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All very different.
"Hey, what's on your mind?" Emrys asks, nudging me gently with his elbow.
"Just thinking about how Wilder and Wyatt would react to this place." I shrug, my lips curving into a smile. "Wilder would want to explore every nook and cranny, and Wyatt would start planning how to build a cabin over there." I point towards a clearing across the water.
"Sounds like you've got them figured out," he chuckles, the sound tight and dry. "And what about me? What's my role in your little daydream?"
"You?" I tease, bumping his shoulder playfully. "You're the mastermind who brings it all together, the glue of the group."
"Glue, huh?" Emrys pretends to mull it over. "Sticky and messy, but essential—I can live with that."
We share a laugh, and for a moment, I'm caught up in the ease of our banter. There's something about Emrys that makes me feel at ease, even when my heart is a chaotic mess of competing desires.
"So, tell me something I don't know about you," he says, leaning back with his arms propped behind him.
"Something you don't know?" I ponder, tapping my finger against my lips. "Okay, here's one—I once tried to join my sister in ballet. I was tired of being the weird kid that brought toads and snakes to show and tell. I quickly realized I'm about as graceful as a baby giraffe on ice."
"Really?" His eyebrows arch in mock surprise. "I would've pegged you for a natural-born ballerina."
"Please," I snort. "The only pirouettes I do these days involve dodging life's curveballs."
His laughter is booming, gruff, and sexy in ways I didn’t think was possible. His entire body shakes with the sound, head thrown back and eyes shut. I can do nothing but simply gape at him open-mouthed and really hope I’m not drooling.
He’s usually so stoic, so reserved, that it’s like whiplash to see him let go like this.
“So, what was your first pet?” He finally turns back to me, switching subjects.
“A turtle named Booger.” I admit with a scrunch of my nose, causing him to laugh again. I still like the sound, even if it’s at my expense this time.
“And how exactly did that come about?” His eyes glint in the moonlight, seeming almost predatory, yet he looks nothing but open and relaxed.
“The name or the turtle?” I cock my head. “I can’t answer either. I was only like three. But I do know I tried to flush him down the toilet before my mom caught me. Apparently I was trying to save him and send him back to the pond he belongs in.”
“Ah, a child’s logic.”
“Yup,” I shrug, chuckling. “Apparently I was trying to save animals even back then.”
“I can see it.” His eyes tell me he sees more than just that. “So do you have any pets now?”
I shake my head sadly, “No. Since it’s just me at home, and I work so much, I just haven’t thought it was fair to bring an animal into that full time. I wouldn’t be able to give it the attention it deserves.”
His mouth turns down for a moment before he smirks. “But aren’t you the boss? Couldn’t you just…take them with you to work if there was no one else to watch them?”
Well, shit. I never thought of that.
Speechless, I can do nothing but stare at him in return. Getting lost in my thoughts, it takes me a second to realize he’s still watching me. His eyes are bright in amusement, but everything about him seems to soften as he gazes at me, pulling my attention and refusing to let it go.
“So,” I clear my throat, forcing myself to look away, taking in the assortment of containers he laid out on the blanket. “What’s all this?”
“Just a little something I had the chefs prepare.” He smiles widely, pride straightening his back. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry or not. I didn’t see you eat much at dinner-”
“Agh. Don’t remind me about dinner!” I groan exaggeratedly. “Of course I couldn’t eat! We lost the fort competition to not only Annabelle and Ethan, but my mom and dad too! I will never live it down!”
“Well, to be fair, you were a little distracted during the fort building aspect.” He winks and I feel my entire face heat at the memory of our moment together.
Luckily, he doesn’t comment on it, and we dig into the picnic feast. Between mouthfuls, we swap stories like old friends. He tells me about the time he tried to learn how to play the ukulele, but kept snapping the strings every time he tried to strum it. I counter with the tale of my disastrous attempt at a juice cleanse that ended in a midnight raid on a twenty-four-hour pancake house.
Then, amid our shared amusement, a soft rustling from the underbrush catches Emrys' attention. His head tilts to the side, that playful spark in his eyes giving way to curiosity.
