Chapter 20 Byron
Byron
Hours after getting the dinner prepped, Byron’s mind was still reeling.
Once the coals were hot enough and the lamb was cooking, he and Emory had gone inside and he’d sat, awkward as anything, while Emory had chopped the potatoes.
And all the while, he hadn’t stopped thinking about how perfect this was. How he never wanted it to end.
The thought downright terrified him, so when Clayton had emerged from his bedroom all sleepy-eyed and rumpled hair, Byron had taken his leave. Or, more precisely, he’d run off to the den to sulk about his feelings away from the woman causing them.
He just needed a minute to figure out what he wanted, how much he should let on.
But he still hadn’t cracked the code, and for the first time since his childhood, the den had bored him.
The book he was trying to read didn’t pull him any further from the present than watching grass grow might have.
And the blues and greys of his puzzle had blurred together until it was impossible to figure out where the pieces were meant to fit.
But he had stayed there all the same, not knowing if his presence was what Emory needed, or wanted.
Something had happened between them. Not the fucking, even though that was downright incredible.
It was the after that Byron was stuck thinking about.
The way Emory had melted into his arms as he kissed her last night.
The little moments he caught her smiling at him.
The way she was burrowing herself into his life and filling all the gaps he hadn’t realised were left in his heart.
Finally, he gave up trying to kill time in the den and decided to find Emory. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he needed to say something. He was just pretty darn terrified that his heart was getting carried away with him.
When he found the house empty, he crossed the kitchen and slipped through the open door.
Emory was sitting on the porch steps, leaning over her knees with all her hair looped over one shoulder.
To the side of the house, Betty was sulking.
Looked like Emory had shortened the rope to stop the cow from interfering with Clayton’s play.
Byron wished he’d been around to see it happen.
And Clayton played on the grass, running around as Miff chased him back and forth.
She was having the time of her life with the young boy around and no work to be done.
It was going to be hard on her when the flood receded and life returned to normal.
Looking out at the floodwaters that covered the vast majority of his farm, Byron contemplated whether normal was even something they could return to.
This water was far higher than he remembered, although he wasn’t sure if that was just his old memory being a little sketchy, or if this one really was as bad as they had forecast. As far as he knew, the cottage had been safe twenty years ago.
He didn’t imagine his father would have retired there if it hadn’t been.
But with the water this close to the yard, Byron supposed it just might have hit the cottage.
He breathed an easy sigh, thankful that Emory had listened to all the advice and warnings—his and those from the SES—and evacuated while she still could.
He glanced down at her, still silently contemplating all the changes the flood had brought with it. She was the best of them all.
With her phone in front of her face, Emory chatted away.
To a friend, presumably. Mya, most likely.
As far as Byron knew, the quiet librarian was one of Emory’s only friends here in Gardner Creek.
He hated the town for it, but there was no point growling over things he couldn’t change.
Regardless, Emory had Mya, and that was something.
Not wanting to eavesdrop on what he was sure was a private conversation, Byron hung back.
He’d just … wait until Emory hung up the phone.
He shuffled his feet. Maybe he should go back inside.
But Emory was giggling, the sweet honey sound that warmed his heart and made him feel like everything was working out exactly how it was always meant to. He hesitated.
“I wish I had the answers, Emory, but you’ll never know until you ask him.” Dammit he wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping, but Mya’s voice bled through the phone line, and he couldn’t help it.
He wondered what Emory had been meaning to ask him.
Curiosity cemented his feet in place, even though he knew he should move.
It took all his willpower to take the first step to turn away, but before he had even placed his foot back on the ground, he heard Mya squeal.
The phone line went silent, and Byron froze, realising Mya had hung up. No point heading back inside then.
He moved to where Emory sat on the bottom step and sank down next to her.
“Ask me what, Em?”
Her cheeks turned somehow even more red than the pleasant blush that had started to form the longer they were here. Dropping her phone into her lap, she leant forward on her knees and hid her face in her hands.
“It’s silly,” she mumbled, although Byron had a hard time deciphering exactly what she’d said. Her voice was all muffled against her palms.
His hand shook as he reached out to gently pry her hand back. He wrapped his fingers around hers and brought their hands down together. She pulled back from his touch, but he held firm. He gripped her hands against his leg, tracing circles on her wrists.
“Ask me what?” he repeated. His heart already thought it knew the question.
The way it bounced about erratically in his chest made it hard for Byron to breathe.
He wanted to tell it to calm the fuck down.
To stop hoping because God, if it was wrong, this whole conversation was going to hurt like getting kicked in the chest by an angry horse.
He gulped at the dryness in his throat and closed his eyes.
If she didn’t say something, he was going to.
The sentence started to form in his mind, but he wanted it to be perfect before he said anything.
Wanted to figure out how to tell her how he felt and what he wanted without making her feel obliged to have the same desires.
The very last thing he wanted was for her to get so creeped out or overwhelmed that she decided to leave after all.
It had been three years of this wanting brewing inside Byron, and he’d held his emotions in check the whole time.
If she didn’t feel the same way, he could go back to that. Right?
“Em,” he whispered as he dropped his head. His chin hit his chest, and he sucked in the deepest breath he could muster before continuing. “Do you want me to go first?”
Emory pulled at her hands, but he held tight.
He felt her body turn towards his, and shifted his gaze to watch as she rolled her neck.
