Emma handles brunch effortlessly. She engages with all my family members, being gracious and polite. Everyone wants to talk to her, vying for her attention and the opportunity to pick her brain. She’s asked about her career, family history, and hobbies. The shocked exclamations about her presence don’t rattle or faze her at all, and she juggles multiple conversations while devouring an entire plate of food seamlessly.

I’m in awe.

She’s a strong warrior, returning from battle without a single scrape or bruise, and looks gorgeous as hell while she slaughters the naysayers.

At the end of the meal, I bring her in for another hug, my arms snaking around her trim waist. I would keep her here forever, flush against me, if she asked me to. I’d never let her go.

“Hey, Sunflower.”

“Hey,” she smiles. “I need to find a nickname for you.”

“Nah. I’m not special enough for a nickname.”

“That’s not true. You’re plenty special. I’m thinking something along the lines of…”

I tuck her further into me. It’s still not close enough.

“All good?” I ask

“I wish there was more bacon.”

I chuckle lightly, dropping my chin to the top of her head. “Food goblin. Have fun this afternoon. Text me if you need me.”

“I can’t wait to hear all the stories about you.”

“Believe none of them,” I scoff, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My lips leave her skin before I have time to process how it feels to touch her so openly and freely.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispers. With no one around, it’s not for show. It’s for me. My ears only.

“I’ll miss you, too,” I answer honestly. She’s not out of my grasp yet and I’m already lonelier, counting down the minutes until she returns.

* * *

With Emma gone, I spend the day with my brother, dad, and a handful of cousins and relatives. We play a game of pickup basketball on the paved court on the side of the house. A welcomed distraction, because with initiating full court press and diving for rebounds, it gives little room for my brain to wander. The longer I can keep my mind off the woman absent from my side, the better. I make sure to shove Michael extra hard on defense for his earlier comments, and “accidentally” kick his shin.

After a few hours of sweaty exertion, we switch our attention to drinking beers and sitting in chairs around a fire pit, the blaze keeping my chilled hands warm. It’s cooler up here outside the city, and with the sun already setting, the temperature is dropping. At dinnertime, my dad lights the grill, getting ready for the burgers and hotdogs he’s making. With a smaller group sticking around this evening, he took it upon himself to play chef.