“Where are you getting these statistics?” she asked dubiously.
“StuffIMadeUp.com.” He grinned.
“No mosquitoes, no cockroaches, no my mother,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow, daring him to top that one.
“No me. No us.” That took the smirk off her face. “Austin's the only place that has us,” he said quietly.
Emma walked to where he was leaning against a giant tower of boxes. She reached out and linked her index finger with his, swinging their hands back and forth. . Their eyes both locked on the hypnotic motion.
“Facebook has us...and Skype, and email, and texts,” she said encouragingly. His silence spurred her on. “I wish I could make you understand why I have to go. I'm not even sure I understand it myself. I've just spent so many years trying to make other people happy—my parents, my students, Greg--I just feel like I have to get away, and get some perspective. Try to make myself happy for a while. Does that make any sense?” She looked up at him hopefully, and he knew that he couldn't argue with her...couldn't ruin this for her, no matter how much he wanted to.
So he smiled, and pulled her towards him by her crooked finger, and kissed her. “Yes. It does make sense. Just don't forget to come back.”
They hugged, and he felt her cling to him, her tears on his shoulder, and he didn't think it was possible, but it hurt worse, with every moment it hurt worse, and some kind of self-defence mechanism kicked in, and he knew he had to leave.
“Em, I'm...I've got to go. You're leaving early in the morning, and it'll only be harder if we spend the night together.” Emma nodded, her eyes shiny with fresh tears, and he kissed her, quick and hard, and rushed out the door, knowing that he would drop to his knees and beg her to stay if he didn't leave immediately.
****
Emma got her books together and made her way to the tube station, still getting the hang of her surroundings. Her classes had started three days ago, and she loved them. She loved her flat mate, a sweet girl named Rosemary who was studying to be a nurse. Emma loved London. Everything was perfect. And she was perfectly miserable.
Thoughts of Noah invaded her brain with increasing regularity. She told herself it was homesickness, and reminded herself of what a strong, independent woman she was, moving halfway around the world, living on her own terms, doing what she wanted to do. Sometimes she almost convinced herself.
As she arrived at her stop and made her way to campus, her phone rang, and her heart jumped to her throat, as it always did, on the off chance that it might be Noah. But no such luck.
“Hi, Mom,” she said wearily, stopping at a bench that faced campus. She was a few minutes early, she could stop and chat for a moment. “Gosh, it must be early there, what's up?”
“Oh, nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice,” her mom's voice was bright and hearty, and it made her feel guilty. For all the jokes she made about her mom, she did love her. She missed her.
“How's Austin?” Emma asked, putting as much cheerfulness in her voice as she could.
“Hot...your Dad's already started running around shirtless in the evenings. God only knows what the neighbours think.” Emma grinned. It was their summer argument, and had been for years.
“Mom, Dad's just...Dad. What would you hound him about all summer if he ran around in a shirt?”
“Oh, I'm sure I'd find something.” Her mom laughed. “But what about you? How are your classes? How's Rosemary? That's her name, right? Is she nice?”
Emma filled her mom in quickly, but soon found herself at a loss for words. There was an awkward silence.
“What's wrong, Em?” her mom asked suddenly. “You don't sound like yourself.”
Emma felt tears sting her eyes, and she was too sad to even try to keep them at bay. “Mom...God, I know this is going to sound weird, but...I miss Noah. I love him. I mean, I'm in love with him.”
“Noah? Noah Jordan?”
“Yep,” she said miserably. Then she got annoyed when her mother laughed. Hard.
“What? What's wrong with me being in love with Noah?” Emma asked crossly.
“Oh, honey, nothing's wrong with it. I just can't believe you had to move all the way to London to finally realize it!” Her mom was still laughing, and now it was just getting irritating.
“What do you mean?” Emma was indignant, her tears forgotten.
“Oh, please, all those years you dated that horrible Greg, and it was so clear that you belonged with Noah. But God forbid I say anything.”
Emma gasped, both shocked and supremely ticked off. “So you're telling me you knew all along that I was in love with Noah,” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No, I never knew for sure, but I certainly hoped,” her mother answered. Another delighted giggle escaped her.
Well. Emma stood up from her perch on the bench. Then sat back down. Why did she feel like crying again? God, she needed to get a grip.
“So what are you going to do?” her mom asked, relentless. Couldn't she show a little more sympathy here? Giggles were not exactly what Emma was looking for.
“About what?”
