Work Text:
Emma typed on her laptop. She looked up, down at the screen, then up again. She huffed a breath.
The blonde across from her was casually reading his book, paying her no mind. It shouldn’t annoy her as much as it did. The half-empty word document on her screen glared at her for being ignored in favour of him. She continued typing fiercely on the keys.
Emma had really hoped to keep the four seated area to herself, but on second thought that might have been a little bit naive considering the train she was seated on was almost full. There were people in nearly every seat of every row on their way home for Christmas.
She had been lucky and in good time, snagging a table seat by the window before most had even arrived at the train station. Emma had propped up her belongings and spread her jacket over one seat and her school work over the table before sitting down. She had been correct that it would be enough to deter most passengers wanting a table seat across from her. Most.
A minute before the train was due to leave, none other than George Knightley had jumped upon the train and stood panting after his sprint to the doors. As the train started moving he looked around and smirked at the sight of Emma and the three seemingly empty seats surrounding her. Emma, who had only been staring at the idiot who thought it was a good idea to run through closing doors, almost scowled as he made his way over.
“Free here?” He asked, aldreay unzipping his jacket and propping it and his luggage in the compartment above the seats. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he continued in reply to her simmering silence and moved her backpack to the aisle seat next to her on top of her jacket.
“Ahh,” he’d sighed, sitting down in the now empty window seat opposite her. Leaning against the wall he propped a foot on the spare seat and stretched the other down to the floor. George had opened a book and started reading it.
There he still sat now, more than an hour later, in his hideous jumper, with that equally hideous smirk still playing on his lips. He was enjoying this, she knew, ruining her concentration.
Emma knew George from her childhood. In a town as small as Highburyit was difficult not to. All the kids there went to one small school until they started secondary school. There was a lot of taunting and name-calling, and an occasional tousle between the two. A favourite topic was whether boys or girls were better - a topic on which they could never agree. The headteacher Mrs. Weston used to drag them apart at least once a week in the name of order and stability, but they’d still shout their best insults as they were separated. (“Stupidhead!”, “Spoiled baby!”)
It didn’t end on the schoolyard. Not only were there only three years between them in age, meaning Emma had the unfortunate privilege of sharing a playground with George, but their siblings, George’s brother John and Emma’s sister Isabella, were the same age.
Emma’s father thought it splendid that their neighbour’s shared son’s around the ages of his girls, and so they were always welcome over to play games or read books from his library. The brothers’ visits would usually end in angry debates between 14 year old Emma and 17 year old George about one matter or another. Sometimes it was about politics, sometimes about which Harry Potter movie was the best, and sometimes about whether ‘Soliloquize’ was a real word over scrabble. (Sadly, it was.)
As they grew older their fighting evolved to become more civilised, mostly in the form of banter and cheap quips behind their parents backs. Sometimes there were a few kicks under the table or an especially thought out question asked in front of a group to embarrass the other (Emma distinctly remembers innocently asking George how he’d managed to fall and bruise his neck in front of their families at a dinner party). The debates about literature, philosophy and politics, however, never stopped. When George turned 18 he left for university in London. When Emma turned 18 she decidedly applied to any university outside of the capital. Emma thought that would be the last she saw of him. She had been wrong.
That same year Isabella and John had turned 20 and started dating, and so, after three blissful years of minimal contact with George, they were forced together over bi-weekly Knightley-Woodhouse dinners when George came home over the weekends and for seasonal celebrations. The Woodhouses and Knightleys had spent the last three Christmases since John and Isabella started dating together, with the exception of George who was always busy.
At the first dinner George had come down from London for Emma had barely recognised him. She hadn’t seen him for a half a year since the previous Christmas, and even then he was covered under hats and scarves and she had taken great delight in asking Ms.Bates whether she thought he must have a cold before excusing herself as Ms. Bates went on about her niece Jane who had a cold once.
This George looked different, carried himself and acted differently. Emma thought maybe he had changed over their years apart, she’d even found him quite handsome at first, but the impression didn’t last long. He had filled in the lanky 18-year old build she associated him with and his long arms and legs no longer looked awkward, but rather strong. However, no amount of better haircuts, broader shoulders, stronger arms, sharper jawline or fitted half-zip ups could keep the illusion from shattering as he commented on her newly curled hair. She had attempted a half-up do with tight pinlock curls she might wear for her sixth form end-of-year celebration, not knowing they would have guests that evening.
