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"She was remarkably foolish to leave you," Victoria noted, her tone completely serious.

Emma let out a surprised breath, a genuine laugh escaping her throat. She wiped her free hand across her eyes, shaking her head. "Okay. Wow. So what you're saying is, your childhood trauma actually beats mine. I feel robbed."

The joke landed perfectly. The crushing weight in the room lifted, replaced by a sudden, easy warmth. Victoria felt a smile break across her own face, surprised by how natural it felt. "I wasn't aware it was a competition."

"It's always a competition, Sterling," Emma teased, her voice dropping back into its familiar, playful cadence. She finally let go of Victoria’s hand, though she seemed reluctant to do it. "And you totally won. Fake deaths and hidden letters? That's prime-time soap opera material. I just have a standard deadbeat mom."

"I will accept the victory, then."

Emma grinned, the color returning to her cheeks. She grabbed the fourth bottle of cider. "Right. Back to work. You need to catch up. I'm already buzzing."

Victoria looked at the cider, then glanced toward the hallway. "I believe I have reached my limit with fermented apples for the evening." She stood up. "Bring the glasses. We're moving to the sofa."

"I'm not drinking cider if you're pulling out the good stuff," Emma countered immediately, stepping out from behind the island. "Pour me whatever you're having."

Victoria walked out of the kitchen and into the study. She went straight to the lower cabinet behind the desk, pulling out a bottle of twelve-year-old single malt scotch she had found on her first day. She grabbed two crystal tumblers and walked into the sitting room.

Emma was already there, having abandoned her shoes by the rug. She was curled at one end of the worn velvet sofa, her legs tucked under her. Victoria took the opposite end, pouring a generous measure of the amber liquid into both glasses before handing one over.

Victoria took a slow sip. The burn was familiar and welcome, settling her remaining nerves. She rested her arm along the back of the sofa, turning slightly to face Emma. The space between them felt different now, confined to the cushions. The hostility was gone, leaving only the dangerous pull they had discovered a month ago.

She saw Emma feeling it too. Emma was leaning against the armrest, her posture relaxed, but her eyes were tracking Victoria with a focused intensity. The alcohol was clearly catching up to her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her movements were slightly looser.

"So," Emma said, swirling the liquid in her glass. "Are we okay?"

"We are okay," Victoria confirmed, holding her gaze.

Emma bit her lower lip, a habit Victoria was quickly realizing she found incredibly distracting. "Good. Because I really hate fighting."

"You seemed to enjoy it immensely at the café."

"That was defense mode," Emma corrected, pointing a finger at her. "I'm like a badger. When I get cornered, I just start biting."

"I will keep that in mind for future reference." Victoria let her eyes drop to Emma's mouth before meeting her gaze again. "Are you going to be able to judge the remaining inventory accurately, or are you just drinking for sport at this point? How are you going back to cider after this glass of scotch?"

Emma scoffed, sitting up a little straighter, though she ended up leaning slightly toward the middle of the couch. "I have an excellent palate and an excellent alcohol resistance, thank you very much."

"You are practically sliding off the cushions," Victoria pointed out.

"I am melting into the upholstery," Emma lied coldly. "It’s a tasting technique."

Victoria laughed, a quiet sound that settled comfortably in the dim room.

"You're terrible at this," Victoria murmured.

"I'm fantastic at this. I just..." Emma paused, letting out a long exhale. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead. "Okay, fine. You win. The apples and the scotch are definitely winning."

She set her glass down on the coffee table and pushed herself up from the sofa. She swayed just a little bit, catching her balance with a soft laugh.

"I need carbs," Emma announced, padding barefoot across the rug. "Bread, crackers, anything to soak this up before I say something completely humiliating. Do you want something?"

"No, thank you," Victoria said.

Emma nodded and pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Victoria sat alone on the sofa. The room felt instantly colder without Emma in it. She looked at the amber liquid in her glass. For the first time in years, she had handed someone the ugly truth, and the sky hadn't fallen.

The strict boundaries Victoria normally operated within felt remarkably thin. She didn't want to sit in the living room alone. She didn't want to put distance between them.