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And from there we settle in. Emmett ends up eating his entire omelet—pineapple chunks and all. He even starts in on the coffee with me.
Coffee that Martha never lets drop to empty.
And with a full belly, endless caffeine coursing through our systems, and a tentative friendship blossoming between us, we talk.
And we sip our coffee.
And we laugh.
And we talk.
We cover sports, school, work, animals, plants, family, food. Hell, we even cover embarrassing childhood memories. We talk about everything and nothing. The conversation flows effortlessly.
We lose all sense of time and place. And by the time we pry our eyes away from each other, I realize the sun is rising.
“Holy shit. It’s… morning?”
“You know what? I don’t believe you’re immune to pounding coffee all night,” he jokes.
A shrill giggle lurches from my throat. Because I’ve spent another night with Emmett Brandt—and much to my surprise, I very much enjoyed his company. A confession that would make my brother keel over and die on the spot.
But when Emmett looks me in the eye and says, “Now it’s my turn to take you for my favorite breakfast,” I surprise myself again by saying yes.