“Going for the poodle look, are we?” He’d said and chuckled, so utterly self satisfied with his own joke. “Very loud, matches your personality.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a mock grin.
If there was one thing Emma could count on, it was that George Knightely would never change. George found her bratty and naive, Emma found him arrogant and self-righteous. That’s just how it was. Their opinions of each other hadn’t changed much since he would tease her about the pink ribbons on her pigtails and she would shove him to the ground and run off from Mrs. Weston.
Most of the evening, and all following dinners, was spent trying to keep them from making jabs at each other.
When Emma later received her university acceptances she chose to move as far away as possible, to Edinburgh.
Now she was 21 herself, like he’d been at that first dinner, and the last thing she had expected to see was George Knightley relaxedly reading his book across from her as she worked on her assignment, on a train from Edinburgh to London.
*
Emma still hadn’t said a word to the man in front of her, because yes, she supposed he was a man now, although he clearly couldn’t act like one.
“Anything bothering you?” His blue eyes left the page to look at her. She was stricken by the clear colour.
“Why are you always like this?” were the first words she spoke, shaking her head.
“Like what?” He asked, smirking.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I do,” he admitted.
“Why the hell are you in Scotland?”
“I was visiting an old friend. You remember Jane? She goes to uni here.”
That was another point of their disagreements. Emma always thought Jane was a goody-two-shoes who liked showing off. She preferred to surround herself with people who were fun and bubbly, like Frank Chruchill. George’s idea of fun was the loud and brutish Robert Martin, and George said he thought Jane was sweet. Emma thought that if anyone was sweet it was her best friend Harriet who she met the first week in Edinburgh, but even if George had known about her it wouldn’t have mattered. That’s how they argued, and this had been one of the harsher disagreements they’d had back on the playground.
Ironically their separate ideas of fun and bubbly were now dating the others idea of “nice”. Jane and Frank made sense, they both had a common place they visited: Highbury, but it was actually Emma who’d introduced Harriet to Robert by accident, when Harriet stayed at Harfield with Emma and her father for Easter one year. (Emma had to admit she had been a little harsh on Robert as a nine-year-old, and that he was rather fun and bubbly and not brutish at all, though she recalled he liked to beat rocks and trees with sticks when he was little.)
“I find it unbelievable you have friends.” Emma quipped back.
“What else would I be doing here, looking for you? Are you really that self absorbed?” George asked her in a mock-pity of a voice.
“It’s self-centred, and I’m surprised you don’t know the word most used to describe yourself.”
George scoffed at her comment.
“I need to work.” She said and tried to shake him off.
“There’s nothing stopping you, if you could stop staring at me for just a moment.” George filled in.
Just then the train grinded to a halt. Confused, Emma looked out the window. They weren’t supposed to stop until they reached London. Outside the window Emma was greeted by the pitch black of the late afternoon and a few single snowflakes falling down.
A few minutes passed. People looked around the compartment and hushed voices mixed together in an indistinct confusion.
Screeeechhh. A horrible sound from the loudspeakers quieted down the crowd.
“Uh, ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a malfunction with the train. We are going to get towed by the train coming in behind us, this shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes. We’re very sorry for the delay.”
Emma and George shared a worried look.
*
The train that was supposed to tow them took an hour to reach them, and then it was another fifty minutes before the passengers were forced to step off in New Castle.
Emma was stressed out of her mind. She knew she had been cutting it short, taking the train from Edinburgh to London on the 23th of December. Her train was supposed to arrive at five, and her father was expecting her home that evening by nine. He’d offered to stand waiting by King’s Cross station to drive her home, but she’d insisted she’d take the bus to Highbury and that they could meet at the bus stop. He was probably checking the time to make sure he wouldn’t forget her in the cold. Now she’d be lucky if she’d be home in time for Christmas dinner.
They had been informed the train would not leave the station tonight, and the personnel were overwhelmed with questions.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Emma sat with her head in her hands on a bench, a sinking feeling in her stomach.
She was stuck in Newcastle. She was going to spend Christmas Eve here, alone, and she had nowhere to stay and nowhere to go. And her poor father would have to spend Christmas Eve alone too. She was supposed to be in London in an hour, yet she was still all the way across England.
“Fuuuuuck.” she groaned.
Emma saw someone hunch down in front of her. She took away her hands from her face to look at George, kneeling there. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. We’ll figure it out.”
