Page 144 of Carry Me Home

‘What if Cara⁠—’

‘Cara’s not a threat. She’s his colleague. His ex-almost-something. She’s not you.’

‘But she’s there. And I’m here.’

‘For a couple of weeks, if that. Then he’s here too.’ Brynn sets down her brush. ‘Nina. Look at me.’

I look at her.

‘Tom Darcy has been in love with you since before I met you. He’s not going to throw that away for some Scottish vet with good cheekbones.’

‘She does have good cheekbones.’

‘Everyone has good cheekbones in the right lighting. Stop spiralling.’

I try to stop spiralling. I paint sage-green walls and sand rough edges and imagine Tom here, beside me, helping. His sleeves rolled up. His dry commentary on my brushwork. The specific, unhurried way he’d do everything – measuring twice, cutting once, getting it right.

Nine more days.

I can wait nine more days.

Day eight. No call.

I text: Everything okay?

Three hours later: Sorry, crazy day. Talk tomorrow. Promise.

Day nine. A brief call. Five minutes. He sounds distracted. There’s noise in the background – voices, music, laughter.

‘Where are you?’

‘At the surgery. We’re having a goodbye thing. Drinks after work.’

‘Oh.’ I keep my voice light. It takes effort. ‘Sounds fun.’

‘It’s fine. Everyone’s being nice.’ A pause. ‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too.’

‘Six more days.’

‘Six more days.’

‘I have to go. They’re doing speeches. Apparently I’m supposed to look moved.’

‘Go. Be moved. Call me later.’

‘I will.’

He doesn’t.

Day ten.

I wake at four in the morning with the knot in my stomach pulled so tight it’s hard to breathe and I’m covered in sweat.

This is stupid. I’m being stupid. He loves me. He said he loves me. He’s coming back.

But the silence is loud. And every hour that passes without hearing his voice makes the space between us feel less like distance and more like a gap that’s widening. More like the depth of the ocean.