Tommy
The morning dragged like wet clothes clinging to my skin. I barely touched breakfast, ignoring Jack's jabs and Alex's chatter. All I could think about was getting across the lake and seeing Emma.
By midmorning I couldn't wait any longer. I slipped the small, paper-wrapped book under my arm and made my way to her house. The walk felt longer than it ever had. Every step seemed to carry the weight of too many questions — would she be better today? Would she even want to see me? Would she laugh at the gift, think it childish?
When I reached the modest cottage tucked near the trees, my heart gave a heavy thud. I knocked lightly, clutching the book as though it might steady me.
Her father answered. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes, but his mouth softened when he saw me.
"Morning, lad," he said quietly. "She's better today. Still weak, but sitting up. I'll let her know you've come."
He left me waiting on the front step for what felt like forever, until finally the door opened wider and Emma appeared.
Her hair was damp, curling in soft wisps around her face, and she wore a jumper that looked two sizes too big. She was pale still, but her eyes… her eyes were brighter than they'd been the last time I saw her, and they pinned me to the spot.
"You came," she said, almost like she didn't believe it.
"I said I would." My voice cracked, traitorously, and I cleared my throat. "I, um, brought you something."
I held out the little bundle, the brown paper neat except for the corner I'd creased from holding it too tight. She frowned, puzzled, then took it carefully and peeled the paper back.
When she saw the book, her mouth parted just slightly. She ran her fingertips over the blue cover as though it might vanish. "Poetry?"
I swallowed.
"I thought you might like it. The poems are about… small things, really. The kind of things people usually walk past without noticing. But they matter. I just —" My words tangled. "I thought of you."
Emma blinked quickly, her cheeks colouring as she turned the book over in her hands. She didn't say anything for a moment, and the silence stretched until my chest hurt.
Then, her reply came soft:
"No one's ever given me anything like this before."
Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and searching, and I thought I might actually forget how to breathe.
I shrugged, trying for casual but failing miserably.
"Guess there's a first time for everything."
The corner of her mouth tugged upward, the faintest smile. She opened the book, flipping to a random page, and read a few lines under her breath. Her smile deepened, and when she looked up again, there was a warmth there that made the whole restless night and the pounding nerves worth it.
"Thank you, Tommy." Her voice was quiet, but steady, carrying more weight than I think she knew.
And right then, with her standing in the doorway holding that little book like it was something precious, I realised I'd do anything to keep her looking at me that way.
She stood there with the book cradled against her chest, and I couldn't tear my eyes away. The light from the doorway caught in her hair, turning the damp strands golden, and I had the sudden, ridiculous thought that I wanted to remember her exactly like this forever.
Her fingers brushed over the edges of the pages, slow, almost reverent.
"I'll read it tonight," she said softly, like it was a promise.
I shifted, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. I could see the freckles across her nose, the faint curve of her lips as she tried not to smile too widely. My pulse thudded in my ears. I wanted to reach out, just to tuck one of those stray curls behind her ear, but my hands stayed at my sides.
Instead, I whispered, "I'm glad you're feeling better. I've missed you."
Her gaze flicked up to mine, and for a heartbeat neither of us moved. The space between us felt charged, like if either of us leaned just an inch closer, something impossible might happen.
Then she let out a quiet laugh, nervous and soft.
"Is that why you bought me this?"
"You deserve more than this," I blurted, before I could stop myself. "A lot more."
Her eyes shimmered with something I couldn't name. She opened her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to say something I wasn't ready to hear —
And then her father's voice cut through the spell.
"Emma," he called from inside, the floorboards creaking as he approached. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway beside her, wiping his hands on a rag.
He gave me a nod, steady but weary. "Appreciate you coming by, Tommy. She's still mending, and I've got to head into town for a bit. I need to talk to some people about finding work."
I nodded quickly, forcing my gaze away from Emma before it gave me away. "Of course, sir."
He looked past me, out at the trees stretching toward the lake. His expression tightened, just for a moment, before smoothing over.
"These are busy times. Things changing faster than most of us can keep up with."
His voice was quiet, almost to himself, but it landed heavy all the same.
Emma dropped her eyes to the floor. I felt the weight of his words settle in my chest, a sharp reminder of what I already knew: that her family's world was being dismantled piece by piece, and mine — my father's world — was the reason why.
I managed a stiff nod, though my throat was too tight to speak.
"Best let her rest now," he said finally, his tone gentle but firm.
Emma hugged the book closer, her fingers clutching the edges. She gave me the faintest smile, and whispered, "See you soon?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice low. "Soon."
I turned and walked back down the path, the damp earth soft beneath my shoes, the sound of the door closing behind me far too final.
And the whole way back, the picture of her standing there clutching that book wouldn't leave me — nor the shadow in her father's voice that reminded me how fragile all of this was.