LEGENDS | taylor swift

three.

HOLIDAY HOUSE
WATCH HILLS, RHODE ISLAND

Since returning to California and reuniting after nearly five full months of separation, Emma and Taylor had fallen perfectly into place as if the world was their own customized puzzle. After nails had been painted on the floor of the en-suite bathroom, and an overnight had been packed full of spare toiletries and articles of clothing that Emma was too tired to properly match together — although Taylor had blatantly refused to allow the girl to wear anything less then red, white, and blue, thus resulting in half the bag being unpacked and left in a pile on her closet floor — they'd fallen into the large California King bed and snuggled in close, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of another body beside them. They'd declared that night spent together an homage to a traditional high school sleepover, something that Emma had never experienced, not really at least, being in the depths of her career by time she was just fourteen years old.

Taylor had taken the lead when the admission fell into the air. She'd walked Emma through the bullet-point list of sleepover musts, and protested passionately whenever the actress looked at her disbelievingly, cheek pressed against the satin covered pillows that their heads rested against, her neck craned just enough to effectively narrow her eyes in Taylor's direction, unable to comprehend why anyone would find enjoyment in rehashing menial drama and voluntarily exposing themself. Despite her doubts, they followed Taylor's list down to the t, spending hours watching movies that were painfully hard to sit through, rehashing even the most unproductive of events that had happened as of lately in their lives, and sharing the darkest secrets that they could think of at a single moments notice until they both fell asleep, breaths even and hearts light.

The unrestrained sunlight had been the final factor that had lulled Taylor from sleep, though the absence of Emma beside her in bed proved to be the only reason she hadn't simply rolled over onto her belly and hidden from the approaching daylight for at least another handful of hours. Their flight to Rhode Island wasn't until three that afternoon, and if the radiance of dusty pink light fanning across the sky was any indication of the time, Taylor figured the hour was closer to eight in the morning. She'd allowed her feet guide her away from the master bedroom and straight back into the kitchen, where the remnants of their chinese takeout dinner had been swept away in order to be replaced with breakfast carry out from what she learned was Emma's favorite cafe in Malibu. They'd ate french toast and traditional crepes together at the kitchen island, filling their stomachs with sugar as they somehow found a million little things to talk about over the meal, the moments of occasional silence that came naturally never stretching between them for any longer then a few seconds, and only occurring when their forks clinked against their plates and they both cringed at the sound.

By two that afternoon, they'd been showered and on the road to the airport Taylor rented a space at in the heart of Los Angeles. It was truly a miracle that they'd managed to board the jet and takeoff without even one stalker with a long lens camera seizing the opportunity to make a quick buck off of them, but it would be later discovered through Taylor's publicist that they'd only just missed the onslaught of paparazzi by a handful of minutes and their return flight to California would touch down in an airport a few miles north, hopefully to avoid a direct run in with the men Taylor amusingly referred to as vultures. It was almost ten o'clock on the evening of the thirtieth when the door to Holiday House was unlocked by a distinctive gold key and pushed wide open, welcoming their tired bodies with a refreshing wave of air conditioning and the scent of vanilla. Leave it to Taylor to have scented plug ins at every corner of the house, all diffusing the same homey notes of vanilla and coconut. They'd fallen into bed that night by eleven, and were practically dead to the world by midnight.