Page 152 of Carry Me Home

He’s here. He’s actually here.

I lie there, watching him breathe, and I let myself feel it. All of it. The relief. The terror of almost losing this. The absurd, improbable luck of getting it back.

The coffee smell intensifies. Which means someone’s downstairs. Which means⁠—

‘Brynn,’ I mutter.

Tom stirs. ‘Mmph?’

‘Brynn’s here. In my café. Making coffee.’

‘Good.’ He doesn’t open his eyes. ‘Coffee’s good.’

‘She’s going to interrogate us.’

‘Also good. Interrogation means she cares.’

‘Tom. It’s three in the afternoon.’

‘Practically dawn.’ He rolls towards me, eyes still closed, and pulls me against his chest. ‘Five more minutes.’

I should argue. I don’t.

Twenty minutes later, we make it downstairs.

Brynn’s behind the counter. She looks up, takes in our rumpled clothes and tangled hair, and her face flickers with a quirk of a smile.

‘Afternoon.’

‘Afternoon,’ Tom says.

She makes us both a flat white without asking and slides them across the counter.

‘I opened up this morning,’ she says. ‘Figured you’d be occupied.’

‘Thank you.’ I wrap my hands around the mug. The warmth seeps into my palms. ‘How was it?’

‘Fine. Dot came by three times. Wanted updates.’ Brynn pauses. ‘I told her you were fine. That Tom had come home. She said, “About bloody time,” and went back to her crossword.’

Tom laughs. I take a sip of coffee and let it settle me. This is real. This is actually happening. I’m standing in my café, drinking coffee that my friend made, beside a man who drove through the night for me.

‘I should go,’ Brynn says, reaching for her jacket. ‘Let you two figure out the rest of your lives, or whatever.’ She pulls me into a hug – quick, fierce, the Brynn hug that says everything her voice doesn’t. ‘I’m glad, Nina. Really.’

‘Thank you. For everything. For last night⁠—’

‘That’s what I’m for.’ She pulls back. Looks at Tom. Nods once. That’s all. From Brynn, it’s enough.

The door closes behind her. The café falls quiet.

Just me and Tom. Alone. Together.

I set down my coffee.

‘I need to talk about Peter.’

Tom goes still. ‘Okay.’

‘Not because I’m having second thoughts. Not because I don’t want this.’ I reach for his hand across the counter. ‘But because if we’re going to do this properly, I need you to understand something.’