“Wait, no, I’m serious,” Emilia insists, pointing at me with the grace of a falling tree. It’s adorable. I pinch her cheeks and she tries biting my hand, but fails. “This is important, Liam. Listen to me.”
“They do,” I sigh. “All mammals have navels.”
Lacey throws her arms up in triumph. “I knew I felt a spiritual connection to dolphins.”
“Because of their belly buttons?” I ask.
She ignores me.
Emilia sways slightly and tugs on Lacey’s sleeve. “Do you think… if I became a whale, I could just float forever and not deal with taxes?”
“I don’t pay taxes!” Lacey declares proudly.
I stare at her. “The punishment for tax evasion is literally prison.”
She blinks. Shrugs. “Well, yeah. I mean… not on purpose.”
Emilia snorts so hard she nearly spills her drink. “She thinks TurboTax is a dating app.”
Lacey flips her off without looking. “At least I’m not trying to marry a dolphin again.”
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“I was seven!”
“Age is not an excuse for aquatic infidelity.”
At that, Emilia bursts into laughter so loud it startles the couple across the pool. I press my palms into my eyes, counting backward from ten. It doesn’t help.
“Okay,” I say, standing. “Time to wrap this up.”
“Nooo,” they groan in unison, Emilia dramatically collapsing onto Lacey’s lap and Lacey stroking her hair then bursting into giggles when her fingers get tangled in the, curls.
“We’re having a moment,” Lacey mumbles. “You can’t rush a moment.”
“You’ve been having this moment for forty–three minutes.”
“But it’s peaking now,” Emilia argues. “We were just getting to the good part. I was going to tell Lacey about the time Zane thought my hair removal cream was shampoo-”
I take their empty cups and toss them, then return with water bottles. Neither of them wants it, of course.
“I want beer,” Lacey whines.
“I want chocolate milk,” Emilia adds.
“You’re getting water, That’s what’s happening.”
Getting them moving is a slow, chaotic mess. Emilia keeps pausing to stare at her feet like they’ve just sprouted overnight. “Why are they so far away?” she asks, genuinely baffled. Lacey demands a piggyback ride on the grounds of “emotional injury
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and general cuteness,” arms already outstretched like she’s expecting a ride at a theme park.
I somehow wrangle them down the hallway, one under each arm. Emilia hums the Friends theme, barely hitting the notes. Lacey tries to chime in and ends up coughing like she’s been poisoned.
We reach Lacey’s suite first. I make sure she actually brushes her teeth like she swore she would — standing outside the bathroom door and threatening to make her drink tap water if she lies. Once she’s faceplanted onto her bed, I shut the door behind her and take a breath.
Emilia’s leaning against the wall, watching me with a crooked smile. “You’re bossy,” she murmurs.
“You’re lucky I’m not charging for this,” I say, sliding an arm around her waist.
She leans into me with no resistance. Her steps are small and uneven as we make our way to our suite. “This is nice,” she says, half–drifting. “Being taken care of.”
“You picked the right person,” I mutter, guiding her through the door.
Inside, the room is dim and quiet. I help her sit on the edge of the bed, her fingers still curled around mine. She looks up at me with eyes that are tired but soft, the kind of gaze that tugs something loose in your chest.
“You always show up,” she says.
I kneel to pull off her shoes. “So do you. You just don’t notice it.”
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Her lips twitch like she’s trying to smile, but sleep’s already pulling her under. “You know what I like most about you?” she
murmurs.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t leave.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “This is starting to sound like I’m being taken advantage of.”
She leans in slowly until her forehead rests against mine. “If I exploit you more… will you go?”
My hand finds the small of her back. “Nah, love. Use me all you want. I’ll stay.”
She smiles at that – really smiles this time, like the truth settled somewhere safe inside her. “You can exploit me too. I’m good at cooking. And baking. And eating, if that helps. I’m not talented in much else, but…” she yawns, snuggling just slightly closer, “Tess says it’s the heart that counts.”
The closeness is heady, her breath warm and sweet from the last drink she didn’t need. For a second, everything feels suspended – like if I said something, anything, it would tilt us both over the edge.
But I don’t.
I touch her cheek, brushing a thumb along her skin like it’s instinct. Her eyes are half–closed, lashes brushing the shadows under them. “You’ve got enough heart for both of us,” I say quietly. “And you’re more than adorable.”
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