The Best is Yet to Come

Twenty: Noah

Emma's face is like a breath of fresh air when she opens the door. Her hair is curled, a mane around her face. She has on black leggings and a fitted pale pink blouse that makes my knees weak. I beam at her and hold out the cheerful bouquet I picked out at the flourist shop down the street.

I spit out a joke in greeting, relying on my dumb humor to make her laugh. I desperately missed the sound and relish in the feeling of pure bliss when she does. Emma takes the flowers with an adorable snort of laughter and takes a step back to allow me to enter. Too conscious of her body, I try not to touch her as I walk past and into the room.

Emma's studio is small but cozy. She's decorated it beautifully with plants and books and candles scattered around the room. I would never say anything but it honestly just looked like Glory's with a kitchen and a bed.

Surprising myself, I don't cringe at the towering stacks of novels surrounding me. Instead, I find myself examining her shelves in curiosity, memorizing as many titles as I can. Something soft brushes against my leg and I glance down to see a pair of potion green cat eyes staring up at me.

"That's Oscar," Emma explains and I bend down to scratch his ears. The cat rubs his face against my knee which I take as a sign of good luck.

I watch Emma walk over to the small kitchen area and lay the flowers down on the counter. With her face turned away from me, I'm finally given the chance to watch her and I stare in awe as she travels around the kitchen. There's something usually graceful in her movements when she practically flows to the oven to take a peek inside.

"It should be ready soon. I made lasagna, I hope that's ok," Emma's voice shakes a little and when she turns to give me an awkward smile, I notice her face is paler than usual. I miss the bright pink that usually paints her cheeks. My heart pangs with sympathy but at the same time I choke back an ironic chuckle. She has absolutely no reason to be nervous. Everything about this moment feels exactly right.

"It's perfect," I smile, hoping it can convince her how estactic I am just by being here, "Is there anything I can do?"

Emma arranges the flowers into a vase and moves them to her small coffee table.

"You could open this bottle of wine?" she offers, taking a bottle from the fridge and handing me a corkscrew.

To be honest, I've never opened a bottle of wine before but I've seen our servers and bartenders do it a million times. I hold my breath and copy the fluid maneuver from memory. The cork flies out and I let out a sigh of relief when it manages to avoid hitting anything. I pour us each a sizable amount in the glasses Emma holds up for me and raise my glass for a toast.

"To unexpected meetings," I say.

"To Bruce's meat," she counters and we both laugh. I'm happy to see a hint of color returning to her cheeks as we both pause to take a sip from our glass. Emma takes a sizable gulp and reaches for her phone resting on the counter.

"Music?" Emma asks as she starts scrolling through her phone, settling on a big band classic. Sounds of saxophone and violin come out of the speaker tucked on the tallest bookshelf.

I twist around, trapping Emma against the counter. She lets out a breath of surprise, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. I pluck the phone from her grip and replace it with my fingers, tugging her toward the open floor space in the heart of her small apartment. I ignore the wide panic haunting her face and convince myself she was just nervous.

I wrap my arm around Emma's waist and pull her closer to me. She smells incredible, a sweet floral perfume radiates off her skin and curls. My right palm cups around hers, my left resting gently on her lower back. Slowly, I start to sway us back and forth into a gentle rock,thankful that my mother forced her children to take formal dance lessons. I close my eyes, concentrating on how she felt in my arms though I'm careful to avoid pressing Emma against my chest, honestly unsure if I'd be able to handle the contact.