Page 90 of Summertime Friends

I couldn’t resist it.

At first, when she didn’t kiss me back, I thought I had made a mistake and read her wrong. Then she kissed me back, parting her lips for me, taking our kiss deeper and more desperate. Maybe she loves me,too.

Her side of the bed is cold when I wake this morning, but an aroma of coffee fills the air. She must be in the kitchen.

Emerson made herself comfortable—an understatement. She acts as if she hasn’t been here for only three full days but rather that this isourlife every morning. I climb out of bed, slip on the sweatpants she ripped off last night, and go downstairs to the living room.

My flat is perfect. Two floors, bedrooms upstairs, an open floor plan on the first floor connecting the living and kitchen space, and a downstairs bedroom that I use as a home office. Modern but traditional for Grosvenor Square. I’ve been living here for about a year.

From the bottom of the stairs, I catch a glimpse of Emerson dancing, wearing the old-school over-the-head headphones that I will never understand why she loves. She’s in a tiny white tank, thebrown of her perky nipples noticeable, and a pair of knit pajama shorts.

Quietly, I slide into the kitchen. I lean against the benchtop and watch Emerson.

She’s so beautiful.

Enthralled by the woman dancing around my kitchen—for which she still has zero coordination—a giant smile can’t help but form on my face.

Emerson’s made herself a home in my apartment, just as she’s made a home in my heart.

She grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours a cup of coffee. Then grabs another cup from the cabinet and sets it on the counter next to my coffee maker. The entire time, her hips are still moving from left to right.

I release a deep chuckle that catches her attention. She turns around and faces me, her lips lifting into a smile. She takes a sip of coffee and lets out an ‘ahh.’

Emerson starts approaching me, shaking her hips, and asks, “You like what you see? There’s more to these moves.”

Then winks at me.

“Oh, I know there is.”

She passes me; I reach out to stop her, drawing her to me. I lean down to kiss her forehead and then again a little lower, this time kissing her lips and dragging her bottom lip out from where she is biting it. She tastes like coffee. If this is how I could caffeinate myself, I’d never stop.

Emerson’s eyes look up at me through her long lashes.

“I take that as a yes?” she teases me.

Pulling away, she returns to the coffee pot and fills the mug that she sat out. Pushes it to me across the counter.

“You know I like what I see, always.” Always have, always will. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Emerson waves me over behind her to the couch. We plop down. She leans forward and grabs the chunky knit blanket off the ground, pulling it over her as she curls into me.

“What did you want to talk about?”

I nervously take a sip of my coffee. Setting it down on the table, I open my mouth to speak, but the words I want to say aren’t the ones that come out.

“Last day you get to claim all of me; I have to work tomorrow.” I chicken out. “What’s left on the list to do?”

While Emerson was adamant about not being a tourist during her visit, she certainly has compiled a list of the most popular things to see. It’s as if she found the top ten touristy things to do, even though she won’t admit it. We’ve tackled most of them, but it hasn’t left us with time for the non-touristy things, which I’m okay with. It’s been sort of nice. I can’t remember when I last visited Buckingham Palace or sat and people watched at Big Ben. Emerson enjoyed seeing me as a tourist too. I told her she could do them this week when I was at work; she laughed it off. Unfortunately, this included anI love Londont-shirt and top hat with England’s flag on it. We streamed theFriends’ episode when they went to London that night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh so much when comparing a photo of me to Joey.

Luckily, Emerson doesn’t leave until next Saturday. Booking her tickets gave me control of her stay; greedily, I planned it this way. I planned for her to have a long weekend teaser to be the tourist, for her to be with me while I was working, and for my work week to be light so that I could complete my list of places to see with her. I hope that if I show her my world, she might want to be a part of it forever.

“Remember that day in Paris when we flipped a coin to make decisions?” She peers over her mug, trying to hide the pink blush that’s taking over her cheeks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I tell her. It’s one of my favorite nights ever.

“What if that’s what we do? See where the day. . . takes us.”

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