Page 58

frostbite and freedom

KIERAN

I shoot off a text while I stand barefoot in the kitchen, phone in one hand, coffee mug in the other.

You’ve got half an hour. I’m picking you up. Dress warm.

The reply comes quicker than I expect.

Ells [10:01]

Half an hour?? You can’t just give a woman 30 minutes if she doesn’t know where she’s going.

I smirk into my mug, thumbs already flying across the screen.

Think scarves. Maybe boots. Definitely not heels.

Ells [10:02]

Is this a kidnapping?

Technically yes. The good kind. No ransom required.

Ells [10:03]

Do I at least get snacks?

Chips. Guaranteed. Possibly vinegar. Maybe even a battered sausage if you behave.

Ells [10:05]

Sausage?

I stare at the message, grinning like an idiot.

Jesus, Ellie. It’s 10am and your mind’s already in the gutter?

Ells [10:06]

You put it there

I mean that wasn’t my plan. But if that’s what you want I can make arrangements.

Ells [10:07]

KIERAN

Just being supportive.

Ells [10:09]

You’re filth. And if there’s no tea involved, I’m filing a formal complaint.

Your complaint has been noted. Still picking you up in 30.

She doesn’t reply after that, but the read receipt gives her away.

I grin to myself, draining the last of my coffee before tugging on a jacket and grabbing the keys off the hook. I don’t even have a destination in mind. Just… open air. Space. A breath away from everything that’s happened.

Exactly thirty minutes later, I roll to a stop outside Naomi’s building, engine idling beneath my palm as I drum light fingers on the steering wheel.

The front door swings open before I even reach for my phone. She’s right on time.

Ellie steps out into the crisp air, her coat cinched tight at the waist and a scarf looped hastily around her neck, one end still dangling as she wrestles it into place.

Her cheeks are already pink from the cold, her hair half-windswept, and the second I see the faint tug of a smile at her lips, something in my chest unclenches.

She spots me, eyes narrowing like she’s half-suspicious and half-amused, and crosses the pavement with that same no-nonsense stride I remember from four years ago. Back when she thought I was trouble and let me flirt with her anyway.

She climbs into the passenger seat, pulls the door shut, and fastens her seatbelt with a flick of her wrist.

“Well,” she says, arching an eyebrow as she tugs her scarf higher. “I’ll give you this. You’re irritatingly punctual.”

I smirk, glancing sideways as I pull away from the curb. “Some of us like to be on time when we’re kidnapping people.”

She huffs out a laugh and settles into her seat, head tilting back as the city blurs past the window. “You realise that’s not the reassuring statement you think it is, right?”

“Too late,” I say. “You’re in now. No refunds.”

For a few minutes, we drive in comfortable silence.

The town slowly thins around us. Coffee shops giving way to parks, parks giving way to wide skies and long strips of coastline road.

There’s something grounding about the way she sits beside me, legs crossed at the ankle, fingertips brushing the hem of her coat like she’s still fidgeting the weight of the week out of her bones.

She glances over at me. “Alright. But seriously… what is this? Where are we going?”

I glance at her, then back at the road, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “It’s not about the where.”

She shoots me that look. The one that says if you get all poetic-songwriter on me right now, I swear to God . But she doesn’t press. She just watches me.

“This is just—something,” I say after a beat. “A moment. For you. Because you’ve been through hell. And you’re still standing. Still showing up. You’ve handled more than most people could even imagine, and I don’t think you realise how amazed I am by you.”

Her breath hitches a little, but I don’t let it linger. I don’t want this to become another heavy moment for her to carry.

“But today’s not about that,” I say quickly. “It’s not about him, or the system, or the next steps, or the weight of it all. Today’s just a breath. Just a stupid little drive to somewhere that you get to be Ellie again. Not the strong one. Not the mother. Not the nurse struggling to find a job.”

I glance over at her, meeting her eyes. “Just… you.”

She says nothing at first, just stares at me with something soft and stunned flickering behind her eyes.

Like she doesn’t know what to do with that kind of space.

Then she lets out a slow breath and leans her head against the window.

“I don’t remember the last time I got to be just me,” she murmurs.

I nod, keeping my hands steady on the wheel. “I remember you, Ellie. Before everything. The you that laughed so loud it turned heads. The you who made everything around her brighter without even trying.”

Her breath catches, just a little, but she doesn’t look away.

“I remember that girl,” I say. “And I figured… maybe she could use a morning that wasn’t about holding everything together.”

