Page 102 of To Have and to Hold

Emme entered, her arms crossed as she took in the view of my small space: the papers and file folders strewn everywhere, the gouges in the maroon couch that Knox’s cat had left the one time I was forced into cat-sitting, the coffee table that leaned to one side, the dishes piled high on the counter.

Since Noelle left, I hadn’t exactly found meaning in deep cleaning.

“Working from home?” Emme asked, and I was pretty sure that was the politest thing anyone had ever said to me after witnessing this apocalypse.

“This is actually nicer than my office,” I replied. She turned and smiled.

Why are you hereseemed too blunt and insulting. I asked, “Are you okay?”

She took her time in replying. “I’m better, thank you.”

I cast my gaze to the side. The scent of her—I remembered it. Rose oil, her secret weapon that often had me breathing into her skin.

“How about you?” she asked. One of her arms bulged larger than the other under her coat—she still had a cast. She wasn’t limping, so that meant her leg wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Maybe a tear instead of a break.

“I’m good.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Uh, would you like to sit down?” I moved over to the couch, swiping papers out of the way.

We both sat. Emme kept her arms crossed and didn’t bother to remove her coat.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said to the floor. “For everything you did.” She looked up. “Spence, there are no words.”

“I’d do it again,” I said.

She shook her head, her eyelashes catching tears. “You saved my life.”

It was a mental battle to keep my hands where they were and not bury them into her hair.

“I was told what happened,” she said. “That I didn’t end up shooting him and that it was you who—ended it. I’m so sorry.”

“It was my choice,” I said, then decided to be honest. “Do you see me differently now? Or think me a—”

“Killer? Spence, no. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Or it could be you in that coffin, or Knox.” Unexpectedly, she grabbed my hand and held it hard. “Promise me you won’t blame yourself. I know you’re going to live with it but so am I. Look at me.” She released my hand and gently pressed her fingers to my jaw. “I came here thinking that it’d be you who saw me differently.”

Her subtle flower scent wafted closer. “I do see you in a different light,” I said.

Emme lowered her hand.

“Not in that way,” I said. “The Emme I remember is twenty-two. She’s desperate for that summer intern position at Madison PR, she’s pissed at her professor for giving her a C minus. Then she’s twenty-four, and she’s willing to ditch work on Friday in order to go on a road trip to Newport with her boyfriend.”

Emme responded with a quizzical smile, probably at how many words I was using, which wasn’t often. “She has no idea that on the cliff walk, I’m going to propose. Currently, she’s yelling at her blow dryer in the bathroom because it won’t turn on. The shower at the bed and breakfast we’re staying at has run out of hot water. There’s a creepy self-portrait of the nineteenth-century woman who bought the house hanging over the bed. And I’m pacing the bedroom, the ring box heavy in my pocket, with that painted lady’s eyes following my every move, thinking I’m about to make the best decision of my entire life and she might curse it.”

“Spence,” she whispered.

“But I did it.”

“This—it is so fucking annoying to only have one good hand.” Reluctantly, she unclasped her hand from mine and swiped her damp cheeks. “She was also in the bathroom.”

I cocked my head. “What?”

“Lady Haunting, or that was what we called her. There was also a portrait of her over the toilet.”

I smiled.

“She watched me take a bath.”

I smiled wider. “I forgot about that.”

“I remember, too,” she said. “Everything.”

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