Untethered

28 | Memento Mori

Arranging the last of the chairs beneath the canopy of the black tent, Emma stepped back and surveyed her work. As per Greta's wishes, they were having the memorial service at the house in the back garden. She'd spent most of the week getting it ready. Now, the grass was cut and trimmed, flower beds weeded and watered, and tables set up for the caterers who would arrive the next day about mid-morning.

Early the next day, she would set up the large portraits of Greta at the front, along with the bronze urn, and the multitude of flower arrangements that had arrived over the last several days.

Sinking down onto the chair she'd just placed near the front, she gazed over the garden as it was bathed in the soft, peachy glow of the sun, sinking low in the sky. If it weren't for the canopy and the chairs that reminded her of her godmother's loss, it would be just like any other evening she'd ever spent here. She half-expected the woman to appear with a pitcher of sweet tea or a bottle of wine and a cheeky greeting.

Her eyes began to sting and she blinked furiously. All week, she'd worked so hard, trying to distract herself from the reason for all of her efforts. But now that there was nothing left to do, and she was alone, it was unavoidable. Greta's absence pressed in on her, making her heart ache with loss. The other woman always knew what she needed, even when Emma's mind was so muddled that she had no clue herself.

It was ironic. She was badly needed right now-the one time Emma knew she would never appear. There would be no more advice, no more hugs, no more reality checks.

Closing her eyes, she forced the tears gathering behind her eyelids back. Sucking in a deep breath, she attempted to clear her mind. After a few moments, she was in better control of herself, but there was still one thing that refused to vacate the premises:

Ryan.

She understood what he was going through, but the way he was handling it made her want to simultaneously squeeze him in a comforting bear-hug, and shake the ever-living daylights out of him.

If he'd just open his stupid mouth and talk...

Even as she thought it, she realized how hypocritical it sounded. She knew it wouldn't actually help him, she just wanted to be inside his head to make herself feel better. It was the exact thing that made her crazy when she was lost in her own grief months before.

The hairs on her forearms suddenly stood up and a chill washed over her body, leaving a wave of goosebumps in its wake. She lifted her eyes, and took in the six-foot-plus form of the man who'd been taking up the extra space in her brain all week, sauntering towards her.

How 'bout that? I'm fucking Harry Potter.

"I wasn't expecting you home until much later," she said, eyeing him guardedly. After the initial arrangements were made earlier in the week, he had thrown himself into work. She'd spoken to Luke several times, both being concerned for him, but he had shut himself in his workshop and barely emerged.

"I know." He shifted uncomfortably. Then, he crossed over the loamy ground, and lowered himself into the chair next to her. Dulled green eyes, roamed over their surroundings. "Thank you for this, Em."

"You're welcome, I don't mind." And she didn't. The work had kept her hands busy, if not her mind. She paused, chewing one side of her lower lip into her mouth, "Are you doing alright?" The words almost stalled on her lips, but her mouth ignored her hesitation, shoving them out.

He grunted in response, not looking at her.

Eyeing his profile critically for the first time since he'd joined her, she noted that he'd trimmed his beard and gotten a haircut. He also must have showered, because the clean, masculine scent she was used to, washed over her, making her gut clench with a wave of something profound and unexpected. Desire? Comfort? Sorrow? All of the above? Her visceral reactions to him left her feeling disconcerted on a normal day. Today, it was beyond her ability to analyze. Forcing herself to focus on him, and ignore her body's carnival of emotions, she took in the strain around his eyes and mouth, the dark circles under his eyes, and the gaunt draw of his face.