The Forbidden Throb Chapter 83

Emma's POV:

"A few days ago," Daniel said, setting a delicate porcelain plate in front of me.

Three golden-brown cakes sat arranged in a careful triangle, steam still rising from their centers.

"She mentioned she'd been roasting chestnuts and thought we might enjoy some. They arrived this afternoon."

"That's... thoughtful of her," I managed, trying to keep the strange tightness from my voice.

Like he belonged to this family more naturally than I did.

My throat tightened. I picked up one of the cakes—still warm, the chestnut filling soft and sweet when I bit into it.

"These are perfect," I said quietly.

The same meticulous care Daniel brought to everything he cooked.

Daniel settled into the chair across from me, watching me eat with that attentive stillness. "I'm glad you like it."

I pulled out my phone, suddenly needing to see her face. "I should call her. Thank her."

"She'd like that."

The video connected after two rings. Grandma's face filled the screen, her reading glasses perched on her nose, that soft smile already forming.

"Emma! Sweetheart, I was just thinking about you."

"Hi, Grandma." The tightness in my chest eased slightly. "The chestnuts arrived. Daniel made them into cakes—they're delicious."

"Oh, good! I wasn't sure if they'd survive the trip." She adjusted her glasses, peering closer at the screen. "Is Daniel there? Let me see him."

I angled the phone so Daniel appeared in frame. He leaned forward slightly, his expression warm. "Hello, Grace."

"There you are! Now, did Emma tell you about adding just a touch more vanilla? She always liked them sweeter when she was small."

"She didn't need to," Daniel said smoothly. "Your instructions were impeccable."

Grandma laughed, delighted.

As they chatted about baking temperatures and chestnut varieties, I found myself studying the background of the video call. Something was different about Grandma's kitchen. The walls looked... brighter. Fresher.

"Grandma?" I interrupted their discussion of oven thermostats. "Did you paint?"

She blinked, glancing around as if seeing her own kitchen for the first time. "Oh! Yes, well—Daniel arranged for some work to be done. Just a little refreshing."

"A little refreshing?"

"The painters came last week," she said, almost bashful. "And they fixed that cabinet hinge that was always sticking. "

"They also reinforced the porch railing," Grandma continued. "I didn't even realize it was loose until they pointed it out. And the windows—oh, Emma, they replaced all the old caulking. The drafts are completely gone now."

"That's... wonderful," I said faintly.

Wonderful. And thorough. And exactly the kind of thing a devoted grandson would arrange—except Daniel wasn't her grandson. I was her granddaughter.

"It was nothing," Daniel said quietly, finally meeting my eyes. "Just maintenance."

We talked for a few more minutes—Grandma wanted to know about my project, asked if I was eating enough, and reminded me to layer up now that November was settling in properly.

All the normal Grandma things. But I couldn't stop noticing how she lit up every time Daniel's name entered the conversation.

When we finally said goodbye, I set my phone down carefully on the counter.

A small, petty part of me felt stung. Which was ridiculous—I should be *happy* that Grandma liked Daniel, that she approved of this marriage, that she'd welcomed him into her heart so completely.

But I couldn't shake the hollow feeling in my chest. The sense that I was watching something I couldn't quite reach.

And underneath that—darker, heavier—was the thought I'd been trying not to examine too closely: *What happens in a year?*

When this arrangement ended. When Daniel and I went our separate ways, as we'd always planned. Would I have to tell Grandma it was over? Watch her face fall, see that particular disappointment she tried so hard to hide?

"You didn't have to do all that," I said.

Daniel looked up. "Do what?"

"The house. The renovations. Grandma said it was just 'a little refreshing' but that sounds like—" I gestured vaguely. "A lot."

"The roof needed work," he said simply. "And once the contractors were there, it made sense to address the other issues. The window caulking was failing. The porch railing was a safety hazard."

"Still."

"Emma." His voice gentled. "She's family. Of course, I'd make sure her home is safe."

*Family.*

There it was again. That easy claim, like marrying me had simply extended his circle to include Grandma without question.

Maybe it was the stress from this morning's disaster interview, or the strange emptiness of coming home to find Daniel had already thought of everything I should have done myself.

But something dark and anxious was unfurling in my chest.

*What if I get used to this?*

The thought arrived unbidden, unwelcome.

Daniel's quiet competence, his thoughtfulness, the way he anticipated needs before I even recognized them. The security of coming home to someone who *cared*, in all the small, specific ways that made life easier.

*Dependence.*

Slow and insidious, wrapping around me like morning glory vines.

And the worst part? I didn't know how to stop it.

The Portland trip flashed through my mind. Three days of managing on my own, sleeping in a hotel room alone, making decisions without Daniel's steady presence as a safety net.

Maybe that's exactly what I needed. Before I forgot how to function without him.

---

The next morning, I returned to campus for my thesis.

Olivia had just returned from her journalism internship and returned with gifts as if she'd been on a grand tour.

She pulled out her phone. "I need to run to the campus store and grab some supplies before my afternoon class. Come with me? "

I glanced at my laptop. The background materials could wait another hour.

"Yeah, okay. Let me just—"

Movement outside the window caught my eye. A figure crossing the quad, hands shoved in pockets, that particular loping stride I'd know anywhere.

Nicholas.

My stomach dropped.

"Emma?" Olivia followed my gaze. "Is that—oh. *Oh.* Okay, change of plans. We're going to sit here very quietly and let him pass."

Nicholas walked past a cluster of students. Then his path shifted, angling toward a car I recognized immediately—Daniel's car, parked in a visitor's spot near the administration building.

My breath caught.

Nicholas stopped beside the car. A moment later, the passenger's side door opened.

When I'd been with Nicholas, Daniel had been this distant figure—the accomplished older brother, someone who existed in stories more than reality.

Seven years had seemed like a generation gap. Nicholas had felt like my peer, someone navigating the same life stage, the same uncertainties.

Now, watching them together, they looked exactly like what they were: an adult and a boy pretending at adulthood.

"Emma?" Olivia's voice sounded very far away. "How can we leave? "

I don't want to run into them. And said. "Let's go out the side entrance."

"Good plan."

We moved quickly, slipping out through the reading room's back door and taking the long way around toward the campus store.