Her chest rose and fell with her deep breaths, but she shook her head.
Byron waited for her to speak, but every second that passed was another kick to his beating heart.
Clayton’s giggles and Miff’s bark and Betty’s disgruntled moos all faded into the background, even though Byron could still see them running around in his peripheral vision.
Beside Byron, Emory sighed. She opened her mouth to talk, but no words came out, and she snapped it shut with another shake of her head.
“Em,” he whispered again when he couldn’t take the lingering silence any longer.
“Okay,” she mumbled before straightening out her back. “I don’t think getting it out of our systems was the best idea.” The words came out with one quick exhale, slapping Byron across the face and delivering one final, brutal kick to his chest.
“Oh.” He shrank away. That wasn’t what he had been expecting. Maybe he should have, but that darned heart of his had been so caught up, he really thought, really hoped that Emory felt the same way he did.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” Emory clarified, and suddenly the sun was shining again.
“I mean, it was fucking amazing, and it was the best decision I’ve ever made but …
” She took a deep breath, pushing her shoulders back from the rolled down position they’d fallen into.
“I thought everything I felt for you was just physical. I thought, fuck, he is an attractive man, even if he is my ex’s dad.
I didn’t realise it was more than that.”
Again, she pulled her hands back, and this time, Byron let her. He watched as she shied away from him, hunching over her knees and hiding her face.
“I think,” she added, “I’ve made things really awkward, and I don’t know what to do now.”
Byron chuckled. He held it back as much as he could, knowing how embarrassed Emory felt and not wanting to make it worse. He moved off the step to kneel in front of her.
“Em, look at me.”
She didn’t, not at first. But he placed a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into his touch.
He snuck one hand under her chin and lifted her head up.
Her hands pressed against her face, but he pulled them down, kissing her knuckles.
She kept her eyes closed, and he wanted to pry them open so she could really see him, but he knew that was a step too far.
“I was selfish,” he said. “I thought, finally, after almost four years, my chance with you had come. I took as much as you were willing to give, even though it wasn’t even half of what I needed, because I didn’t think I’d have another chance. Emory, I want another chance. I want all the chances.”
His throat hurt, and his eyes filled with tears until he blinked, and they streamed down his cheeks. And his heart, well, it threatened to burst. Emory opened her eyes and gazed into his own. Chocolate brown met golden, but they were matched in tears.
“Four years?”
Byron nodded, the hand under her chin shifting so he could wipe some of the wetness off her cheek.
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have then, and I probably shouldn’t now, but I do.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“You’re too much. Too perfect. A grumpy farmer like me has no business with someone as phenomenal as you, Em. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
Emory laughed. It was nothing like the high-pitched glee when she played with Clayton. This was soft, like a summer breeze whipping around Byron and wrapping him in a hug.
“You’re not as grumpy as you think.” She smiled then, leaning her cheek into Byron’s hands and closing her eyes. “I mean, maybe you are,” she added with a wicked grin, “but I don’t mind. I actually kind of like it.”
Byron huffed.
“It’s true,” Emory continued. She opened her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
For a second, she glanced over his shoulder—checking on Clayton, probably—before leaning forward and placing her forehead on his.
Her hands tickled in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“You’re this grumpy old farmer with a little extra salt in his hair, but arms of steel, eyes that see my soul, and it’s like I’m the only one who gets to see your soft side.
I’m the only one who gets candles and breakfast every morning. That part of you is all for me.”
He couldn’t resist then. Byron leant forward and closed the gap between their mouths.
His heart flipped in his chest as he kissed her, but there was nothing hasty or frenzied about it.
Even though he held her close and wouldn’t let go, it was slow and gentle.
No lust taking over, this one was all love, and Byron sank into her.
Emory shifted, never breaking the kiss, and moved into Byron’s lap.
He wrapped his arms around her back and traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.
She opened for him, because of course she did, but Byron hesitated.
He could still hear Clayton playing behind him, and it wouldn’t take much for the boy to look over to his mother and see them.
The reminder of the boy hit him like a shockwave and was followed by all the other things Byron knew to be true.
Emory was studying for her future, and Byron couldn’t bring himself to ask her to stay.
He’d put two and two together. Whatever she was studying, chances were slim that she’d find a job in Gardner Creek.
As though she sensed his apprehension, Emory pulled back. Byron felt every inch between them but did nothing to bridge the gap.
“Your study,” he said, still unsure exactly what he wanted to say but knowing again that it was a conversation they needed to have. “What are you going to do when you finish?”
Emory furrowed her brow, dropping her hands from his neck and clutching them together over her chest. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t want you to leave town, Em, but I can’t make you stay. I can’t ask you to stay.”
Emory looked over Byron’s shoulder. Her eyes softened a little, but she continued to pick at her nails.
“So don’t ask me,” she said. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Byron dropped his head to her shoulder. “You can’t stay for me, no matter how much I want you to.”
“Byron.” Emory’s voice was firmer now. She shoved her shoulder, pushing him up.
“For the first time since I moved to this bloody town, I finally feel like I might belong here. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to finish my course, but it does mean I might not rush off as soon as I’m done.
I get to make that decision, not you, okay? ”
He nodded, and a little—tiny really, minuscule—bead of hope sparked to life in his chest. Maybe she would stay. Maybe he could have her after all.