Full English

by Rachel Spangler

  Brogan had been in this business long enough to know that women who burst into bars at closing time did so because they were excited or desperate. In Emma’s case, neither of those options held anything good for her.

  She rubbed her face a few times and stood. When she’d set out to prove whatever she’d wanted to prove with Caroline, this ending wasn’t the one she’d pictured, but it probably still served her purpose.

  Brogan sighed as she remembered Emma’s eyes, wide with a myriad of emotions she couldn’t bring herself to try to decipher tonight. She suspected she wouldn’t be able to avoid the task forever, but for both of their sakes, she prayed she could at least hold off until morning.

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  Emma stared out at the glittering waves of high tide as they rolled nearly up to the sandy dunes. The vista hadn’t changed since the morning before. The sea still shone sapphire. Gulls still arced high over a distinct ridge. Her garden continued to grow, verdant and fragrant from fertile soil. The outside world hummed with potential and possibility as spring hit its stride in the English borders, which was why Emma pulled her shades tightly shut. She couldn’t handle the stark contrast between what she saw outside her conservatory window and the internal winter she’d been plunged back into.

  She sat curled on her couch in a blanket and stared at the book in her lap without actually reading. She hated being up all night. She hated not being able to eat. She hated the way her hands shook when she tried to turn a page. Maybe that was some sort of metaphor. She couldn’t turn the page in her life, either. No, that was maudlin and overly self-indulgent, two more things she hated about herself right now. That kind of thinking had let all the progress evaporate simply because she’d seen Brogan kiss another woman.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the childish gesture could somehow wipe the image from her memory or the emotions from where they’d settled heavily across her shoulders. It didn’t work. All the hurt and humiliation and crushing sense of betrayal she’d worked hard to banish had come roaring back. Only now, the sense of naiveté that accompanied those feelings was compounded by the fact that she had no right to feel them.

  Brogan’s actions shouldn’t have this kind of power over her. They hadn’t made any promises. On the contrary, Emma had repeatedly pushed Brogan away. She’d told her emphatically she wasn’t ready and never asked her to wait until she was. Why had she expected her to? Because the kiss they’d shared had been life-affirming? She’d learned the hard way that just because she had strong feelings for someone didn’t mean they’d be reciprocated. Maybe Brogan kissed women like that all the time. Emma thought back to the conversation she’d overhead at the post office. Brogan clearly didn’t suffer from any lack of opportunity where women were concerned.

  She tossed her book to the floor and curled into a ball on the couch.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered. She’d been dumb to believe someone like Brogan would have interest enough in someone like her to forgo other women. Who in their right mind would choose someone so broken, so sad, so timid and weak, when they had lines of hotter, more confident options lined up every weekend? The saddest part was, she couldn’t even summon any anger at her. If Emma were in Brogan’s shoes, she wouldn’t have taken the risk, either. Hadn’t Victoria made it heart-achingly clear yesterday that women of Brogan’s caliber could write their own tickets? Why would she sit around waiting or trying to chase someone who said she didn’t want to be caught?

  Her pity party was interrupted by a knock at her door, and her first response was to pull the blanket up over her head like a kid hiding from a noise in the night. Huddled in her self-imposed darkness, she found one more reason to hate herself. She was a coward, a pathetic coward. Okay, two reasons.

  The knock sounded again, accompanied by Brogan’s muffled voice calling, “Scone delivery.”

  She smiled in spite of herself and added the reaction to the growing list of things to hate.

  “Maybe you’re busy,” Brogan called, “or sleeping, in which case I’m an arse for waking you up.”

  Emma snorted from under her blanket.

  “I can leave them on the doorstep, but the gulls will probably eat them, which will probably make them happy, except flour isn’t good for them, which is not your problem. I’m rambling now, and your neighbors are probably listening to this, too.”

  “Why does she have to be so damn disarming?” Emma asked aloud as she sat up and threw off the blanket.

  “Um, hello?”

  “I’m here,” she admitted grudgingly, as she opened the door.

  “Good morning?” Brogan said as she looked her up and down quickly. “Did I wake you?”

  “Sure, let’s go with that,” Emma said, glad for the logical excuse for her appearance, which, judging from the concern in Brogan’s eyes, probably wasn’t good. She didn’t imagine her hair was in great shape after hiding under a blanket, and she hadn’t slept, so the dark circles were probably back under her eyes, not to mention the fact that she wore a ratty gray sweatshirt and some paint-splattered sweatpants. “I’m not much of a morning person.”

  “No worries.” Brogan accepted the charade and ran with it. “I’m sorry I came over so early. I forget other people aren’t up with the sun every morning.”

  Emma nodded, not mentioning that she’d been up with the sun, which had actually risen about three hours earlier. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” Brogan entered, scones first. “I’m sorry I can’t stay long. I’ve got a morning sail, but I wanted to check in.”

  “No need.” Emma tried to sound casual as she plopped back onto her corner of the couch.

