Tommy
For a second, neither of us moved. My heart was still hammering, my lips tingling like I'd just touched something electric.
Emma blinked at me, wide-eyed. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth as though she couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
"I — uh — sorry," I stammered, my voice cracking in the middle. Heat rushed up my neck. "I didn't mean — well, I did mean, but not like —"
She let out a breath, half a laugh, half a gasp. "That was…" She trailed off, searching for words. Her hand dropped from her lips, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I've never—"
"Me neither," I blurted. My face burned, but I couldn't stop the small, stupid smile pulling at my mouth. "Not ever."
Her eyes flicked to mine, uncertain, and then — just for a heartbeat — she smiled back. It wasn't her usual grin, not teasing or guarded. It was softer, nervous, almost shy.
The silence between us felt different now. Not heavy, not awkward, but fragile, like something new we'd both accidentally uncovered and didn't know how to handle.
I shifted on my feet, scratching the back of my neck. "I didn't scare you, did I?"
She shook her head quickly, her hair falling into her face. "No. I just…" She tucked it back behind her ear, avoiding my eyes. "I wasn't expecting that."
"Yeah," I said, trying to laugh, but only managing a choked sound. "Me neither."
We stood there, stealing glances at each other, smiling like fools and then looking away. The woods around us seemed quieter, as if even the trees were holding their breath.
Finally, Emma kicked at a tuft of grass and whispered, "It was… nice, though."
Something inside me loosened at her words. I couldn't stop grinning now, nervous or not. "Yeah," I said, voice low, certain. "It really was."
We stood there for a long moment, the air between us buzzing with everything we didn't know how to say. I wanted to keep smiling like nothing had changed, but I kept thinking about her discomfort earlier — the way her shoulders had stiffened when I talked about my life.
I cleared my throat. "Emma… about before. When I was talking about the city. My family. I didn't mean to make you feel —" I broke off, fumbling. "Uncomfortable. Or… less than. I just… sometimes I forget that not everyone lives like we do."
Her eyes lifted to mine, guarded. "You don't have to apologise. It's not your fault."
"Maybe not," I said quietly, "but I don't want you to think I've got it perfect. Because I don't. Not even close."
Her brow furrowed, like she wasn't sure whether to believe me. I ran a hand through my hair, searching for words that didn't sound rehearsed.
"My father… he's got my whole future mapped out. Every step. Law school, the firm, politics. Like I don't get a say." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "And my mother — nothing's ever enough. Not the grades, not the way I sit at the table, not even the people I talk to. Sometimes it feels like they're not raising me. They're just… building me into someone they want to show off."
Emma's expression softened, though she didn't say anything right away. She just looked at me, really looked, like no one else ever had.
I swallowed. "So, yeah, maybe we've got money. Maybe we look shiny from the outside. But it doesn't mean it feels good on the inside. It doesn't mean it's easy."
Silence pressed in between us again, but it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was the kind that felt like space, like maybe she was letting me step closer to her world by letting her see mine.
She sat back down and her lips curved into the smallest, most uncertain smile. "You don't seem like someone who has it all figured out."
I gave a shaky laugh. "Good. Because I don't. Not at all."
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I'd told the truth about something that mattered. And when Emma's hand brushed against mine in the grass — just barely, like a question — I didn't move away.
I shifted, trying to catch her eye again. I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous. "Okay. Why don't eggs tell jokes?"
She tilted her head, waiting.
"Because they'd crack each other up."
For a heartbeat she just stared at me, then burst out laughing — real, unguarded laughter that lit up her whole face. It was the sound I hadn't known I'd been waiting for.
I laughed too, not at the joke but at the way she laughed, like it carried something heavy out of both of us.
When her laughter faded into little hiccups of smiles, I reached out before I could second-guess myself. My fingers brushed gently against her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was warm beneath my hand, and when her eyes met mine, everything else seemed to fall away.
Leaning closer, I caught her hands in mine — both of them, small and soft compared to my own. My thumbs brushed over her knuckles, then I closed the space between us, pressing my lips to hers again, slower this time, like I wanted to memorise the feeling. Her hands tightened in mine, and I swear my heart was pounding so loud I thought the whole forest could hear it.
When we finally drew back, we both just stared for a moment, breathless and stunned, like we couldn't believe what had just happened.
Emma's eyes softened, though her smile was tinged with something sad. She squeezed my hands gently, then pulled back just a little. "I should get Zoey home," she said quietly, getting up. "She'll be hungry."
The words settled between us like a stone dropped into water, inevitable ripples spreading out.
I let go of her slowly, still feeling the ghost of her hand in mine. "Right," I said, though my chest ached at the thought of her leaving. "Of course."
But even as she turned toward the path, I knew I'd treasure this moment — the laughter, the kiss, the way her name seemed to echo in the spaces inside me that I hadn't realised were empty.