ISABELLE
Sunday morning blurred into afternoon in a haze of tangled sheets and lazy conversations. We never left the bed except to grab food from the kitchen or coffee that went cold before we remembered to drink it. Matt’s hands seemed to find new places to explore every time we thought we were done, and I was learning that “one more time” was becoming our most-used phrase.
We talked about everything and nothing—childhood memories, favorite books, places we wanted to visit. He told me about building his first company. I told him about the disastrous camping trip Sage and I took when we were teenagers.
It felt easy. Natural. Like we’d been doing this for years instead of days.
But as the afternoon light started to fade, reality crept back in. Tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow I’d go back t
