“Hey. Take a deep breath. I’m going to honor my commitment, okay? Now, let’s get to work.” She breaks our contact, slicing it in two, and I miss her instantly.

“That’s it? No fight? No arguing?”

She shrugs, a simple raise and lower of her shoulders. The neck of her sweater slips down, revealing milky white skin before she pushes it back up, unbothered by the distraction. “I’m sure we’re going to fight at some point. I’m not going to kiss your ass right away like everyone else in the world. But there’s no denying I enjoy… you.”

I tilt my head and laugh, genuine happiness pouring out of me. This is the first ounce of relief I’ve felt in days.

There she is.

Hey, Sunflower. I missed you.

“I promise no ass kissing is involved. Okay. So. The party is my parents’ wedding anniversary, like I’ve mentioned before. They said if they lasted 40 years, they’d have a big celebration.”

“Did they argue a lot when you were younger or make you think they might have gotten a divorce?”

“On the contrary. They’ve always loved each other fiercely. There were no screaming matches or silent treatments. They’ve had to put in a lot of work and effort, between stressful careers and raising three kids. They’re still as stupidly happy as the first day they met.”

“That’s so sweet. You mentioned part of it would be a bigger celebration with quite a few people, and part of it would be more immediate family. How many folks are you thinking it’ll be total? Two dozen? Three dozen?”

“Oh, you naive thing,” I chuckle. “There’s going to be over 100 guests, easily. They’re inviting folks I’ve never met, family members I didn’t think were still alive, and fourth and fifth cousins.”

“Holy shit,” she curses, and the surprising vulgarity makes me smile. “We need some coffee before we start talking logistics. My caffeine supply is severely depleted.”

I follow her to the register, hot on her heels like an obedient dog, ordering a regular coffee while she selects a concoction I’ve never heard of before. Her eyes grow wide at the sight of the whipped cream overflowing out of the top of her waiting cup. After we collect our beverages, I see her checking out the pastry display with a wistful glance, and I covertly add two chocolate chip muffins to our order, shaking my head as she tries to use her credit card to pay.

“Thank you for this,” she says, unwrapping the treat, face alight with excitement and glee. The bleariness from earlier has worn off, making way for a cheerful woman that makes me happier just by being across from her.

“I know you like baking. What’s your favorite thing to make?” I bite into the sweet pastry, almost moaning at the taste.