Page 61 of Emil

“Yeah, I hope she is. She decided to take a break from work and go on this trip. She was really sick last year, and it took a lot out of her. It was good for her to get away and figure out what she wanted to do next in her life.”

“She’s involved in your company?”

“Technically, it’s mine, but I don’t think I would’ve been as successful without her.”

“It’s a family business?”

“Sort of. My family was originally in manufacturing and investment banking, but I wanted to diversify to importing/exporting. We don’t handle the goods, but we handle the logistics of the goods. Although I guess I’m banking-adjacent anyway. After I was established as fully in charge, I brought her in to handle logistics. Nobody’s better.”

“Hopefully, she remembers to send you a postcard.”

“Well, she hasn’t yet, so I’m not holding out hope,” he said, then glanced at the clock. “But it’s close to noon. Do you want to go downtown for lunch? I want to hang out with you.”

“Very much.” I met his gaze and held it, warmth spreading through my chest despite myself. I knew I was blushing, but it wasn’t a lie. I wanted to be with him too.

“Do you like this one?”

On our way to lunch, we ducked into an art gallery, and Emil wandered off toward a sculpture made from sea glass collected along the local beach. He was standing there like this was a totally reasonable way to spend the middle of the day, like people did this all the time and didn’t immediately panic about money or decisions or whether liking something meant something else entirely.

“It’s pretty cool that it’s abstract, not literal,” I said, mostly because silence felt weird. My eyes slid to the price tag, and I immediately regretted it. The orca looked like it was leaping out of the water, the layered glass catching the light differently depending on where you stood. From one angle, it looked calm. From another, it was mid-chaos. Whoever the artist was, they were unnaturally good.

“Do you think we should get it?” Emil asked.

I actually looked around. Because surely he wasn’t talking to me.

“Are you asking me?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “Who else would I be asking? If I ask the woman who runs the gallery, she’s going to say yes and probably tell me to buy two.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the gallery owner chimed in as she walked past. “I’d tell you to buy three, so you’ve got a proper orca pod.”

“We don’t need three,” I said, immediately. Too fast. Definitely too fast.

“What if the one gets lonely?” Emil asked, still staring at it like it might solve the problem for him.

“If you buy the one, then you can be the other half of the pod,” I said. That felt reasonable.

“A pod needs three,” he replied, without even thinking about it. “You’d have to come along.”

That should’ve been a joke. I knew it was a joke. But my chest did that thing where it tightened.

“I guess I could do that,” I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near awkward. “Be the third.”

“I don’t need a unicorn,” Emil said, one eyebrow lifting. “But if you like it, then we should get it.”

He nodded, decisive, like this was settled now, and I had the sudden urge to backpedal even though I hadn’t actually agreed to anything.

“It’s your house,” I said because apparently I couldn’t stop myself. “It’s not up to me. But I do like it.”

I didn’t know why I kept saying that. Emil had made it clear I could do whatever I wanted in his house, and I had. I put his clothes away. I rearranged things that bothered me. I cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner like it was the most normal thing in the world. We barely went back to the cottage anymore except for work and sleeping.

The thing was, Emil never pushed. Not once. He didn’t comment on how much time I spent at the house. He didn’t ask why I hadn’t stayed over again. He hadn’t even mentioned the blowjob I’d given him, which I kept waiting for. Like he understood it for what it had been. Stress relief. Just a thing that happened.

That alone probably should’ve told me something. Or maybe it told me exactly nothing, and I was reading too much into everything, which was kind of my brand.

“We’re getting it,” Emil said. “He can be pod-ish. Pod-adjacent.”

He went to talk to the gallery owner, and I wandered away because standing still felt like too much.