Emma's POV
I call the venue Sunday morning and leave a message.
Dominic is in the kitchen when I come back downstairs, making coffee in the way he's learned I like it, stronger than he takes his own. He doesn't look up but he heard me on the phone. I can tell by the slight stillness in his shoulders.
"Done," I say.
"Good."
He hands me the mug and our fingers overlap for a second longer than necessary and neither of us moves to fix that.
This is the thing nobody tells you about choosing someone deliberately, with your eyes open, after everything. The wanting becomes unbearable in a completely different way. Not desperate. Just constant. Like a low note held underneath everything else.
I take the mug and sit at the island and open my course materials because I have a practical exam ne
