“Boss, don’t you worry about that. I’m up this early for myself. I’m excited to see my grandchildren running around later today, so I’d rather get everything ready early so I can maximize my time later.”
“Touche.” I lift my mug in a toast to her, and head back to my favorite chair.
I pick up my Bible again.
I may not know what God has in store for me, but I’ll do the best with what I’ve got, and trust Him with the rest.
Camila is loading the breakfast basket up with all the goods.
“You think she’ll like it?” I ask, stirring my second coffee, my pulse a little quicker, alive with anticipation.
“She’ll love it. Food is every girl’s dream.” She shrugs.
I lift the lid to look inside the basket, noting the items. I can just imagine Lizzie’s delight at opening it. Her smile was radiant last night—I almost wish I could see her opening it.
“I’ll be heading out shortly to go for that work call, but if she calls, ask her to leave her number so I can give her a call back.” I move to the end of the kitchen.
“You think I won’t?” Camila’s eyes shoot daggers of playful challenge at me.
“I shouldn’t have even said anything,” I say, stifling laughter.
“Mhmmm,” she says, and I hear her moving between rooms as I step back toward the bedroom.
The light is fully radiant now, bathing the room in sunlight. It echoes how I feel internally.
Anticipation hums in my veins, ready for the day to begin. It’s like hope has come calling, and I don’t want to shut the door on it.
I’m hoping she’s going to like the basket. But mostly, I hope she likes the sentiment behind it and sees what I want her to see.
I’m not giving up just yet.
11
Lizzie
I sigh and look over at my alarm clock. Eight AM.
The fan above me whirs in steady circles, slicing the quiet air. The house is completely still, the kind of silence that only exists on a Saturday morning when no one has anywhere to be. My family loves to really take Saturday as a day of rest.
Sunlight slips through the blinds in thin golden ribbons, stretching across the floor and creeping slowly up the side of my bed. It looks peaceful.
I normally love Saturday mornings like this.
But today I’m just lying here, watching the overhead fan go by a thousand times, trying to make sense of why my mind refuses to rest.
I didn’t sleep well last night. I tossed and turned, over and over, replaying every moment of yesterday evening. It unsettles me—how much space one evening managed to take up inside me. How one dinner, one conversation, one pair of eyes lookingat me across a table could make me feel like the axis of my life tilted ever so slightly.
I think everyone wonders about “the one” at some point. The person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. The person who will walk beside you through all the mundane Tuesdays and all the unexpected storms. But do people really lie awake all night afterone datewondering if they’ve already met him?
Maybe they do. Maybe I’m the naive one.
But I, for one, have never tossed and turned after a single evening with a man and found myself contemplating the direction of my entire future. Eventhinkingthat feels dangerous. Like stepping onto a path before you’ve checked if it actually leads anywhere.
Still… one date can reveal more than people realize.
The external things are easy to notice. I’ve always imagined being with a man my height or just a little taller. Dark hair. There’s something about the São Paulo accent that makes my insides melt a little. Paired with his deep voice, it feels almost unfair. And the fact that he’s a few years older than me—steady, grounded—that’s something I’ve always hoped for.
But it’s the internal things that matter. The ones that stay after the initial impression fades. And those are the ones that unsettled me most last night.
