said between bites, her words muffled around a mouthful of vanilla as chocolate sauce dripped from the spoon. “Better than the stuff at school.”
“That’s high praise,” Vanessa said with a grin. “You can come here again if you’re going to keep complimenting my choices.”
Emma leaned back in her chair, watching her.
Every little thing Freya gave away felt like a gift.
The way she laughed from deep within her belly, the tiny smiles, the way her voice no longer quivered on every other word.
It wasn’t perfect—Emma could still see the nerves flickering beneath the surface when something new was introduced between them—but it was better.
God, it was so much better than she’d dared to imagine.
Once they were all finished, Vanessa orchestrated the tidy-up while Emma lingered close to Freya, catching any small comments and answering them as though this relationship had always existed between them.
Eventually, they all drifted into the living room. Vanessa settled on the armchair with her glass of water, while Emma sat with Freya on the couch. The television played low in the background, but none of them really paid attention.