Page 45

barefoot on the grass

ELLIE

“ T here,” I say, securing Mia’s braid with a hair tie and brushing a few stray strands behind her ear. “All done.”

She beams at me in the mirror, tilting her head side to side to inspect the result, then hops down from the bed, smoothing her dungarees like she’s stepping onto a stage.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just pure, unfiltered joy as she bolts down the stairs with a shout of, “Theo! Don’t start the marshmallows without me!”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. Still amazed at how easily she’s settled here. How quickly she’s folded herself into this space like she’s always belonged.

Like we both have.

My smile lingers as I stand, smoothing down the front of my outfit.

A simple tea dress I haven’t worn in years, rediscovered while rooting through my wardrobe and thrown into my bag on a reckless whim.

It skims on my thighs, dips just enough at the neckline, hugs curves I’d almost forgotten I had.

For a moment, standing there with nothing to cover me, I feel exposed.

Before I can think too hard about it, I reach for the battered cardigan Brenda knitted for me years ago and pull it on, grounding myself in the familiar weight of it.

The buzz of my phone yanks me out of the moment.

I freeze, my stomach knotting instinctively before I even look at the screen.

David [17:06]

Where the hell are you Ellie? I’m done being patient. You owe me a conversation. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.

I sit back on the edge of the bed—phone heavy in my hand, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as that familiar war rages inside my chest.

But then something sharper cuts through the noise.

Not rage. Something steadier. Clarity .

I breathe out, fingers trembling as I type.

I found the emails, David. You don’t get to tell me what I’ve seen or how I feel anymore. I need space. Please don’t contact me again.

I stare at the message for a long time. Pulse thrumming in my ears. Every muscle braced for impact.

And then hit send.

It lands like a match on dry earth. Immediate. Irrevocable.

His response comes fast. Too fast.

David [17:08]

Ellie please. It’s not what you think. You don’t know the full story. I can explain.

Of course he can. There’s always an explanation, a loophole, a reason it’s not as bad as it seems—as long as I’m willing to twist myself small enough to believe it.

My jaw tightens. I type again without letting myself second-guess.

No. You don’t get to twist this. You lied. Over and over. I’m done being the one who has to bend to your will and fix the mess.

Send.

Without hesitation, I power the phone off. The screen goes black in my hand. I drop it onto the nightstand like it weighs a thousand pounds.

There’s silence. Not the buzzing, anxious kind that fills a room when something’s about to break.

This silence is freeing. Like opening a window after a storm.

I stay seated for a moment longer, letting the quiet settle into my skin. Letting it stitch me back together, thread by thread.

Then, slowly, I push myself up from the bed and cross to the window.

Outside, the world glows gold and alive. The sun spills over rooftops and tangled gardens, catching on dewy leaves and clotheslines and the tops of cars down the street.

And for the first time in a long time, I want to be in it. I want something real. Something that’s mine.

Right now, I don’t have all the answers. But I know this much—I’m choosing me. Not out of defiance. Not out of fear. But because I finally believe I deserve more than existing.

And maybe something in me has started to trust that I’ll find it.

The barn behind me glows with soft amber light, Theo’s playlist trickling through the open doors in soft, lazy waves. There’s laughter somewhere behind the trees, the kind that spills out without restraint, the kind you want to bottle for later.

I pull my cardigan tighter around myself, stepping across the yard into the open arms of evening. The sky above is a slow-blooming canvas of colour. Molten gold bleeding into fiery pink, the edges bruising into deep violet where the first stars are just beginning to blink awake.

Kieran is crouched beside the drinks table, arranging a row of mismatched bottles with Theo, who’s more interested in cracking open another beer than maintaining any sort of system.

Luca is locked in a fierce, silent war with a stubborn folding table, dragging it across the grass with all the patience of a man defusing a bomb.

Behind them, the barbecue hisses to life. I turn to find Brian manning the grill, tea towel thrown over one shoulder, flipping sausages with care.

He hums under his breath. A low, tuneless melody that somehow stitches itself into the evening air. And when he glances over at the noise unfolding around him, his whole face softens.

“Smells amazing,” I call out, brushing my hands down the front of my dress as I wander closer. “Need a hand?”

