She gave him a disbelieving look, and Owen imagined what she wanted to say but wasn’t. Thanks for nothing, you arse.
“Emily…” he began, but then trailed off to nothing because there was nothing to say.
“I guess this is goodbye,” she said.
“I’ll see you around the village,” he offered, although perhaps that made it all worse.
She gave him another eloquently silent look and then, without saying anything more, she turned and walked out of the pub. As the door closed behind her, Owen swore out loud.
*
She was not going to cry. At least, she was not going to cry until she was back in her cottage, and no one could see her start to sob. Emily walked quickly away from the pub; the warm spring sunshine spilling from the sky felt like an insult, after all the rain. Now you shine. Too little, too late.
She drew in a steadying breath to keep the tears at bay as she walked back to Willoughby Close. It was Friday afternoon, and she’d left work early, so unlike her, but she’d needed to see Owen. Three days of silence and she’d really begun to worry. She’d had reason, it seemed.
I’m not in a place to have a relationship. What did that even mean? She’d seen the grim resolve in Owen’s eyes, and known better than to argue. Not that she would have. She felt far too uncertain and inexperienced to fight for something she barely trusted or understood herself. They’d had a handful of dates, after all, even if it had felt like so much more than that.
From the first moment she’d met him, her relationship with Owen had been intense and overwhelming. And now it was over. He couldn’t have made it clearer just then that he’d wanted her out of his pub, out of his life.
Why? Why did this have to make a difference? Her life was messy and complicated too, but she’d still wanted Owen in it. Why was he pushing her away? Maybe she was the problem, Emily reflected despairingly as she let herself into her cottage. Cass trotted up to her faithfully, and with a sigh she scooped her up, kicked off her heels, and headed upstairs to the rocking chair in her bedroom, with its view of the wood and the river.
Maybe she was too complicated for Owen. He couldn’t handle her problems along with his own. She could hardly blame him for that; she knew she was difficult, and touchy, and fragile. She had a mother in a psychiatric hospital who was coming out in sixteen days, and going to have to live with her. She didn’t even know how to do relationships, never mind fight for them. She was at a complete loss.
So maybe Owen was right, and it was better this way, at least for him. She was too much work. Too much effort. And even though it didn’t feel right now, it might eventually. She could go back to the way she’d been, because she’d been happy like that.
No, you weren’t. The blunt voice in her head could not be ignored. You might have tricked yourself into thinking you were, but you weren’t. And you can’t go back, at least not easily.
But she could try, because at least the way she’d been had been a whole lot safer. Closing her eyes, Emily buried her nose in Cass’s fur and let the tears come.
*
An hour later a persistent knock at the door had her rising from the rocking chair, her heart leaden and her limbs aching. She didn’t know how long she’d been staring into space, reliving the best moments she’d had with Owen, even though every one felt like sticking a needle into her eye. Gone. All gone.
She opened the front door warily, knowing she looked a fright and not really caring. Ava stood there, looking so sympathetic and sorrowful that Emily struggled not to burst into tears. She already looked a mess, anyway, so she supposed it didn’t matter all that much.
“Oh, Emily.”
Ava stepped into the cottage and put her arms around Emily for a quick, hard hug, which felt exactly like what Emily needed. It was a hug to bolster rather than one to fall into, and Emily gave a big sniff as she turned to put the kettle on.
“How did you know?”
“Because I just rang Owen to ask if I could help and he gave me a typical man’s pity party, invitation for one.” She shook her head in exasperated disgust. “He is being so very stupid.”
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Emily said in a woebegone voice. She couldn’t help it; the words slipped out of her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ava said firmly. “It’s just Owen, being a typical man, thinking he has to save the world.”
“Or just me,” Emily said softly. She’d been thinking a lot about that over the last miserable hour, how Owen had swept in on his charger and changed her life. He’d been so kind, so understanding, so very patient, but maybe at the end of the day she really was too much work.
“Most men have some sort of complex,” Ava said after a moment, her lips pursed and her hands on her hips. “They can’t help it, bless them. Owen’s is of the save-the-world variety, it seems, so you might be right there.”
The kettle clicked off and Emily dolefully plunked teabags into two mugs. “What with his pub and his livelihood up in smoke, it’s no wonder he doesn’t want to bother with me, as well.”
“Well that’s even stupider than what he said,” Ava returned robustly.
Emily splashed milk in the mugs and then handed Ava hers. “What did he say?”
“That’s for him to say to you, not me,” Ava said after a moment. “I’m not going to gossip.” Which piqued both Emily’s curiosity and her anxiety.
“I don’t think he’ll say anything to me ever again,” Emily said,