There’s a beat of silence between us. Not heavy. Just full.

And then she shifts in her seat, eyes glinting with something familiar.

“Kieran…”

I shoot her a quick look and cut in before she can get any further. “Alright, alright, that’s enough of the heavy stuff.”

She blinks, startled into a small laugh.

“First stop Brenda’s,” I say, flicking the indicator on. “I’m starving and craving a croissant.”

The café is quieter than usual for a Saturday. Just the inaudible murmur of conversation, the occasional hiss of the coffee machine, and the gentle clatter of crockery. The air is thick with the scent of warm pastries, mingling into something that wraps around us like a blanket.

I’m halfway through an almond croissant, flakes everywhere, when I glance up and catch Ellie smiling.

Not at me.

At Brenda, who’s perched on the chair opposite her like a proud aunt who’s been waiting all month to fuss. There’s something easy between them. Familiar. Like Ellie never left, like this place just folded around her the second she stepped through the door.

“You look tired, love,” Brenda says, not unkindly. “But there’s something else in your eyes that’s different.”

Ellie ducks her head, fingers curled around her mug of tea. “It’s been a long week.”

Brenda reaches across the table and gives Ellie’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaning back again, as if that alone might be enough to anchor her. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. This place isn’t the same without you.”

They fall into conversation like nothing’s changed. Mia, Naomi, some risotto disaster that ended in “emergency noodles.” Ellie’s laugh bubbles out, soft and warm, and something in my chest eases.

I don’t say much. Don’t need to. Watching her like this with her shoulders lower, her eyes clearer, I just sit in it. Let myself witness it. Her voice has that lighter edge again, the one I’ve missed. Not performative. Not weighed down. Just hers.

She doesn’t tell Brenda everything. Not the hard stuff.

But she doesn’t need to. There’s a rhythm in the way she holds her tea now, like it’s comforting.

And her smile, God, it’s quieter than usual, but it’s real.

A softness threaded with exhaustion, sure, but there’s peace there too. Flickering in the quiet.

She doesn’t even realise how strong she looks. But I do. I see every inch of it.

I stand, brushing flakes off my hoodie and draining the last of my coffee in one go. “Drink up, buttercup,” I say, nudging the base of Ellie’s mug with a grin. “We’re not done yet.”

She arches an eyebrow, suspicious. “Oh no. What now?”

I smirk. “You’ll see. Come on.”

She groans but gets to her feet, offering Brenda a quick hug and a promise to stop by again soon. Brenda watches her go with that same fond smile, already back behind the counter, hands moving with muscle memory through a tray of croissants.

Ellie pushes through the door, the little bell jangling overhead. Cold air rushes in, tugging the warmth away with her.

I move to follow, already half-turned when I hear her voice.

“Kieran…”

I stop. I glance back toward the counter. Brenda’s already moving, folding paper bags with precise ease, but she looks up just long enough to catch my eye.

“Thank you.”

Two words. Quiet. Honest. But there’s a knowing expression on her face.

I nod once, then turn and step out after Ellie.

Outside, the cold air hits hard. The wind coming off the water stings our cheeks, but the sky is a wide, washed-out blue, and the sun glares off the sea like a spotlight.

Ellie tugs her coat tighter around her and burrows down into her scarf. “You know,” she mutters, glancing sideways at me, “next time you decide to play tour guide, a weather warning wouldn’t kill you.”

I huff a laugh and bump her shoulder with mine as we walk. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She groans dramatically. “Frozen. Somewhere between the café door and my rapidly numbing toes.”

I laugh. “It’s a beach. In England. In October. What exactly were you expecting? Sun loungers and mojitos?”

Ellie shoots me a look like I’ve offended her. “Preferably, yes.”

But the edge of her mouth twitches. And I catch it, the tiniest smile curling at the corners. The way she exhales a little easier. The way her step falls into rhythm with mine.

We walk for a while, the crunch of pebbles beneath our boots the only sound between us.

The sea rolls in gently, lazy and rhythmic, the tide pushing and pulling in a constant hush.

The cold air wraps around us in bursts, sharp against our cheeks, and I swear my ears are going numb—but I don’t care.

Not when she’s beside me like this. Close enough for our shoulders to brush every few steps.

We settle on a low stone wall just above the dunes—the ocean stretching wide in front of us, steel-grey and endless. The horizon blurs into the sky, the whole world softened by salt air and that strange hush that only happens at the coast.