He tried to give her a comforting smile. It didn’t help much, seeing as it was George, but it did succeed in making her feel less alone. They weren’t the best of friends, but they had known each other for a long time. At least she’d have George to fight with, like the Christmasses before he’d stopped coming home. She wasn’t all alone after all.
Emma nodded. “Yeah, okay. We just need a game plan.”
*
This ‘game plan’ consisted of ignoring the giant line for taxis in favour of taking an over-packed bus to the first car rental they had spotted on a map at the train station.
In contrast to most of their fellow passengers, George fully intended on driving through the night with Emma. It was less than ideal, to say the least.
“You do realise this will be a 6 hour journey?” Emma asked as they walked inside the door, just having checked the route on her phone.
“Yes,” George deadpanned.
“With me?”
“Yes.” The same deadpan.
“And that, at some point, we’ll have to return the car?”
“We’ll leave it in London. Just trust me.” George replied before stepping up to the counter. “A car please, any car, just for two days.”
The man behind the counter typed something into the computer.
“Alright. Any preferences?”
“Anything will do.” George repeated. “Keep it on the lower end of the budget, if you can?”
Emma sighed and sat down on the bench by the window. She drowned out the continued typing and mumbling, took out her phone and called her father, whilst George finished with the paperwork. They both handed over their licence and signed some papers as co-drivers, accepted the keys, and went out to the carpark to find their car.
It was red, had a few years on it’s neck but alright all in all. There was enough space to put their luggage in the trunk and enough for Emma to have plenty of legroom. George had a little less and moved the passenger seat back plenty as Emma installed herself in the driver’s seat. She had insisted on driving first, and not 30 minutes later were they out of Newcastle.
They didn’t speak much for that first half an hour, except for when George was giving her driving instructions from his phone. She quipped back that he could be clearer, after she nearly missed a turn due to his late warning.
When they were on the highway he relaxed back and turned on the radio, flipping through channels, as there was no AUX. He stopped on ‘Silent night.’
George hummed along, Emma focused on the road.
“Not where you imagined you’d be tonight, eh? Stuck in a car with me.”
“No, I can’t say I did.”
“Hmm,” he hummed and looked out the window. There was another beat of silence, and Emma thought she might as well try, if he was.
“I didn’t know you were coming home for Christmas.” she said.
“Neither did I.”
When it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, she continued.
“You’ve been gone for three years. Dad misses your discussions, he says. He doesn't mind missing ours much, though.”
George snickered. “Understandable. We always quip, don’t we?”
“You always started it.”
“Me? I can’t believe you’re accusing me!” George feigned shock, “I was just musing the girl next door.”
“You called me a poodle, once.” Emma retorted.
“You’ve called me worse.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She sighed.
“So what’s the plan then? I drive three hours, you drive three. Reach Highbury in the middle of the night?”
“Something like that. Better than being stuck on a train, though, isn’t it?”
“Hmm. Doubtful. I’m stuck with you for six hours, aren’t I?” She said it a little more sarcastically than she meant to.
George just chuckled. “Yeah, right.”
They spend another twenty minutes or so in silence, only the radio belting into the quiet car, before George declares he can’t stand it anymore.
“Ok, would you rather fight…”
“Are we really playing that?” Emma interrupted him.
“Yes. Have you got any brighter ideas?”
She didn’t.
“Right, so would you rather fight a hundred chickensized dinosaurs or one dinosaursized chicken?”
Emma looked at him, He was expectantly awaiting her answer. Rolling her eyes, she
sighed. “What type of dinosaur?”
George smiled. “T-Rex.”
“I suppose… the chicken.”
“What? It’s giant! I figure you take the dinosaurs and kick them off, one by one.”
“But there are too many! They’ll overpower you easily, plus they have razor sharp teeth. Have you even seen Jurassic Park? The velociraptors George, the velociraptors.”
She let out a breath, as if she couldn't believe his logic. When she looked back at George she found he was smirking at her.
“What?” she asked him.
“I got you to smile,” he said and tilted his head. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”
Emma shook her head and focused back on the road. “Dickhead.”
“Ah, too late to take it back now though, innit? Alright, would you rather…”
The rest of her drive wasn’t as painful after that. George, Emma found, was surprisingly easy to talk to. Maybe their time apart had done them some good after all. He wasn’t snappy like he was in his teenage years, but to be fair, who wants to hang out with a twelve year old kid when they’re fifteen? And who wants to be told off by an adult when they’re just eighteen and having fun, she reminded herself. She wasn’t fully without fault in their disagreements.
