Page 61 of Summertime Friends

“Good morning,” her soft, sleepy female voice says as I open the door. Emerson is still in her pajamas.

“Good morning,” I reply, tucking loose hair behind her ear and running my fingers through its soft strands. “Wanna come in?”

“That’s why I’m standing here.” She brushes past me with a smirk. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Don’t ya have one in your room?”

“Yeah, but I got up and came right here. Didn’t have to go then.”

“What’s on our agenda for today?” I ask her as she exits the bathroom.

She walks over to the bed, joining me on it. Folding her knees beneath her, she gives me a gentle smile. “Well—” Emerson finds my eyes, locking her big green ones into my blue-gray. There’s an idea turning behind them. “I had this idea. . . but you might think it’s stupid.”

Emerson bites her lip.

Those daydreams of her mouth from earlier this morning? They’re back. I try to brush them aside instead of crawling towhere she’s seated and kissing them, focusing on what she’s saying and not where the words are coming from.

“No stupid ideas, remember?” I remind her.

“We said no stupid questions between us, not ideas.”

“Semantics.”

“Not really—”

“Say your idea, but add a question inflection at the end. It’s a question then.”

She rolls her eyes at me, and her chest raises with a silent laugh.

“Okay then. What if we order room service, and then we flip a coin? Heads you pick, tails I pick? No set plans, we see where fate takes us?” Emerson tilts her head and gives me puppy dog eyes, working this whole question-thing. “My dad and I used to play this before my parent’s divorce. It became our thing. Each game was a new adventure, leading us to places we knew and had yet to discover, even in my hometown,” she tacks on.

I didn’t need the explanation; I would have said yes to whatever came out of her mouth. Spending time with Emerson is enough for me. Getting to know this about her? Getting to share in one of these good memories of her dad? That makes today that much better.

Emerson doesn’t talk about her parents. Whenever the topic comes up between us, she changes it. All I know is that they divorced when she was in middle school.

“Do you want to be heads or tails?” I ask her.

“Tails, always.” Emerson gleams at me. “I’m going to change. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, top. Can you order breakfast for us?” She jumps from her position on the bed and bounces out of the room.

“You got it, States.”

25

LIAM

Six Summers Ago

“Tell me about your parents.”

“What about them?” Emerson asks me.

“You mentioned they are divorced, but avoid them in other conversations.”

It landed on tails during our last flip. Emerson decided on a bottle of wine and a snack in front of the Eiffel Tower. We picked up fresh bread, cheese, and fruit before finding a spot along the water.

“I don’t like talking about them.” She chews on a torn-off piece of baguette.

“I can see that. Why?” Emerson sighs. “I don’t mean to pressure you.” And I don’t, but George’s comment about her not believing in love isn’t lost on me, and I’ve deduced it down to this.

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