"If you say 'young' in that patronizing tone, I might throw this coffee at you," she warns, but her eyes are gentle.
I can't help but smile. "You are young. Compared to me. But that's not what I was going to say." I pause, choosing my words. "You're free. Untethered. Your life is just beginning in so many ways."
Gloria considers this, her fingers continuing their gentle exploration of my hand, my wrist, the sensitive skin of my inner forearm. "Maybe that's exactly why this works," she says finally. "You ground me. I... what? Remind you there's still adventure? That life isn't just responsibility and routine?"
The insight strikes me as remarkably perceptive. "Maybe," I concede.
"Or maybe," she continues, "we're overthinking this. Maybe sometimes people just fit, regardless of age or circumstance. Maybe the universe occasionally gets it right the first time."
There's something so honest, so unguarded in her expression that it breaks through my remaining hesitation. I reach out, cupping her cheek in my palm, feeling her lean into the touch.
"I like you, Gloria Sullivan," I say quietly. "More than makes sense given the timeline. And I'm not sure what happens next, but I know I'm not ready for this to end."
She turns her face slightly, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Then let's not let it end," she says simply. "Let's just see where it goes. Day by day."
The easy certainty in her voice loosens something tight in my chest. I lean forward, bridging the small distance between us, and kiss her softly. She tastes of coffee and possibility, her lips warm and responsive beneath mine. When we break apart, she's smiling.
"Hungry?" she asks. "I make decent pancakes. Though probably not as good as Lily's mom's, according to Emma's current experience."
"Pancakes sound perfect," I tell her, reluctant to release her hand but knowing I should help. "What can I do?"
"Coffee refills first," she decides, standing and pulling me with her to the kitchen. "Then you can be on mixing duty while I find the griddle."
We work together again with that same effortless coordination, me measuring flour and milk while she cracks eggs and hunts for vanilla. The domesticity of it should feel premature, awkward given our brief acquaintance, but instead it feels natural. Easy. Right.
"Emma will love this place," I say without thinking as Gloria flips the first pancake, revealing a perfect golden-brown surface.
She glances at me, surprise and pleasure flickering across her face. "You think?"
"I know it," I affirm, realizing I'm already envisioning future mornings, Emma chattering about books while Gloria flips pancakes and I make coffee. The image doesn't scare me like it should. "The apartment, the bookstore. You."
Color rises in her cheeks at the last word. "I'd like that," she says softly. "To meet her properly, I mean. Not just as the bookstore lady."
"She already thinks you're amazing," I tell her, pouring more batter onto the griddle. "The dragon expert who makes her dad smile."
Gloria's eyes meet mine, warmth and mischief dancing in them. "Do I? Make you smile?"
As if to prove her point, I feel my lips curve upward. "Apparently."
She looks inordinately pleased with herself, turning back to the pancakes with a satisfied nod. "Good. You have a nice smile. Should use it more often."
We eat at the small table by the window, watching as Whitetail Falls comes gradually to life beneath us. More people move along the streets now, heading to Sunday services or the Enchanted Bean for coffee.
"What does your day look like?" Gloria asks, gathering our empty plates. "After you pick up Emma?"
"Nothing scheduled," I tell her, helping clear the table. "Usually we do homework review, maybe watch a movie. Low-key Sundays."
She nods, loading dishes into the sink. "That sounds nice."
"What about you?"
"Bookstore's closed on Sundays," she says, running water over the plates. "I usually read, maybe call my grandmother. Sometimes I bake if I'm feeling ambitious."
I move beside her at the sink, taking the dish towel she offers. As I dry the plates she washes, I find myself reluctant to leave this small bubble of domesticity, this glimpse of a different life.
"We could do something," I suggest, trying to sound casual. "All three of us. After I get Emma. If you want."
Gloria hands me a dripping mug, her eyes bright. "I'd like that. What did you have in mind?"