The jabs were still there, to be fair, but in a playful manner now, without any edge. Emma realised perhaps it had been like that last she saw him too, but that was so long ago now. She couldn’t be sure. All Emma knew was that when she asked about George’s life it wasn’t to embarrass him in front of his family, or out the secret girlfriend she caught him snogging outside Highbury’s only café once.
She asked about Jane, who was celebrating Christmas in Edinburgh with her friends and would visit Ms. Bates and Frank over New Years, and she asked about his work in London and his parents and whatever else she had missed in these past years. In return George asked Emma about university, her course, her friends, and her father.
They ended up talking about literature, philosophy, politics, movies and weird conspiracy theories, but it was less of a debate and more of a discussion. They still disagreed on a number of points, especially when George tries to convince Emma that Andrew Garfield's Amazing Spiderman duology was better than the Tobey Maguire trilogy, but instead of butting heads they laughed it off. Emma found that for every disagreement there were two agreements. For example, they’d both found that Bram Stoker's Dracula, despite being a classic, was much more dull than contemporary interpretations.
*
After two hours George stretched and suggested they stop for a coffee. Emma pulled into a 24-hour gas station. She fueled the car up while George went inside.
When she came inside George had already ordered and paid for them. Behind the counter the poor sod stuck with the shift was already making their coffee. Emma excused herself to go to the bathroom and handed over the car keys to George.
Checking her phone she realised it was midnight already. Her dad had probably been asleep for a few hours, since she wasn’t due for another few. She’d have to sneak in and try to catch up on some sleep in the morning.
While washing her hands Emma took an extra minute to look herself over in the mirror. She didn’t look half bad for having spent half the day travelling. The loose curls in her long hair were falling out and some mascara had smeared when she rubbed her eyes earlier. She was looking forward to that coffee.
When she exited the bathroom Emma looked around the tiny shop after George to no avail. When he was nowhere to be found she picked up a few lollie bags and brought them to the counter.
“Are you Emma?” the guy behind the counter asked.
“Yes?” She asked, confusion evident in her voice.
“Your boyfriend told me to tell you he went outside. Waiting in the car,” the employee continued, ringing up her snacks. “That’ll be £5,5”
Emma opened her mouth to correct him but thought better of it, there was no use. She handed him the money, said a quick “thank you” and went outside.
“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” George said as she jumped in on the passenger side this time. “There’s your coffee. Milk, no sugar.” He handed her a paper mug.
“Thanks.” She took a sip and looked out over the empty gas station parking lot. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Us, getting along. You even have my coffee order right. Someone looking in from the outside might think we’re friends. That guy in there even thought you were my boyfriend.”
Emma looked over and met George’s gaze. She couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” He gently shook his head.
Emma cleared her throat and felt a need to look away. “I bought Maltezers.” She deflected, looking at the three bags of different lollies in her lap.
“You’ll have to feed me while I drive.” George teased, starting up the engine.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Alright, just this once I’ll stroke your ego.”
They chatted for another hour or so, this time about increasingly less and less lively subjects. They reminisced about their childhood and shared memories. They discussed firsts: first time they got drunk, first kiss, first love. George finally told her of the secret girlfriend she was always so curious about, and Emma told him about her brief relationship with her classmate Elton.
She did end up having to feed him by shaking out maltezers into her hand and holding them up to his mouth. Why he couldn’t hold out one hand and get them himself she didn’t think to ask. She found she didn’t mind it when he interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence to jokingly say: “Hit me!”, or when his lips chased after her hand, trying to catch the stray Maltezer or sour candy.
After that hour Emma found it difficult to keep her eyes open. The coffee didn’t help much in the end.
“Go to sleep Emma, I’ll be fine.” George offered.
“You might fall asleep without company.” Emma retorted.
“And you’re falling asleep with it. I’ll have the radio. Really, I’ll be fine.”
Emma tried stifling a yawn before giving up and nestling into the seat. “Perhaps you’re right. You should have slept while I drove.” She said, closing her eyes.
“Probably,” he half muttered to himself. “Good night, Emma.”
*
Emma awoke twice during the duration of the car ride. The first time they were on the highway. ‘Silver bells’ was playing over the radio as George stared ahead, and she realised he’d taken off that sweater and draped it over her like a blanket. She watched him for a moment before falling asleep again. He was quite pretty under the yellow street lamps that lined the highway.
