Chapter One: In Which We are Re-Introduced to Emma

I take a deep breath, smiling as I feel cold air rush into my lungs. The air in New York City isn't known for its freshness, but here at the tip of Manhattan by South Ferry, the fierce winds blowing make it seem fresh. Leaning back against the railing that separates me from the grey water of the East River, I glance at the towering skyscrapers of the Financial District. While they create a formidable barrier that seems intimidating, New York City has ceased to feel cold and overwhelming. Instead, in the five years I've lived here, it's become second nature to navigate the crowded city, embracing all the craziness and uncertainty that comes with it.

A particularly strong gust of wind whips my curls into a frenzy, but when I reach up to fix it, a voice cries, "Wait! That looks fantastic!"

I drop my hand uncertainly and squint through the curtain of hair at the source of the voice, Victor Cahill, my boyfriend. "Are you serious?"

He nods, peering intently at his camera as he takes photo after photo. As a freelance photographer, Victor spends a lot of his spare time doing impromptu photo shoots around the city, and today he managed to rope me into being a subject.

After ten minutes, I'm beginning to regret it, though. It's an unseasonably cold December day, only a week before Christmas. The high temperature of today was supposed to only hit 25º, and with the wind down by the water, it's even colder. Soon, I'm shivering and stamping my feet in an effort to keep warm.

Finally, Victor lowers the camera begins to adjust the lens. In his black jeans and black felt coat, he looks every bit the artist that he is. After a few moments, he joins me, slipping an arm around my shoulder and kissing the top of my head. In this position, the height difference between is even more pronounced than usual. I seem to be stuck at just over five foot four inches while Victor tops six feet. We stand there for a few minutes, even though the sun is slipping behind the buildings across the water, and it's progressively getting chillier.

"Are you cold?" he asks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you standing here for so long—you know how I get when I've got a camera."

I tilt my head up to smile at him. "No, it's fine. I get what it's like to be 'in the zone.' I'm a writer, remember? But we should probably get going, it's nearly"—I push my sleeve up to look at my watch—"five o'clock, and Janelle and Gabe are coming over at seven."

But despite my warning, the two of us take our time walking to the subway station. Hands clasped, we dart across the narrow winding streets of downtown Manhattan and stop at any store window that looks interesting. By the time we reach the Bowling Green station, we're flushed, both from the cold and laughter.

Swiping our MetroCards, we make it onto a train whose doors are just closing. The train is packed so as we hurtle through the tunnels that weave under New York, we stand by the door, clinging to a pole. At City Hall the train empties out considerably and we're even able to snag a couple of seats next to each other.

"Are you excited for Christmas, even though you're not going to LA?" Victor asks me.

I smile and squeeze and his hand. "Of course. Because I'm not going to Los Angeles means that you and I can finally spend a holiday together."

For the past three years that Victor and I have been dating, we've been unable to spend Christmas together since I fly out to LA to be with my parents. They moved a few months after I graduated from college, almost five years ago. "I kind of miss having seasons," my father once admitted to me, but we both know that moving to California was the right decision for them. My mother, as efficient and vibrant as she is, was hit with crippling arthritis that was only exacerbated by the extreme winters in Concord. Since the move, she's improved and is nearly back to normal.

"I have to agree," he says. "But we'll see how well those potatoes you promised to make turn out."

I grin. While I'm a good baker, cooking is not my forte and Victor, whose Italian heritage ensures he's a skillful cook, loves to tease me about it.

Too soon, the train is pulling into the 86th Street station and the two of us are heading out into the dusky streets of the Upper East Street. The streetlights are on and all around us people are rushing around, arms filled with shopping bags. Back at my apartment, Victor busies himself preparing dinner while I tidy up and set the table. As usual, the tiny apartment is overflowing with books and I try and replace them on various shelves.

At seven-thirty, Gabe and Janelle arrive "fashionably late" as Janelle jokes. For a few moments, the tiny hall is chaotic as hugs are exchanged, coats are hung up, and Gabe gives several bottles of wine to me. After I've put away the bottles and given everybody drinks of their choice, the four of us sit in the living room, chatting while soft music spills from speakers.

I perch on the arm of Victor's chair, eyeing my group of friends happily. Janelle and Gabe are my oldest friends in New York. I met the two of them at a local coffee house before they even started dating and we easily expanded a couple of years later to include Victor. Janelle is small and vivacious with long brown hair and green eyes that seem to see everything. Gabe is as tall and lean with close cropped black hair, skin that seems tanned year round, and is as laid back as Janelle is persistent.

A glass of wine in her hand, Janelle leans forward and draws a folder of papers on the coffee table towards her. "What's this?" she asks, flipping through the stack of papers.

"Just some work," I answer casually.

Janelle's eyes widen. "Work?" she asks incredulously. "On a Sunday? Honestly, Emma, where does it end?"

I laugh. "Soon, I think. I've asked for a partner and my boss says he's hired somebody."

"About time," Gabriel says. "You've been working non-stop for the past year. I'm surprised you haven't got white hair yet."

