As we strolled down the lane, I did my best to point out my neighbors, their various flowers or pastures, anything to fill the silence between us.

Tom would nod along with whatever I muttered, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere.

I grimaced as I considered that perhaps his heart was not merely somewhere, but with someone else.

"She pull the photo album out?" I asked him, finally giving up on cataloging the copious varieties of shrubs Mr. Tempit wound through his garden.

Tom nodded.

"She show you the pictures of me with the chickenpox?"

He nodded again.

I kept my voice as neutrally flat as I could manage. "And the ones of me during my nude phase?"

Tom blinked and looked over at me in surprise.

"Gotcha," I teased as I nudged my shoulder into his upper arm.

"She told me about Rufus."

My grin immediately fell. Unsure of what to say, I opted for his tactic and said nothing at all. It wasn't long until he burst.

"I thought you were terrified, Emma!"

"I know, I—"

"Too terrified to go back to work—to stay in London!"

I'd never heard Tom shout before. In fact, before hearing it that day, I hadn't even been sure he was physically capable of it.

"I'm sorry!" I cried, tears welling in my eyes.

"How could you let me think that? I've been worried sick about you!" He took a large step back as if he physically couldn't bare to stand so close to me now that he'd discovered the truth of what I'd done, of what I'd kept from him.

"Because I knew if I told you the truth, you'd only blame yourself!"

"Of course I do! You had to quit your job because—"

"Because my boss was completely unethical." My words sliced through his, serrated by my anger at Rufus and all of the hurt he had caused me and my loved ones.

Before I had blamed Marcus, and before that the two of us deigning to go out to celebrate with friends. But if it hadn't been for Rufus, if it hadn't been for his sleazy demands or his vindictive blacklisting, I never would have come back to Kerry, and Tom and I wouldn't be here screaming at each other in the middle of the lane.

"Emma—"

But the coils of guilt constantly squeezing my intestines knew Rufus or Marcus weren't the only ones at fault...

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, forcing myself to admit the lie which I had allowed to drive us apart.

"I knew you were already feeling bad for how I found out about your family," I confessed, "and I didn't want to pile it on."

Tom shook his head adamantly. "But if we hadn't been dating—"

I held up one hand between us as I tugged the other roughly through my hair. "Don't. Just... Don't."

After a moment, Tom reached for my outheld hand, cupping it in his. I watched him slowly begin to stroke it with his thumbs moving in rhythmic circles.

"I'm sorry I lied," I whispered shakily. "I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't know what else to do."

He closed his eyes and squeezed my hand.

I placed my other hand on top of his, but—fearing I wasn't prepared for his answer to my question—I struggled to force my lips to form the words I knew had to ask.

"Can... can you forgive me?"

Slowly Tom's eyes fluttered open, and, as they met mine, a familiar warmth flooded over them.

Later, while sitting across from him at my mother's table listening to her retell the horror of my angst-filled adolescence, I would recognize the glistening in his eyes for what it was—love.

But in that moment, there in the middle of the lane, in clear view of a scandalized Mr. Tempit hunched behind an untrimmed hedge, I thought of nothing else but the feel of Tom's lips fitting perfectly to mine.

⭐️❤️