Page 95 of Emma
And if she had to swallow down her guilt about the lie she’d told earlier, she’d do it. She’d keep it tucked away until the right moment. Tonight wasn’t about her conscience. Tonight was about Emma, about Freya, and about family.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Emma couldn’t rememberthe 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,everythingwas 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 Emmanotto burn the garlic bread if I’m too far away.”
“Hey!” Emma pressed a hand to her chest in mock offence. “That happenedonce.”
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 tothem. 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.”
