“So is Owen like you or like Richard?”
“Both of us in different ways?” Harriet answered with a laugh. “I don’t know. The analogy falls apart at some point I’m sure, but all I’m saying is, be patient. Give him a chance.”
“Give him a chance?” Emily shook her head. “I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I’d give Owen a million chances. He’s the one who isn’t giving me one. He said he’s not in a place to have a relationship.”
“Because he doesn’t think he has anything to offer you. So you need to decide if he does, and then you need to tell him so.”
Emily stayed silent as she considered that terrifying prospect. Owen had been so very clear about what he did and did not want for her. Could she really be brave enough to put herself out there, to fight for what she wanted? What if Owen rejected her again? Emily didn’t think she could take that, not after everything else. “I don’t know…” she began, but Harriet shook her head.
“I think you do. I know it’s scary. That makes it worth doing.” She touched her arm. “Look.”
Emily looked up to see bluebells stretching in every direction, a living, violet carpet that was breathtaking in its pure beauty.
“Wow,” she said softly. She’d been so intent on their discussion she hadn’t seen the beauty all around her. The possibility as well as the promise.
Ahead of them Chloe let out a squeal, and William gave a cackle. Mallory heaved a dramatic sigh. “There isn’t even any signal here,” she complained.
“You’re not meant to be on your phone,” Harriet shot back. She gave Emily an encouraging smile. “Think about it.”
“Okay,” Emily said. She gazed out at the bluebells in the shadowy wood, the sky impossibly blue high above them. A day full of hope, of optimism. Maybe even of second chances.
Maybe it was time to start taking some risks.
*
She was still considering Harriet’s words on Monday, when she headed to work and spent a full eight hours at her desk, working on the fundraiser details as well as the appeal Henry wanted sent out to five thousand potential donors.
The weather had stayed warm, and she’d enjoyed spending most of Sunday in her garden, weeding the flower beds and then just sitting in the sunshine. Her mother was coming home tomorrow, and Emily had got her room ready, everything spotless, tidy, and hopefully welcoming.
The sun was still shining as she headed back to Willoughby Close at half past five, the air balmy and full of birdsong. Since Saturday she’d been dithering about doing what Harriet had suggested—finding Owen and telling him to give her—them—a chance. Yet every time she actually thought about doing, walking to his house and knocking on his door, her insides froze with terror. She couldn’t. She couldn’t risk the rejection.
Then, as she rounded the corner to the turn-off for the close, her heart seemed to clang in her chest like a bell because there was Owen right in front of her. Had he come to find her? He faltered in his step, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Hey.” His voice came out in something close to a croak and he gave a crooked smile.
“What are you doing here?” Emily asked. Too late she heard the hope in her voice, and saw the guilty look flash across Owen’s face. In an instant she knew he wasn’t here for her. Nothing had changed.
“Jace and Ava invited me over for supper. I’m just using the shortcut through the wood.”
“Oh.” Disappointment and something close to grief swamped her. Of course he was.
Owen jammed his hand in the pockets of his jeans. “How are you? How’s your mum?”
“She’s coming back here tomorrow with me.” Emily decided to sidestep the first question, because the only answer she could give was that she was missing him terribly.
“Is she? That’s great news, at least, isn’t it?” A lopsided smile curved his mouth and made Emily ache. Everything about him was wonderfully familiar and yet impossibly remote.
“Yes, it is. She’s doing well and I hope she’ll be happy here.”
“How are you getting to London and back?”
“I’m renting a car.”
He looked torn, and Emily knew he was thinking of suggesting he give her a lift, just as she knew he wouldn’t. “I should tell you,” he said after a moment, looking even more uncomfortable, “that I’m moving.”
“Moving?” She stared at him in shock. “Where?”
Owen shrugged. “Not sure. I kept going east from Cwmparc and ended up here. Maybe I’ll keep going—Oxford, London? Wherever I can find some work.”
“What about your house? And the pub?”
“I’m selling the pub, and I’m letting my house.”
Emily could scarcely take it in. He was just leaving? Because of her? “When?” she finally managed faintly.
“I don’t know. A few days, maybe a week. When I have everything in order. I’ve still got to finish the insurance claim for the pub, and arrange the house let. Not too long, though.”
“But…you’ve lived in Wychwood for fifteen years.”
Owen hunched his shoulders. “Time to move on, then.”
“I hope you’re not thinking of moving just because of me,” Emily blurted. “I’m not going to make a nuisance of myself or something, Owen. You don’t have to leave on my account.”
“It’s not just you.”
“Why, then?”
“It’s everything, Emily. I’ve lost everything.”
You haven’t lost me, she wanted to say, but couldn’t. She felt too shocked, and too stung by his news. He wasn’t just walking away, he was running. And she wasn’t brave enough to fight for him to come back.
“I should go,” he said as Emily struggled for something to say. “Ava and Jace are expecting me.”
She nodded, mechanically, and still stayed silent as Owen walked past her, down the lane, and then cut through the wood, until the trees swallowed him in darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
“You are a complete git.” Jace