The second time was when they drove up the gravel pathway to her father’s house. The gravel sounded underneath the car's wheels. She opened her eyes and closed them again before George stopped the car and shook her lightly. Emma didn’t want to leave the warm car, although her soft bed seemed tempting.
“Hey, Emma. We’re here.” George whispered.
Emma blinked her eyes open again and sat up. George took her bags out of the trunk and handed them to her. She shivered in the cold.
“Thanks for driving down with me. I suppose I’ll see you around then?” George asked as he closed the trunk.
“Yeah,” Emma replied.
They stood awkwardly hovering for a moment before George hugged her goodbye. He was shivering too, without a jacket or the sweater Emma had left in the front seat. She felt bad for noticing how the T-shirt fitted him perfectly over the shoulders and chet.
“I better get home,” George said.
Emma nodded. “Of course.” She hesitated. “It’s technically Christmas Eve now. Merry Christmas, George.”
He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Emma.”
She waved him off before dragging her bags up the front stairs, through the front door and abandoning them in the hall. She was asleep the moment she hit the mattress.
*
Emma woke up at two in the afternoon and tiptoed downstairs to find her father in the kitchen still, drinking his tea and reading the newspaper.
“Dad!” She exclaimed. He shone up and wrapped her in a hug.
“Emma, darling! I didn’t wake you did I? I thought it best to let you sleep.”
“No, no. It’s alright.” Emma said and sat down next to him.
“Let’s make you some toast.” He said with a smile. “I bought apricot marmalade especially for your visit.”
Her father placed a cup of tea in front of her nose as he readied her breakfast. Emma took a deep breath. Darjeeling, the only tea he drank. She felt warmth spread within her chest as the steam rose. She warmed her hands on the cup. She’d missed home.
“I’m so sorry about the train, I would’ve driven to get you myself if it wasn’t so far.”
“It’s alright dad.”
“The trip was alright then? Were you kind to George.” He gave her a meaningful look. For once she didn’t argue that George could be kind to her too. She just nodded and smiled.
“Of course, dad.”
“Good, good. He’s a sensitive boy you know.” Her father continued with a firm nod. “I always liked him. John’s nice too, of course, he’s good to Isabella, but he’s not as talkative.
Emma smiled broadly at her fathers’s words. She didn’t mention that George is an adult, but she must admit he was very kind for always musing her father, who always saw the best in everyone.
Emma stood up and hugged her father again. “I’ve missed you.”
He patted her lightly. “I’ve missed you too, darling.”
“I’ll visit more.”
“Oh, no need. You’re young. You should have fun. Don’t worry about your old dad.” He smiled at her. Emma hugged him closer.
“I do, I will. I don’t worry I just miss you.” She said and finally let go. “It’s been a long day. I suppose I’m lucky George was with me or I’d still be in Newcastle.
“I’ve always said it’s a shame the two of you don’t get along.”
“I think we do, now. Better at least.”
“Good, good. He’s a-”
“Sensitive boy, I know dad.” Emma finished his sentence.
They spent the rest of the day together, mostly reading in the library, side by side. It was a sort of silent comradery they both enjoyed. Around eight Isabella came over from the Knighley’s, where she was staying with John’s family this year, having spent last year with their father. She brought fish and chips from the shop in Highbury and the three of them sat in the library, eating by the fire.
“What time are you coming over tomorrow?” Isabella asked between handfuls of chips. “Dinner is at three so I expect you there then at the latest.”
“Then we’ll be there at two.” Their father reassured her.
Isabella looked at Emma. “I heard you drove down from Newcastle with George. Everything went alright, then?”
“Yeah, I think we’ve both matured.”
“I’d hope so. He’s in a good mood at least, even decided to stay for Christmas.”
Emma’s eyebrows creased. “Was he not planning to?”
“No, I think he was going to spend Christmas in London again, you know how he is. Lucky he ran into you though, now he’s spending Christmas Eve with the Knightleys. His parent’s are overjoyed.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
*
Emma and her father came over at two as promised. The Knightley resident was a two floor roomy villa with a giant kitchen and dining hall. Said kitchen was now filled to the brim with steam and delicious smells that wafted through the house. Isabella was helping Mrs. Knightley cook dinner. Emma’s father kissed her on the cheek before disappearing into the kitchen to offer his help - he made an excellent Turkey stuffing and had brought pigs in blankets he’d prepared at the Woodhouse residence.
Emma found John and his father in the common room and asked for the whereabouts of George.