“About Noah. About you. Honey, do you really want to stay in London?”
Emma thought for a long moment. “I want to stick to my plan. Finish what I started. Prove to myself that I'm a strong woman.”
“Oh, that's bull,” her mom scoffed.
Mona Whitten, ladies and gentleman. Mother of the Year. Emma's eyes rose heavenward, looking for strength.
“You want to come home, and I can guarantee that poor Noah is miserable without you. What exactly are you accomplishing here? You want to get your Master's degree, to improve yourself, to assert your independence? That's great, but are you feeling self-fulfilled? Satisfied? Happy?”
Silence. Damn her for being right.
“Honey, I love you. And I'm sorry if I sound harsh. But life's too short to pass up happiness in the name of pride. Just think about it, okay?”
So she did.
Chapter Ten
Noah closed the last box in his office, grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door, and swept his gaze across the room, making sure he’d gotten everything. It was a hard decision to leave Travis High, but without Emma…he just couldn’t do it, couldn’t roam the halls every day faced with her ghost, wondering what he could have done differently to make her stay. To make her love him enough to stay.
Ever the gentleman, he had driven her to the airport two weeks ago, in the wee hours of the morning. He'd carried her bags to the curb, and checked to make sure that her luggage tags were securely fastened. His heart was so heavy he thought he might physically collapse from the pressure. Emma looked at him, her beautiful eyes pained, holding desperately to the strap of her purse.
“Do you have your passport?” She nodded miserably.
“Your ticket?” Another shaky nod.
“Noah,” she began hoarsely, but he held up his hand and stopped her with a fingertip to her lips.
“You’re going to have a great time,” he whispered, sliding his finger across her cheek, hooking a stray hair gently behind her ear. “I love you. I’ll miss you.” And when she choked back a sob, he kissed her temple and backed up quickly, waving once and then turning, walking, one step in front of the other, concentrating on the beat of his feet on the concrete, until he was back at his car. Where he slammed the roof so hard with his fist that he set off the car alarm.
And the pressure in his heart was still there, like a wound now, almost like a companion in his lonely existence.
He was bent over his desk, removing his office key from his keychain, when he heard a soft knock at his door. He looked up. Froze.
Emma.
But she was in London—how could she be here? He stared for a long moment, utterly slack-jawed. When she gave him a little wave, her eyes a bit teary, he started to grin, and then his grin got wider, until he was pretty sure that he’d be grinning like a fool for the rest of his life. He moved quickly, wra
pped her in his arms, and hugged her so tight she had to cough for air. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. I was an idiot for thinking I could be anywhere else,” she said against his neck. And then there was no more talking, because he was kissing her greedily, planning a marathon of lip-on-lip action to make up for all the kisses he’d missed over the last two weeks. He stroked her hair, followed the curve of her cheek with his knuckles, knowing that he’d always ache to touch her, to make sure that she was here, to make sure that she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I love you, Noah,” she whispered.
A locker slammed down the hall; the squeaking brakes of a school bus sang outside his window. How could all this be happening when the world just stopped?
“Emma,” he breathed, as he watched a tear roll down her cheek. “You once asked me what makes a man fall so deeply in love that he proposes marriage.” He looked into her eyes, knowing his were glowing with equal parts of love and fear. “I can only speak for myself, but I think when I left you at the airport it hit me like a steamroller. How beautiful you are, inside and out, how you make me want to be a better person…how sure I am that I’ll never find anyone like you again.”
He felt her body shaking under his touch, and he stroked her side, soothing her, even though his head felt like it might explode at any second. “You made me fall in love. Completely. Irrevocably. Unquestioningly. And I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life falling in love with you, over and over again.” Her chin dipped then, out of shyness or happiness or fear, he wasn’t sure.
“So…will you marry me?” he whispered.
She opened her mouth, but it took two tries before “yes” came out, although her head was nodding forcefully, jubilantly. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”
Many, many kisses later, he leaned back, stroked her hair off of her forehead, and touched his lips to her brow. How many times had he dreamed of this? His Emma. Really his now, not just in his daydreams, but in living, breathing, trembling reality. She sniffled, then swallowed a sob, burying her face once again in the crook of his neck. She was a mess.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kissing her cheek, stroking her back, willing her to relax.
“Yeah…yeah. I’m just…I’m just. I just am. I’m trying to have a Zen moment here, Noah. Go with me on this.” So he grinned and hugged her tightly, and went with her.
The End
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