Page 62 of Emil

I drifted, without meaning to, toward the flower art. I always did. When I first went to community college, I wanted to take horticulture classes, and my mom had told me—very firmly—that I needed a job that paid. Flowers weren’t it. I’d listened. I always listened.

My Pinterest board was still full of garden ideas I’d never use. Apartments without patios or balconies don’t allow for that much dirt. Maybe if I stayed on the island longer, I could figure something out. Though the ferry costs and rent prices made that feel like a stretch.

“Trying to compromise on decorating?”

I jumped and turned to find an older man standing far too close, like he’d been waiting for me to notice him. He wore a plaid suit, carried a cane he absolutely did not need, and had a look in his eye that said he enjoyed this.

“Sorry?” I said.

“You like the flowers,” he said, glancing toward Emil. “And your boyfriend likes the water.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

The man smiled like I’d just handed him a toy. “Does he know that?”

Heat crawled up my neck. “You’re not wrong about the flowers,” I said quickly, pointing at a watercolor of ranunculus. “They’re just…nice. How do you not like something that pretty?”

He hummed. “Seems like he’s asking himself the same question.”

And then he walked away, cane tapping like punctuation, leaving me standing there feeling like I’d been nudged off balance on purpose.

He was too much. And he clearly did it on purpose.

“All right,” Emil said when he came back. “Delivery’s next week. And you keep ending up over here.”

“I wasn’t—” I started, then stopped.

The older man reappeared like a curse. “It’s that one,” he said cheerfully, pointing at the painting I’d been hovering near. “You’ve circled it three times.”

Actually, it was gorgeous. Flowers in the foreground, Discovery Bay stretched out behind them, misty and soft like looking out a window, waiting for your sea captain husband to return and not being sure he will. And like someone had been forced to watch Pete’s Dragon on repeat. Me. The someone was me.

Emil looked at the painting. Then at me. I couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Then we’re getting it,” he said, already turning away. Emil didn’t hesitate. He didn’t look back to see if I was panicking. Which, in a surprise to no one, I low-key was.

Behind me, the older man chuckled.

“Enjoy,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

“Jakob, I promise I will be at your birthday party. There’s no way I’d ever miss it.”

After the gallery, Emil and I decided to head down to the café for lunch. We walked down the street hand in hand because every time I tried to put space between us, Emil returned to my orbit. No matter how many times I drifted away, he was right there. He finally gave an exaggerated sigh and captured my hand.

I was speechless and secretly giddy when Emil lifted my hand and kissed it.

“I need you close.”

Then he kept walking like he hadn’t just rocked my entire world. The man even whistled. What the hell was that about?

For the sake of my own sanity, I forced myself to think about the weather. It was safe. It was easy. It was remarkably lovely this time of year. A rare sunny spring day, warm enough to eat outside.

Emil nodded toward the small pocket park just ahead of us. “Go grab a table. I’ll get the food and meet you there.”

I hesitated for half a second, waiting for instructions that didn’t come. Emil was already turning toward the café, trusting I’d be exactly where he left me.

I crossed the grass and slid onto one of the picnic tables tucked under the budding trees, the bench still warm from the sun. My phone rang as I sat down.

“I’m gonna have an extra surprise for you.” Jakob’s happy voice came through the speaker, loud and clear.