“He’s just upstairs I think.” John replied, surprised at her question.
Emma went to find George, but caught him just as he walked down the stairs. He was pulling a hideous Christmas sweater she found quite endearing over yet another form fitting T-shirt. When he appeared from under it again they locked eyes.
“Emma,” he shone up.
“George.” She greeted him. It was strangely similar to how they used to greet one another, although with no acidity in the tone.
“Let me get you a drink. What do you want? Eggnog? Warm cider?”
“Eggnog would be great, thanks.”
“Give me one minute.”
Emma waited in the doorway to the now empty common room. John and his father had seemingly been called to set the table.
“Here,” George handed her her drink. “I had to sneak past mum, lest I’ll be called to the workforce. We better hide here for a while.”
Emma giggled. “Cheers.” She said. They clinked their glasses together.
“Cheers.” George replied and took a drink.
They hovered in the doorway for a second.
“I heard your family wasn’t expecting you.” Emma said.
“No? It was a surprise.”
“Or a last minute change of heart. You were supposed to be in London, weren’t you?” There was a beat of silence as George toyed with his glass. “Why have you been away for three years?” Emma pressed.
“Work, mostly. Had to work Christmas Eve last year, so I spent it with some mates in London. I had a girlfriend two years ago, so I spent it with her then.”
“And the first year?”
“Work.”
“That’s it? Work? Who works on Christmas, twice?”
George hesitated. He cleared his throat. “To be frank…” He was clearly calculating the pros and cons of his next words. Finally he sighed.
“Ok, so. Remember when John and Isabella first got together? And we were having dinners every other week? ” He was revving up.
“Well, I hadn’t seen you for a couple of years, and I was still imagining you to be fifteen with retainers. Imagine my surprise when I come to find this stunning, confident eighteen year old woman has taken the shape of Emma. Then the weeks passed and I grew fond of you, and I felt so incredibly guilty for it, because we’d never gotten along and you clearly didn’t like me, not to mention I was three years older than you. So, I decided it would be best if I took some distance and I decided not to come home for Christmas that year. Then, like I said, I got a girlfriend, and after two years away it felt too odd to come home like nothing had happened, so I hung out with some friends whose families lived too far away to go home for just a few days. I was planning on doing the same this year, but then I met you on the train. I thought we’d just drive here and I’d head to London in the morning, but when I woke up yesterday, phoned my friends and cancelled. ”
George took a deep breath.
Emma blinked. She blinked again.
“Emma? Say something please.”
She let out a stunned breath. Then she smiled at him. “I thought you looked really good that first dinner.”
He let out a chuckle. “Jesus Christ, Emma. Only you.” George shook his head. “I try to confess my feelings and that's what you reply with?”
Emma smirked.
“George?” She asked.
“Yes?”
“Have you noticed we’re standing under mistletoe yet.”
He glanced up. “So we are.”
He looked down again as they both took a step closer. “Isn’t there some old tradition about that?” she asked, resting a hand on his chest.
“I’m not familiar,” George said as he closed the gap between them.
It was a brief kiss, their lips pressing together for just a moment.
“Hang on, hang on.” George said, breaking them apart. He took her eggnog and sat it down with his own on the floor.
George swept Emma into his arms and kissed her deeper. Emma threw her arms around his neck and pressed close against him. George leaned back against the edge of the doorway as she let her hands travel down his chest. She stood on her toes to kiss him properly.
Emma marvelled in the feeling, in him. George Knightley, the last person she would ever expect to, was kissing her. Christ, she lived a charmed life.
When they broke apart again they were both slightly out of breath. George was still leaning on the wooden doorframe, and Emma leaned against his chest, wrapped in his arms.
“You taste like eggnog.” He commented.
She hummed happily, then looked up and met his gaze. George tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. Emma’s face grew serious. “What is it?” he asked.
“George, I must tell you. I’m sorry but I don’t feel the same way.”
For a moment he looked horrified before he saw her crack a smile.
“Fucking shit, you little tease.” George chuckled and shook her lightly. Emma was bubbling with laughter as he looked up at the ceiling. “How will I ever survive the storm that is Emma Woodhouse?” he asked.
“You won't,'' she said and leaned up to kiss him on his nose. “But you’ll try.”
They stepped away to a sudden clinking sound. They looked down and George swore under his breath. They’d knocked the eggnog over.
“Christ, mum will want that out of the carpet straight away.”
Kissing would have to wait. There was cleaning to do.