Page 52 of Higher Ground
“Also no.”
“Because you’re too busy playing happy family?”
Emory shifted her head, lifting up and dropping her chin onto the table so she could glare at her friend. There was a glimmer in Mya’s eyes, a twinkle in her smile that evaporated all of Emory’s resolve. She sat up, pulling at the sleeves of her cardigan.
“I’m not pretending to be happy, Mya. I am the happiest I’ve felt in a very long time. And it scares the shit out of me because I don’t think there is any way this can go that doesn’t end up in some kind of heartbreak.” Pressing her palms into her yes, Emory took a long breath. “What do I do?”
“Do you want comfort or advice right now?”
“Can I have both?”
Mya placed a hand on Emory’s elbow. “Not really, but I’ll try?”
A tear Emory hadn’t noticed forming escaped down her cheek.
“The comfort is that you’re choosing between two really wonderful situations, you just need to look at them separately, right? You’ve been working on your degree for more than three years, and you’ve been planning on getting a city marketing job for most of that time. When you get an offer, if you take it, you’ll be achieving that dream.”
Emory released a shaky sigh.
“And if you decide to stay here, with Byron? It’ll be because you found love. Real love, not the bullshit Jaxon had you believing in. And that’s not something everybody gets to experience.”
Mya sounded like a well-lived old lady, even though she was only a few years older than Emory. Maybe acting as pseudo-therapist to half the town who needed a judgement-free space and found it in the library was rubbing off on her.
“But I want both those things. I want a job that I love in a place that I love, but I also want the man that I love, and I wish I could have it all, but I can’t. I have to make a choice, and I’ll never know what the right one is.” Emory’s voice was barely a whisper. She was so cautious of the silent, echoey library, and the last thing she needed was for Byron to overhear. When she finally told him she loved him, she didn’t want it to be becausehe overheard her mention it during her debriefing session with Mya. She also didn’t want him overhearing just how far away she was thinking of moving. It was hard enough with him thinking she would move out once the cottage was clear, she couldn’t handle the heartbreak she was sure to see behind his eyes if he found out her dreams were set in the city.
“You do love him?”
“Of course I love him, Mya. He is … everything. Gentle and kind and generous and protective and probably the most quietly caring person I’ve ever met. He cooks me breakfast and does everything he can to support my dreams, even though I’m sure he knows if I follow them, it might break both our hearts. The past two weeks, he has done nothing but put me first. So, fuck, I feel selfish for even thinking about leaving him. It eats at me, knowing that I’ve fallen in love with him when my dreams are going to tear us apart.”
She was sobbing, big, ugly tears pooling onto the table. Every bone in her body ached, and there was nothing she could do to stop the pain.
Laughter echoed through the room. Clayton’s squealing giggles matched with a deep timber from Byron. Their joy only served to hurt her more.
“I have to try, though,” she admitted through sobs. “I can’t give away my hopes and dreams for another man. Byron is different, I know that with every fibre of my being, but it wouldn’t be fair tomeif I dropped everything for him. I’d always wonder if I was meant for more than this town.” As she drew in deep, shaky breaths, Mya moved to sit next to her on the small bench seat. Emory leaned her head down onto Mya’s shoulder, finding a little comfort in her friend’s embrace.
“I think you won’t really know what you want until you’ve tried all your options.”
Mya was right, trying was the very least Emory needed to do. If shedidmanage to find the perfect job in the city, she’d work it out then. She wiped her cheeks with the rough sleeve of her knitted jumper, and on the inside, she built a tiny, cushioned wall around her heart. She deserved to give herself a proper chance at her dreams, and if she was going to do that, she needed to make sure her heart stopped falling.
Never mind the fact that it had already fallen all the way into Byron’s arms.
Chapter 26
Byron
The lack of gossiping busybodies in town had surprised Byron. He couldn’t say he wasn’t thankful for it, though. The way he felt about Emory hadn’t changed since the morning, and he still wanted the world to know about it, but there was something painful in her eyes as they had left the library. She’d gone off to chat with her best friend and come back sad.
Byron had felt a sudden urge to kiss all her pain away, but over Emory’s shoulder, he’d seen Mya, arms folded, shake her head.
“Give her time,” she’d said as Byron followed Emory and Clayton out towards the car.
He had no idea what that meant, but he kept both hands on the steering wheel the whole way home. No matter how much he wanted to drop his hand onto Emory’s leg or wrap his fingers around hers.
As far as he could tell, he had two options here, and neither of them sounded overly appealing. He could back off, give Emory space as she figured out what she wanted. Or he could sit her down and demand she talk to him. The last thing he wanted todo was anything that might make her decision harder, but he didn’t know which was the lesser of two evils.
In the driveway, Emory unbuckled Clayton from his car seat and carried the sleeping boy into the house. Byron hoped Clayton wouldn’t protest when Emory tried to settle him into bed.
He stacked the two crates of toys and books and carried them to the house. Most of the books were for Clayton, so he lined them up on the shelf underneath the coffee table and left the handful of novels on the kitchen bench. The covers were all bright with floral accents and matching fonts. It was a series, he figured, but he couldn’t work out which was meant to be first. He flipped the blue one over in his hands, skimming the blurb. A grumpy farmer and a much younger city girl … This story was starting to sound a little familiar, and he wondered if that’s why Emory wanted to read it.