"That's hardly likely," I scoff. "I haven't been working that hard."

"I wouldn't be sure about that," Victor comments, his dark eyes shining with amusement. " Today was your first full day off in what—a month?"

"Oh, Victor," Janelle pipes up. "It's been far longer than that. About two and a half months, I'd say."

"Maybe even three," Gabe adds, and I spy a flicker of a smile on his face.

I regard them sourly for a moment. "Oh, I see what this is," I say. "You're ganging up on me to make me feel guilty."

The three of them burst out laughing and after a moment, I can't help but join in. When we calm down, I take a sip of wine. "Honestly, though, I know that I've been way too busy with work lately, especially with the column. That's why I really started hounding Hobson—my boss—to hire a partner."

"Oh, Em," Victor says, draping an arm around my shoulders. "We know; we were just teasing. That column is a big deal, and we're really proud of you."

I smile at him. Six months ago, I was promoted and given my own column along with my regular reports. While it's a big honor and it's been a blast writing about whatever I feel like, it has also significantly increased my workload. My assignments seem to come at me thick and fast so to keep ahead, I've been working overtime and over the weekends.

"We really are," Gabe tells me. "I read your articles every day."

"Nice to know that I've got a fan base," I joke. "Anyway, that's enough about work, on to the big question: who's hungry?"

"You know you can go," I say, placing my hands on my hips.

"Yeah, I know," Victor says, flashing me a grin from where he's elbow deep in soapy water. "It would be unfair to leave you with all these dishes, especially since you didn't make most of them."

"What a gentleman," I tease. "And here I was thinking chivalry was dead."

Victor laughs and I laugh, too. His laugh is infectious and irresistible; in fact, it was one of the things that first drew me to him. But he's more than just a pretty face or a nice laugh. He's a talented photographer and artist with a sharp tongue and equally sharp wit. And, as proven by the washing-up, always keen to help out wherever he can. Of course, he's not perfect. He has his ups and downs, but who doesn't?

We've been dating for three years, ever since I was twenty-three and he was twenty-five, but haven't taken any major steps like moving in together or getting engaged. True, his stuff is scattered all around my apartment, just like mine is at his, but we haven't formally moved into one shared apartment. Occasionally, he'll bring it up but I always find an excuse to avoid the topic. A small voice in my head asks if Stewart is the reason I'm hesitant to move forward, but I always brush it away; thinking about Stewart helps nobody, and besides, we've been over for years. I'm over it.

"All right, the dishes are done," Victor breaks through my thoughts. "I should probably get going—it's past midnight and we both have work tomorrow."

"Right, of course," I say, pushing away my thoughts away.

I follow him to the front door and wait as he pulls on his coat. "We're still meeting at my apartment for dinner tomorrow?" he checks.

"Uh-huh," I say, leaning up to give him a kiss and neither of us pull away for a few minutes. When we finally break apart, I smile and give him a gentle shove towards the front door. "Okay, it's time for you to go. I need to get to bed."

He gives me another quick kiss before leaving. As I brush my teeth, I wander through my apartment, flipping lights off in different rooms; the living room where my work papers are still on the coffee table and bookshelves are stuffed with books; the dining room where crumbs remain on the table from the fruit tart we had for dessert; the tiny kitchen where the dish drainer is full of clean dishes courtesy of Victor; and finally my bedroom where the walls are hung with both framed and unframed photos taken by Victor and of my family and Jess.

After finishing my bathroom routine, I slip under the covers, lying still for a couple of minutes. Before long, though, I feel the mattress dip slightly and soon a furry paw bats at my hand. I sit up and laugh. Beside me is my cat, Hocus. He was a going away present from my parents when I moved to New York. They claimed I needed company in my apartment, and they were right. Without Hocus, it would seem awfully empty.

I scratch him under the chin. "Come out now that everybody's left?" I coo.

Hocus, a small brown tabby, twitches his tail. I named him Hocus for the expression "Hocus-pocus," because he disappears whenever people come over. I lie back down and he curls up on my stomach.

Careful not to disturb the cat, I lean over and set my alarm for five-thirty. Switching the lamp next to my bed off, I close my eyes. I try to calm my mind so I can get to sleep. However, as my mind relaxes, barriers that I manage to keep up when I'm awake begin to relax and the image of a tall, dark haired young man with humorous grey eyes slips in. I groan, burying my head in my pillow and banish the thought from my head. Stewart is gone, I remind myself. He's out of your life. It was his choice and so there's no need to think about him.

Author's Note: Aaaand I'm back! Firstly, I'm so sorry that this is about three months late. Real life has been crazy what with school work and being sick but I hope to be back on track with a regular updating schedule soon.

Secondly, as you can see, I've changed a lot of things about The New Life, starting with the location. I've actually never been to Seattle which made it a little problematic to write a story there so I switched the setting to New York (my hometown)! David (or rather, Victor) has been changed a little as has the timeline of the story. In addition, the chapters might be split up differently but the story should stick to the same plot I set up in the original version with a few scenes added or deleted.

I hope you all enjoy this-let me know what you think by leaving a review :)