“Have you ever thought about leaving a legacy of your own, Em?” Idris asks, a faint flush visible in his cheeks. “I’ve thought about choosing someone I love the most in the world to have it with.”
I answer his move, only dimly aware of doing so.
Stan tilts his head, studying Set with clear curiosity. “You know,” he says, his frown staying, “you talk about Ma like you had the hots for her.”
Set’s smile doesn’t falter. “Admiration,” he corrects.
Stan hums. “Sure.”
“Slow down, Stanley,” Set says again. “You’ll understand these things better with time.”
Darius hasn’t spoken, only standing rigid beside Damon, eyes fixed past the garden wall, glass untouched in his hand.
Idris notices where my attention has gone. His next move is abrupt, crystal clicking louder than before.
“Come on,” he says to Darius as he rises. “Let’s go for a stroll.”
Darius doesn’t resist. He lets himself be guided away, his steps stiff as they disappear down the deeper garden path.
I look back down at the board.
My next move would have been checkmate.
Idris, deliberately or not, has been arranging the board for me to win.
I don’t give it much thought, especially when Lix walks up to me, holding out his hand. Simply seeing him draws my attention away from the conversation Damon has commandeered, regarding Kaye’s upcoming gender reveal. Stan cuts in with a joke about Damon “buying out an entire lake just to dye it blue.”
The winter breeze threads through Lix’s nearly shoulder-length auburn hair under the low sun. I should register the cold too, yet warmth pools low in my chest as his deep blue eyes find mine, myheart accelerating in response. With him, time feels expansive, as though nothing is required of us beyond existing.
“How about we walk off the carbs?” he asks. “My body’s buzzing to move.”
I take his hand, our fingers fitting together well, and we drift away from the noise of the gathering.
The garden path curves ahead of us, frost crisp beneath our steps.
“In case you weren’t aware, a leisurely walk after eating has been shown to help with digestion,” I say. “It promotes movement through the gastrointestinal tract and can reduce that restless sensation you get afterward.”
He nods, eyes on the path, but I can tell he’s listening. “That buzzing feeling,” he says. “It’s like my body’s asking me to do something?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Remaining still can amplify it. Movement helps redirect the energy.”
He glances at me. “So this is medically recommended?”
“It is,” I say. “Low impact, consistent motion. Especially after heavier meals.”
His thumb traces my knuckle. “Makes sense,” he murmurs. “I feel better after just a few steps.”
“That would agree with some results in recent studies,” I say. “Though, I’d say the sample sizes are currently limited.”
A faint smile lifts his lips. He squeezes my hand. I take it as a quiet invitation to continue.
“The effect also extends to mood,” I add. “Blood sugar regulation plays a role, which would explain why you’d be less tense.”
“Or,” he says with a subtle smirk, “I enjoy walking with you, Em.”
I look up at him, my glasses fogging from the heat of my blushing cheeks. “That variable may be difficult to isolate.”
He smiles, content to let me talk while he occasionally asks excellent questions.
