Once I checked into my hotel, deposited my things, and freshened up enough to look presentable, I allowed myself to check my phone. There were the messages I had seen earlier in the morning and nearly a half-dozen more waiting to be read. A few were pictures of entertaining things Emma must have encountered; a few more were quips about pretentious literaries; and the last few were questions. My stomach plummeted as I read them.

More silent than usual this morning... everything ok?

I was being ironic with the picture of the latte... joke gone too far?

I'm sorry if I upset you with the coffee thing (or something else I'm not realizing??) Will you just please let me know you're alive? Even a poop emoji would do.

I responded to Emma immediately with an excuse that my phone had died and apologized profusely for worrying her. I then tried to subtly ask her what she was up to and where she was, but she didn't respond. I waited a few minutes, pacing back and forth in my increasingly cramped room, and then called her. When she didn't pick up the first time, I hung up and called again. I meant to leave a casual voicemail, but at the sound of the beep I momentarily panicked and hung up.

Cursing my lack of game (& my blind trust in Charlie's advice), I grabbed my wallet and keys. I figured if I couldn't get through to her by phone, I might as well hit the streets. Hay-on-Wye was a relatively small village, and I certainly had better odds running into her out there than I did sitting in my room.

I turned right out the front door and walked swiftly down the main street. I strode past a few shops and festival stalls when, suddenly, I saw her.

Emma was exiting a restaurant and stopped on the sidewalk to talk to the man who had been walking in front of her. He laughed and said something before cupping her face. He bent his neck and from the gleam of the light on her hair, I could tell she angled her face toward him.

I looked away. When I finally managed to glimpse back, they were embracing. His arms wrapped around her waist, hers around his neck, and her expression set in a contented smile with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, they met mine.

I turned to leave but froze when I heard her voice.

"T-Tom?"

I turned back slowly and grimaced as I awkwardly waved my hand.

She quickly turned back to the man to say something, touching him gently on the arm, before making her way over to me.

I raked my fingers through my hair, trying in vain to find a way out of this disastrous situation. My heart, still aching slightly, pounded against my ribs with a deafening clamor that made it impossible to think straight.

"W-what?" Emma spluttered when she finally got close enough to speak. She shook her head and burst into laughter. "Bloody hell! What are you doing here?"

I merely shrugged, still unsure of what to say or how to even form words again.

"Is this why you didn't respond to any of my messages?" She blushed once she'd said it.

Nevertheless, she stepped closer to me so that we were chest to chest and went on the balls of her feet as she looped her arms around my neck—like she'd just done with his—and squeezed me tightly.

"I... wanted to surprise you," I finally said as my hands belatedly pressed against her back. "Trisha said—"

"I knew she was up to something!" Emma exclaimed, pulling back.

Despite everything, her smile was still infectious.

"She told me to brush my teeth this morning," she laughed.

"She said if I told you I was thinking of coming, you'd convince me not to?"

Emma smiled again, this time unabashedly full and toothy. I wondered if she were aware of how many different smiles she had, and how many different ways they pulled me in. There was the demurred bashful smile that made me want to put each and every one of her attributes on exhibit for her to be able to finally see and recognize them; there was the playful teasing smile that reassured the recipient of her good-natured intentions; there was the curious smile that worked in tandem with the inquisitive furrowing of her eyebrows; there was the coy flirtatious smile that only employed a soft curve of her lips; and there was this smile—the unselfconscious, full-of-enthusiasm-and-excitement-for-life smile.

"You came to see me?"

I tried to hide my sharp intake of breath as a sharp pain cracked along the side of my ribs. I diverted my gaze to where she and the other man had embraced, and I was surprised to find that he had disappeared.

"I didn't mean to interrupt..." I mumbled, my gaze still hovering on the spot.

She turned over her shoulder and, seeing the point of my fixation, waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh no, perfect timing. Youssef and I had just finished. I was interviewing him for a feature piece," she explained as she turned back to face me. "It's actually kind of a crazy story," Emma added with a laugh.

She stared up at me, so I forced a tight smile. "Maybe you'll tell me sometime."

"Over dinner?"

I merely nodded.

Her smile brightened, tugging on mine.

Suddenly she glanced down around my feet. "Did you bring any bags? Do you need to check in anywhere? I could give you time to settle and meet you whenever you're ready."

I shook my head, slightly dizzy from the rapid turn of events. "I'm good. Just... could use a drink."

She beamed and then shook her head, still grinning. "Brilliant! Just brilliant! I still can't believe you're here! C'mon, I'll take you to a favorite little pub of mine."

Emma linked her arm with mine and led me down the main road. She spoke excitedly the entire way, peppering me with questions about the details of my trip—when I had left, what train I'd taken, how I'd managed to clear my schedule—and was only satisfied when I had assured her (and then reassured her) that I hadn't had any major commitments on my calendar and that her surprise (as she had begun to call it) was not too big of an inconvenience.

The questioning was a welcome distraction from my roiling internal review of every conversation we had shared, searching hopelessly for any damning signs I had originally been blind to or had poorly misinterpreted.