  “Really?” Brogan asked, taking a seat in a chair close enough to be conversational, while maintaining a healthy physical distance. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

  “We’ve both been . . . busy.”

  Brogan nodded. “Tourist season is in full swing, but I did want to hear how your date went.”

  The thickness in Brogan’s usually smooth voice made Emma examine her more closely. She was so busy noting the dullness of her eyes and the way she slowly rubbed her palms together as if trying to wipe something away that it took a moment to actually process the words she’d spoken. “I’m sorry, date?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What date?”

  Brogan shifted in the chair. “With Lady Victoria.”

  “I didn’t go on a date with . . .” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the picnic, the gardens, the kiss. “Oh my God, did everyone think that was a date but me?”

  “Aye.”

  She rose and paced around the living room. “I’m so stupid.”

  “You’re not,” Brogan said calmly.

  “I am. I totally misread the entire outing. I made such a fool of myself. I gave her the wrong impression, and I gave you the wrong impression. And this isn’t the first time I’ve missed some pretty major clues in this department. I’m so naïve. How many times am I going to make the same mistakes? Maybe I’ll never learn.”

  “Hey.” Brogan spoke softly as she stepped into Emma’s path, stopping her loop around the living room. “You aren’t stupid. You’re sweet and open and amazing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Brogan laughed softly. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

  Emma’s face flamed, and she took a step back. Was that what she really thought? Brogan would lie to her? It didn’t fit the picture she held of Brogan, and yet neither did the image of her kissing someone else. How could she say such wonderful things to Emma, make her feel safe and seen and desired, then kiss her with such passion, only to turn around and do the same with someone else a week later? Was Brogan a liar, or had Emma simply misread the situation, which, to be fair, she seemed prone to doing?

  “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “I don’t think I can trust myself to know.”

  “Of course you can. Come
on.” Brogan nudged her toward the couch and this time sat beside her, though still without allowing their bodies to touch.

  “What happened yesterday?”

  “Apparently, I went on a date with Victoria, only I didn’t get the memo.”

  Brogan smiled in a way that didn’t carry any warmth. “Did you have a good time, though?”

  “I guess. I mean the grounds are lovely, and she is lovely, and we had some conversations that were quite . . .”

  “Lovely?” Brogan offered.

  Emma swatted at her. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Be funny and disarming when I’m trying to have a crisis of confidence.”

  “Why not? I thought that’s why we were friends. I disrupt your crises.”

  “Friends.” Emma repeated the word. It’s what she’d asked for and what she honestly believed she’d wanted, right up until the moment she’d seen some other woman in Brogan’s arms.

  She shook her head, realizing that wasn’t completely true. It might have been what she’d told herself, what she’d told both of them, but she’d gone to the bar last night hoping for more. That’s why it had hurt so damn bad then, and now.

  “What?” Brogan asked softly.

  “It’s what I said I wanted.”

  “A friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have that in me. Always. I like you, maybe too much at times, but you’re the first new friend I’ve had in years. I’ve missed you this week. There’ve been so many times I’ve wanted to tell you something about my day, or show you something around town, or stop in and see what you’re up to.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Because we’ve blurred some lines in the past. And I didn’t want to make you feel pushed or pressured. I know the back and forth between friendship and something more is tearing you apart, and to be honest, it’s hard on me, too. I wanted to give us both a chance to move on.”

  “Move on?”

  “Yes, you with Lady Victoria, and me with . . . whoever.”

  Her cheeks flamed again. Whoever. Brogan didn’t have anyone particular in mind. Just not Emma. She was too hard, too complicated, with too much back and forth. “I see.”

  “Do you?” Brogan asked, her voice a little higher.

  “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I had no right to ask you to wait for me. It was unfair.”

  “No,” Brogan said quickly, “that’s not what I meant. That’s not even what happened. You didn’t ask me for anything, much less something unfair.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We became friends. I crossed a line a time or two.”

  Emma held up a hand. “I kissed you, twice. I’m unsure about a lot of things, but I’m not going to let you take responsibility for my actions.”

  “You’re in transition. Your life has been one massive upheaval after another.”

  Emma couldn’t argue.

  “You’re still finding your stride. You’re trying things out in a new place with new people. You need space and freedom to do that. You don’t need someone to tie you down, or rush you, or push you into making decisions you aren’t ready to make.”

  Again, she couldn’t disagree with the statement.

  “It’s been hard for me to know what’s right in any given moment, and not because I don’t care or I’m not patient enough.”

  “Because you’re not interested.”

  “Because I can’t be your rebound, Emma.” The words came out in a rush, and before Emma even had the chance to process them, Brogan forged on. “You’re amazing. You’re making such fantastic progress. Watching you come back to life has made me so happy. Having you around these last few months has meant more to me than I should have let it, which is why we have to stop. I don’t trust myself not to fall for you while you’re on the mend, and I’m not sure I could survive being some fling until you get back on your feet and get back to women of your own caliber.”

