Jack
It was 3am by the time the last of the party crashers made it into Ubers. Closing the front door behind the stragglers, I walked towards the back of the house. Cups, plates, and half-empty wine glasses cluttered every surface, but I ignored it all. It could wait until morning. Tonight had been chaotic and loud and perfect.
In the kitchen, the lights were dimmed low. Emma was sprawled across the breakfast nook bench like she lived there, one leg tucked under her, the other extended toward the floor. Somewhere during the evening she'd ditched her heeled boots and was only sporting gray knee-high wool socks with that distracting velvet dress. She was eating the last of the frozen pizza we had made in a moment of drunken inspiration an hour ago and looking like she was exactly where she