After several blocks, Emma pulled us from the main road and into a labyrinth of quieter, cobblestone streets. The pub sat atop one of these streets, on the roof one of the taller buildings. We had had to climb part of the fire escape to access it, and I was equal parts curious as to how Emma had found such a place and if such a place could possibly be above board.

From the array of mismatched lawn chairs and sofas offered as seating (and the lack of a high barrier around the rooftop's open edges), I very much doubted it. The bar, too, looked cobbled together from different pieces of wooden furniture. The set up came off charming in the warm glow of the string lights hanging slackly in the air.

Mostly couples and a few small groups dotted the seats, all appearing to fall into easy, quiet conversation with their companions.

When we reached the bar, Emma insisted on buying me a drink and, too exhausted from the train and the emotional roller coaster I was still riding, I didn't fight her on it. With our drinks in hand, we walked over to a loveseat near to the edge of the roof.

Hay-on-Wye was a small village, so there were not much of a skyline to look at but the view was still charming enough. I felt the cushion next to me decompress as Emma sat down, her shoulder brushing against mine as she leaned in toward me. She took a breath as if to say something—but then silently leaned back into the arm of the sofa.

I could feel her eyes on me, but I couldn't meet them. Instead, I took a healthy drink from my glass.

"You... said you came here to see me?" She finally asked.

I merely nodded down at my glass cradled in the crooks of my fingers.

"And yet," she whispered, "you won't look at me."

It wasn't a question.

Her voice was soft, absent of any anger or indignation... but still, there was something there, something edged.

My head suddenly snapped up, the confused yet hurting cadence in her words echoing in me and striking a chord with my own feelings from seeing her in the arms of another man.

"Did I do something?"

I shook my head adamantly. "No," I rushed. "Of course not. I just think—well, I didn't think..." I sighed and closed my eyes struggling to find the words, but mostly struggling to find my courage to say them. "I was just hoping I wouldn't be interrupting anything."

She cocked her head. "You knew this was a business trip. You had to know I'd be working—"

"I don't mean your job—"

"Then what do you mean?" She straightened her back, and I angled my whole body toward her.

"I mean him, Emma."

"Who him?" Her voice pitched slightly higher and definitely louder.

"Youssef!"

I turned back to my drink under Emma's wide stare. She said nothing, and I began to shift uncomfortably.

"You're friend..." My jaw tightened as I explained. "That guy you were with today."

"I know who he is." She spoke softly again, but with a new steadiness as if preparing herself for something I couldn't yet see coming.

I let out a deep breath as I fixed my stare on the darkening silhouette of a church steeple.

"So, you're jealous?"

"Emma—"

"Yes or no," she demanded sternly.

"Yes!"

"Well... why not just say so?"

I glanced over at her. "What?"

Emma closed her eyes and slowly inhaled. As I looked her over, I noticed her shoulder muscles were knotted so tightly they hovered just below her ears and her collarbone was completely exposed.

"We're just friends, Tom."

The pain in my ribs flared again. "I know... I know I have no right to feel jealous or possessive over you—"

"Youssef and I are just friends!" She exclaimed, exasperation beginning to seep into her voice.

I hesitated. "That's not what it looked like."

"Well that's what it was—is." She shook her head, possibly in disgust. "What, now that we've gone out do you want me to never interact with another guy again?"

"Of course not!" I yelped as I edged closer to her.

"Then what do you want?" She demanded, leaning back again to maintain the distance between us.

"I want to not be a jealous arse!" I nearly shouted.

"Then don't be!" She rounded.

I laughed as I raised my glass to my lips, but stilled as I felt Emma's hand over mine. I silently lifted my eyes to hers. Her gaze was determined, but her touch quivered.

Her words were quiet and halting as if just uttering them took all that was left in her reserve. "If I promised you that you had nothing to be jealous of, would you believe me?"

Her eyes bore into mine, their usual playful glint replaced by a blazing seriousness. "Yes."

"And would you trust me?"

"Yes," I breathed.

A small smile—one I had never seen before—slowly etched across her face. "I promise there is nothing between Youssef and I—or anyone else."

"Okay," I nodded.

"Okay," she said as she readjusted herself on the sofa to sit beside me, shoulder to shoulder.

We sat in companionable silence, both of us sipping our drinks as we watched the darkening night sky until Emma suddenly laughed.

She shook her head, as if to rid herself of the unexpected laughter, but another giggle escaped.

"I thought you might be seeing someone else while I was gone," she finally managed to explain.

"Emma," I started in disbelief. "I called you every night. How on earth could you think I was interested in anyone else?"

"And I text you all day every day!" She retorted.

I sighed dramatically as I rested my arm on the edge of the sofa around her shoulders. "Touche."

She smiled down at her shoulder as my thumb began to draw concentric circles on her skin. "But so just for the record..."

As my thumb slowed to a still, Emma drew her gaze up to mine.

"You have nothing to be jealous of either, Emma."

She smiled—again in that new way—and leaned toward me, fitting her lips perfectly to mine.