  Alarm bells sounded in Emma’s brain. “Women of my own caliber?”

  “Of course, and I don’t begrudge you that. I’ve tried to make it clear I don’t hold any claim to you.”

  “Obviously,” Emma said, unable to empty her mind of the way Brogan’s mouth had claimed someone else’s.

  “It’s only natural that, as you get your strength and confidence back, you’ll gravitate to women who understand your way of life, women as smart and as powerful and talented as you are. When you’re back on top, you’ll want someone like Lady Victoria by your side.”

  Emma snorted. “Well, that’s ironic.”

  “Why?”

  “Because yesterday I told Victoria I wanted someone like you by my side.”

  “When? Why?”

  “Yesterday. She kissed me, and all I could think about was you. All I could compare her to was you, and despite her being all those things you listed— powerful, strong, intelligent, wealthy, talented— I judged her as lacking when set up against you. But I guess that serves as a reminder of what a terrible judge of character I am, because it seems I made the same mistake I made last time.”

  “What?”

  “After all the pain and shame and swearing I’d see the signs next time, I missed them again. I went and fell for someone exactly like my ex.”

  Brogan flinched and turned her head as if Emma had struck her. “I’m sorry if what you saw last night hurt you, but I’m not at all like your ex. I’d never intentionally cause you pain. I only wanted to release us both. I thought it would be better if we moved on.”

  “But you didn’t ask me what I thought was best for me. You made that decision because of my success, my money, my fame, and that makes you exactly like Amalie.”

  “I’m not.” Brogan jumped to her feet. “I’m not resentful of your success. I’m in awe of you. I’m not jealous. I’m inspired by you. I only want you to have someone worthy of you, and anyone with eyes or half a brain can see that person isn’t me, not by any measure. Why drag things out?”

  “I’m not sure your motives make much difference on the practical end of things. Amalie couldn’t take the discrepancies between us, so she slept with someone else. You can’t handle the same discrepancies, so you kissed someone else. I can’t believe I’m going through this again.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Brogan pleaded, her voice sounding near frantic now.

  “In some ways, that hurts worse. If you’d just been attracted to someone else, I could’ve lived with that. It would’ve been something different, something normal, something that happens to regular people all the time.” Her pride made a twisted attempt to assert itself. “Can you say that? Could you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not attracted to me? Or you’re more attracted to that other woman?”

  Brogan stared at her for a moment, her jaw tight, her breathing labored, before she shook her head. “No, God, Emma, you’re so beautiful, sometimes it hurts to look at you for too long. I’ve wanted you so much I haven’t slept in a week, but I wanted to give you freedom and space to chase your own desires. I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you in the meantime, though. That’s why I pulled away.”

  The words she would’ve welcomed last night offered no comfort now. “No, you didn’t pull away. We could’ve talked about that like adults, like friends. Instead, you pulled someone else close, and that makes you exactly like Amalie.” She was pacing around the room again, wearing the cream-colored carpet thin as her brain worked faster than her feet. Hurt and confusion had given way to anger, first at herself, then at Brogan. “Both of you assumed I was too rich or self-centered or influential to judge a partner on factors like heart or personality or shared values. Both of you assumed you knew what I would want or do in a relationship based on things I never said or felt. And both of you went ahead and acted on your fears rather than putting faith in me.”

  “Emma,” Brogan whispered and reached for her, “I didn’t mean—”

  “It doesn’t matter wha
t you meant.” She jerked away. “It doesn’t matter whether kissing someone else was born out of resentment or some sort of misplaced chivalry. Both scenarios ended up with someone I trusted in the arms of another woman.”

  Brogan hung her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Emma sighed. “I leaned on you too much. I put too much faith in you. It wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have put either of us in a position where we needed to act out of fear or hurt.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Clearly I did, because here we are. Despite every ounce of logic and reason I’ve tried to employ, I’m a romantic at heart. Maybe I wanted too much to believe in the hero across the sea who would restore my faith in myself and in love.”

  “You deserve that.”

  “Deserving and getting are two different things. It was foolish to think anyone could ever see me as a whole person, flawed and scared, yet smart and strong.” She thought back to Victoria’s comments about the type of women who would chase the trappings not being worthy partners, and the women who were worthy partners not wanting the trappings. Maybe Victoria had been right. Maybe that hybrid simply didn’t exist. “Apparently there’s no one out there who can handle the conflicting parts of me as both powerful and vulnerable. I thought you could be a partner to me in every aspect, not a savior and not a detractor, but it was too much to ask and too much to believe in. That’s why I write fiction instead of memoir.”

  “Please don’t. Emma, it’s me. I messed up. I failed you.”

  “You did.” Her voice sounded cold even to her own ears, but the fire had gone out of her, replaced with the numb chill she’d carried with her for so long. “But at least you were honest with me early on. You could’ve dragged this out for years. I’m grateful you didn’t. I’ve wasted enough time, felt enough betrayal to last a lifetime.”