Page 100 of Carry Me Home

Now the smile comes. Genuine. Bright. The smile I remember from uni, from library mornings and shared lecture notes and sleepy mornings tangled in bed when we were innocent enough to believe that nothing else mattered. The version of my life where things were simpler.

‘Tom. That’s—’ She stands. Crosses to me. Her hands come up to my face.

She leans in to kiss me.

I turn my head and hate myself for doing it. Her lips land on my cheek. My hands stay at my sides.

The moment freezes. She pulls back. The smile doesn’t die – it rearranges itself into something braced. Something that knows how to absorb a blow and keep standing.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I just⁠—’

‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not that I don’t⁠—’

‘Tom. It’s fine.’ She steps back and wraps her arms around her middle. ‘I understand. One step at a time.’

‘The practice and our professional partnership. I want to see if it works before—’ My throat is achingly tight.

‘Before we add anything else to it.’ She nods. Her voice is steady. ‘A professional arrangement.’

‘A starting point.’ I reach for her hand. She lets me take it, but her fingers don’t curl around mine the way they usually do. They just rest there. Patient. Waiting.

‘I can’t promise more than that,’ I say. ‘Not yet. But I can promise I’ll try. Honestly try.’

She looks at me. The assessment is brief and thorough, but then she smiles, brilliant and bright, and deep inside of me I hope it’s a smile that one day I’ll be falling into and never looking back from.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘One step at a time.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me yet. You might hate Scotland. The weather’s brutal, and the midges are worse. When do you think you’ll come?’

‘A month. Maybe six weeks. Dad needs help with putting cover in place as he winds the practice down.’ My stomach twists but I ignore it.

‘I’ll go ahead. Start setting up.’ She pauses. ‘Find a flat near the practice. Two bedrooms. Separate. Very professional.’

‘Cara—’

‘I’m teasing.’ She’s not entirely teasing. ‘When will you tell everyone?’

I pause for a beat, a breath, but then, well, fuck. If I’m doing this, I’m doing this. All in, for once in my life.

‘Friday.’ I lift my shoulders, and as I let them drop the relief of finally choosing a path washes through me. ‘Everyone will be at The Ship.’

‘Friday it is.’ She picks up her journal. Opens it. Closes it. ‘Tom?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I know this isn’t—’ She stops. Looks at the journal in her hands, the veterinary text she’s been reading in my flat, in my life, waiting for me to catch up to where she’s been standing. ‘I didn’t come here just to try and steal you away. And I know what happened between us at the wedding was just fun, but I know professionally we would be great together, and personally…’ Her astute gaze sweeps up and down my body. ‘I think you’ll be worth the wait.’

I swear my heart is hammering. Excitement? Panic? Who knows. ‘Okay.’

‘Now go shower. You smell like the Atlantic.’

Friday night at The Ship. The whole village crammed in, the way it always is, with Ayo pulling pints, forgoing one of his gaudy jumpers for a flamingo pink Hawaiian shirt, Bill and Frankie in their corner, Dot holding court at the bar, the fishermen around the dartboard arguing about something that will never be resolved. Isla, who’s no longer looking murderous, is wedged into a booth with Kit, one hand on the swell of her belly.

‘You look radiant,’ Kit says.