Chapter forty-nine
Freya
The night air feels colder once we’re properly away from the pub. Rory falls into step beside me easily, like we’ve been walking home together after nights out for years. Which, in a way, we have. Just… not like this.
“Cold?” he asks after a few steps.
“A little.”
Without hesitation he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders before I can protest.
“Rory…”
“Just take it.”
His hands settle briefly on my shoulders as he adjusts it, pulling the collar up slightly around my neck before his arm slides naturally around me.
It’s the sort of movement that feels instinctive.
Protective without being overbearing. His arm warm and solid around me as we walk.
I don’t even think about leaning into him.
My phone buzzes in my hand. Then buzzes again. And again. I glance down. The girls’ group chat is exploding.
Clara: Frey? Where are you?
Emma: You’ve been gone ages.
Hannah: If you two have disappeared to have sex in the pub cellar I swear to god.
Emma: Please confirm if you are alive.
Clara: Or not alive but in a good way.
I snort.
“What?” Rory asks.
“Nothing.”
“That laugh sounded like trouble.”
“It’s the girls.”
“Ah.”
I tilt the phone slightly so he can see. He reads the messages. Then laughs.
“Fair assumption, to be fair.”
“Please do not encourage them.”
Another message appears from Clara outside of the group chat.
Clara: Freya Collins if you don’t answer I’m assuming he’s finally snapped and dragged you off somewhere to make up for the years of not having sex.
I type quickly.
Freya: Relax. I’m alive.
Three dots appear immediately.
Clara: That’s not a denial.
I shove the phone back into my pocket before this escalates further.
“They’re going to interrogate me tomorrow,” I mutter.
“Looking forward to that,” Rory says.
“You’re not the one they’ll interrogate.”
“Oh I absolutely will be.”
We turn onto our street. Oakwood is quiet at this hour, most houses dark except for the soft glow of lamps behind curtains.
The walk back is only ten minutes but it stretches pleasantly, neither of us in a hurry to break the moment.
His arm stays around my shoulders. My hand has slipped into his pocket without me noticing.
At one point he squeezes my shoulder slightly.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“I’m just… thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
I smile faintly. “Just about how strange it is that we’ve lived in the same village for years and somehow never ended up walking home like this.”
Rory breaths a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”
My house comes into view at the end of the street. The porch light is still on from earlier. I stop at the gate and turn toward him.
“Well.”
“Well,” he echoes softly.
There’s that same moment of stillness that seems to keep happening between us lately. That small, suspended pause where something deeper sits just under the surface.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask. The words come out more quietly than I expect.
Rory studies my face for a second. “Yeah,” he says.
Inside the house everything is calm and still, the familiar quiet of a place where a child isn’t currently racing through the hallway asking for snacks.
I kick off my boots and hang his jacket over the back of a chair before turning toward him.
For a second, we just stand there in the soft kitchen light looking at each other.
And suddenly the whole evening feels like it’s narrowing down to this moment.
Rory steps closer and his hand comes up to brush a loose curl away from my face, fingers lingering briefly near my cheek.
“You’re quiet again,” he murmurs.
“I’m thinking.”
“Still dangerous.”
I smile slightly. “You realise this is the point where people usually panic.”
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he says softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
My hands slide up to his chest without really thinking about it. “You promise?” I ask quietly.
His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”
The kiss this time is different from the others. It’s slower. Less desperate. More certain. His hands settle around my waist as I lean into him, the warmth of his body familiar now in a way that makes my heart do that strange fluttering thing again.
We move together without really speaking, drifting further into the kitchen like we’ve both already decided we’re not in a hurry to be anywhere else tonight.
At one point I pull back slightly just to look at him.
His hair is still slightly messy from the wind outside.
His jumper pushed up at the sleeves. That familiar crease between his eyebrows when he’s concentrating on something.
“You know what’s weird?” I say softly.
“What?”
“You’ve been part of my life for so long and somehow this still feels new.”
Rory smiles slightly. “Probably because we spent about twenty years pretending we didn’t want this.”
His thumb brushes lightly along my cheek. “You seem… emotional.” He notes.
“That’s because I am.” I take a breath. Then say the thing that has been hovering at the edge of my thoughts all evening. “Rory, I think I love you.”
The words land in the quiet room between us. Rory goes very still for a second. Then something in his expression softens in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Yeah?” he says quietly. “I think I love you too Frey. In fact, I know I love you. I’ve known I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I’ve just been to chicken shit to do anything about it. So Frey?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m about to prove exactly how much I love you and how every single part of you is mine.”