“What did I miss?” Oliver asks.
Movement draws my attention before I can answer. Emma approaches from the far side of the room, a tray of drinks balanced easily in her hands. There’s something about her presence that shifts the air, making it lighter and heavier all at once, similar to the pressure dropping before a storm finally breaks.
Memory stutters, trying to catch up. Everything after meeting her the night before blurs together, as my mind refuses to hold onto details it didn’t know how to process yet. Viola pushes her shoulder back, sitting taller in the seat.
“And you are?” Viola asks, standing with her hands braced on her hips.
“I’m Emma,” she answers easily, setting the tray down on the coffee table before handing each of us a glass. Her movements are unhurried and practiced,