Brian glances over, a twinkle in his eye. “Nah, love. I’ve got it. You just enjoy yourself.” He pauses, taking in the scene. The chaos, the clatter, the fairy lights sagging in uneven sways overhead. His smile grows softer now. “It’s been a long time since this place felt full like this.”

There’s something about the way he says it. Something that tugs at a part of me, still bruised and unsure.

I step in closer, noting the tightness in his shoulders, the way his weight’s favouring one leg.

“You’re not overdoing it, are you?” I question, not wanting to overstep but unable to quiet the concern. “You’re not that long post-op, and I know standing for too long can knock you sideways.”

Brian chuckles, but there’s no offence in it. “Just an appendix, Ellie. They whipped it out, stitched me up, and sent me on my way. I’m good.”

I narrow my eyes. “You say that like it was a tooth. You had major abdominal surgery, Brian. Your body’s still catching up.”

He chuckles. “Kieran said you’d be keeping an eye on me.”

“And he wasn’t wrong,” I say, only half teasing.

His smile holds, a little glassy around the edges. “You really are a nurse through and through, eh?”

“Occupational hazard,” I shrug.

Brian’s eyes crease with something fond. “I promise, I’m fine. If I feel like I need to rest, I’ll sit down. Scout’s honour.”

Before I can respond, Kieran materialises at my side, his arm brushing against mine as he sets a bottle down on the table.

The contact is brief, but it grounds me. Roots me to the earth.

“You alright?” he asks, voice pitched low just for me.

I nod, blinking against the sudden tightness in my throat. “Yeah,” I murmur.

He studies me for a beat longer than necessary and then nods, a small, private smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he says, voice warm. “Because this? This is the kind of night you don’t forget.”

The words settle in my chest, sinking deep. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let them.

The soundscape shifts… the crackle of embers from the barbecue, the low hum of a speaker drifting through the barn doors, the clink of glasses and the occasional peal of laughter rising into the dusk.

I glance toward the drinks table where Kieran is now laughing at something Theo’s said, head tipped back, eyes crinkling at the corners. There’s a looseness to him tonight. An ease I don’t think I’ve ever seen in the crowded snapshots of his life I used to catch from a distance.

Kieran glances up then, catches my eye across the lawn, and holds it. There’s no smile this time. Just something quieter. And that stubborn butterfly in my chest—the one that’s been fluttering uncertainly for days—gives a small, certain kick against my ribs.

A sharp blast of a car horn slices through the moment, jolting the low buzz of the garden into sudden motion. Everyone's heads snap toward the drive just as a taxi rattles to a stop, kicking up a swirl of dust that glows gold in the last slanting rays of sunlight.

For a moment, we all just stand there, caught between confusion and curiosity. Then the back door of the taxi flies open with a dramatic flair, and out tumbles Naomi in all her chaotic, glorious, unapologetic energy.

Signature sunglasses, red lipstick, leopard-print scarf whipping behind her like she’s just stepped off a film set, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder like she’s about to start a revolution.

She plants herself on the gravel, throws her arms wide, and bellows, "Right! Which way's the barn raising, and do I get a hat, or do I just light something on fire?!"

For half a second, there's stunned silence. And then the whole yard erupts into laughter. The kind that bubbles up too fast to hold back, scattering into the cooling air like sparks from the fire pit.

I’m already moving across the grass toward her before I even think about it. “Naomi?” I gasp, grinning so hard it hurts.

“Surprise!” she crows, slamming the taxi door shut and strutting toward me with all the reckless confidence of someone who has never once questioned if she belongs.

Theo meets her halfway, arms open wide like he’s greeting a long-lost sibling. “You’re a menace,” he declares as she launches herself into his arms.

“You’re just jealous I arrived with style,” she retorts, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek before releasing him and turning toward Luca with a pointed finger.

“And you. I expect at least three cocktails by sundown. I didn’t suffer a bumpy countryside Uber ride for warm lager.”

Luca gives a mock bow, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. “Your wish is my command.”

Kieran lifts her duffel bag with one hand, smiling like she’s just slotted a missing piece back into the day and she grins through all of it, sharp and sunlit. Completely at home.

Ryder’s leaning against the barn, one leg hooked behind him, beer in hand. His eyes flick to Naomi as she walks across the yard. “Nay,” he says, winking.

Naomi doesn’t miss a beat. “Ry.”