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It hadn’t gone unnoticed that sleeping together in the same bed had become the norm for them both. A silent agreement that hadn’t needed to be asked; they’d just fallen into the routine of it.

The first few nights, Caz had just followed Grace to bed and laid there with her while she cried. Sometimes, Caz had cried too, both mourning the loss of something that had never been more than an imagined dream. And each time, they’d woken up wrapped in one another.

Nothing more was said about it.

Until now.

Grace moved around the kitchen with an ease that hadn’t been there much lately. She pulled ingredients from the fridge and chopped vegetables into small pieces on the chopping board with the huge cleaver that always made Caz feel a little bit apprehensive to use. Yet Grace chopped and chopped away as though it were the tiniest blade.

“I was thinking…” Grace remained facing her task and not Caz. “Should we just move your things into my room now?”

The question took Caz aback for a moment. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting as she sat on the stool peeling potatoes.

But now it was asked, she knew there wasn’t really anything to think about.

It made sense.

“I suppose I could. If that’s what you—”

Grace put the cleaver down and turned to face Caz. Her eyes steely but damp, as though she were holding back the emotions that had freely overspilled recently.

“I do…I—I like you being there. I feel…safe,” she admitted, before spinning back around and picking up the chopper again.

“Okay, then,” Caz said. She heard herself speak the words, and wondered why it was that it was so easy to say them, but she wasn’t given any more time to linger on her thoughts before Grace jumped back, crying out.

“Shit,” she hissed, dropping the cleaver and holding a finger in her other hand. Blood oozed through the gaps.

“Uh, okay. Don’t panic,” Caz said, definitely trying not to panic. She wasn’t good with gore and blood and medical things. “How bad is it?” she asked, one eye firmly closed, the other barely squinting in Grace’s direction.

“I just nicked my finger.” Grace grimaced and took a peek. “I won’t die but….I might need a stitch of two.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Gracie.” Caz grabbed her keys and found a clean tea towel in the drawer. “Hold your hand out.”

The minute Grace did, the blood ran faster. Caz felt her stomach lurch as she quickly wrapped the towel around the wound. “Hold,” she instructed, before heading to the freezer and grabbing a handful of ice. Unwrapping the towel halfway, sheplaced the ice inside and then rewrapped it. “Cold should slow the blood flow.”

“How do you know that?” Grace quizzed.

“Your dad sent us all on a first aid course. You know what mechanics are like for cutting themselves.”

Grace nodded. It made perfect sense.

“Right, coat on and hospital.” Caz guided Grace out into the hallway and to the door. Pulling coats from the hooks and holding one up for Grace to slip her arms into. She bundled her out the door and pressed the fob to release the doors on the car.

“Hi.” Felicity from next door waved at them. “Happy New Year.”

Caz waved quickly back. “And to you.” She jumped in before Felicity, or Flick, as she’d informed them she liked to be called, got into a conversation. The woman was nice, but she could blab on far too much for Caz’s liking.

Grace waved from inside the car as Caz engaged the ignition and started the car.

“Saved by the lack of interest?” Grace laughed.

“Was I rude?” Caz asked. “I didn’t mean to be…but you know what she’s like…” She glanced at Grace. “Hand in the air, keep your hand—” She leaned across the car and pulled the seatbelt around Grace, before taking the injured hand and placing it against her own shoulder. “Gravity,” she finished knowingly and Grace just smiled at her.

“At least I am in safe hands.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

June 2025