Page 39 of Higher Ground
She shoved him off with a grunt. “I’m fine.”
Her eyes were watering, though, and she still held both hands over what was sure to become a bruise. Byron backed away, never wanting to overstep. Still not knowing what they were now.
“I’m still cooking dinner,” Emory said as she hobbled from the room.
He followed her to the kitchen and watched as she perused the meat in the freezer.
“I took a leg of lamb out last night,” he told her. “It’s in the fridge. I’m going to get the coals going on the Webber and cook it outside.”
Emory slammed the freezer door shut, making Clayton’s drawings rustle against their magnets. “But you always cook. I feel bad.”
“I like it.” Byron took a chance and stepped towards Emory. Her hand was still on the fridge, so he covered it with his own. She didn’t freeze at the touch or move away, so he laced their fingers together and turned her to face him. “I feel bloody useless, not being able to check the cows or fix damn fences. Cooking is how I make up for that. Please.”
He didn’t tell her that cooking was also how he showed he cared. Or that it was his love language.
Emory opened her mouth to rebut, but he was sure she wasn’t going to admit defeat because of the way her eyebrows were still pinched together. So, he squeezed her hand and cut her off before she could begin.
“How about I cook the meat, and you can roast some spuds and carrots. It’ll be a team effort.”
She nodded meekly, and he let go of her hand to get the meat from the fridge. He also grabbed an array of spices from the pantry and a large baking dish. Emory sat opposite him on the bench while he prepped the meat, and followed him outside when he went to get the coals started. When Betty came over to say hello, Emory didn’t shy away. She even gave the cow a good scratch under her chin to keep her from nuzzling into Byron while he lit the little pile of kindling under the flute.
“You’re good at this, you know,” she said as they sat down on the outdoor recliners as the coals began to heat. “Cooking. Like, I can cook a meal, and it’s edible, but you have a knack for all the spices and whatever. Your meals are always a few degrees better than whatever I can whip together.”
“I always liked it. Not much point when I’m on my own though.” He looked out past his yard to the flooded valleys. Josie’s old windmill was barely hanging on above the waterline, but for once, seeing it didn’t bring a pang of grief. Instead, the feeling washing over him was hope. Like maybe, if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be lonely again. “Thank you for letting me cook for you and Clayton.”
Emory nodded beside him. Her hand stretched out a little, but the recliners must have been too far apart for whatever she wanted, so she pulled it back in and hugged herself.
“It’ll be strange,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Leaving. I never thought I’d say it, but I might just come to miss this place.”
He wanted to tell her then that she didn’t have to leave. His legs twitched like he should get on his knees and beg her to stay. But he couldn’t. Not until he knew for sure she’d want to.
Chapter 19
Emory
The grass was surprisingly warm under Emory’s toes. Dry too, which surprised her considering the endless rain the past few days had brought and the mass of water that spread around the hill. But propped up on their high ground, the sun had dried all the dew from the blades. Afternoon sun glared across the water, so bright Emory had to squint, even with her sunglasses on.
Byron’s so-called backyard, which was mostly just the small flat patch of grass before the drop off of the hill, had become Clayton’s favourite place. He loved testing Emory’s limits, inching closer to the floodwater with a cheeky grin. Each time she called him back, he stomped a foot and trudged back towards the house.
As Clayton continued to run up and down the yard, Miff chased after him, barking. She probably thought the young boy was another animal for her to herd, but he seemed to be enjoying it. And all the while, Betty mooed from her spot on the grass, displeased by her shortened leash. Emory hoped her basic knot would hold up against the cow’s pulling. She’d grownaccustomed to having the cow in such close quarters, but it was safer for Clayton this way.
He loved it here. It had been a slow realisation over the past few days, but Emory saw it clear as the blue sky now. She supposed he always had a giant grin on his face whenever she came to pick him up. He’d spent more time here over the past three years than he had with her at the cottage. It stung a little, but Emory was glad he was able to spend time with family while she went off to work and study.
It was all going to change when she moved to the city, though. All of it. For so long, she’d thought she was so far past ready it was inevitable, but the flood had changed her. Being here, with Byron, had changed her.
“Clayton,” she warned when he stepped a little closer to the water than last time. “If you go any further, it will be time to go back inside. Come play on the slide.”
He made no move towards the old play equipment, but he did turn away from the water to pet Miff. Emory called it a win.
The sun was warm, soaking through her thin hoodie and burning her legs under her black leggings. Moving backwards so she could keep an eye on Clayton, she made her way towards the porch. She wanted to stay close, though, just in case he misjudged a sneaky step and toppled into the water. Thankfully, the shade from the house reached across the lowest step. Emory sat, resting her feet on the grass and leaning her elbows on the next step higher.
She kept one eye on her son, but her mind began to wander. From that very first awkward morning, to all the little moments—and the big one—she and Byron had shared since, to what this aching feeling in her chest meant. The chemistry between her and Byron had positively sparked, and now that they had set it free, there was no containing it. She’d spent all day yearning formoreof Byron.
A pit formed low in Emory’s gut at the thought. This was meant to be fun. It was meant to be a quick release to ease the tension. It wasn’t meant to be something she wanted to continue long after the flood receded. But now, that’s all she could think about.
Could it continue after the bridge reopened and she was free to go back to the cottage? That was assuming she even could go back. She had no idea if it was underwater or if this whole flooded in situation was the product of an overcautious weatherman. But regardless, it couldn’t continue long term, she knew that. As soon as she packed up whatever was left of the cottage and finished her course and found a job, she and Clayton would finally be on their way out of town.
She’d start her new life in the city.
