Emma’s thumb stayed resting against the side of his hand. The café around them kept moving—people ordering drinks, a baby fussing somewhere near the windows, the low announcement of another delayed flight—but none of it seemed to reach their table.

Ryan turned his palm up. Her fingers settled into his without hesitation this time.

“You’re really not going to make a joke?” she asked.

“I’m trying not to ruin it.”

“That’s new.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Give me a minute. I’ll think of something.”

She studied him, head tilted slightly, like she was seeing a version of him she hadn’t fully let herself look at before. “How long?”

“Since the summer before you left for Chicago. That night we all stayed late at your parents’ house and you fell asleep on the couch with your feet on my lap because you said the floor was cold.” He shrugged, a little embarrᴀssed now that the words were out. “I spent the rest of the night not moving so I wouldn’t wake you up. And then I spent the next five years pretending it didn’t mean anything.”

Emma’s expression softened. “I remember that night. I woke up and you were still there. You told me you’d only been awake for a minute.”

“I lied.”

“I know,” she said. “I just didn’t know why.”

His phone buzzed again. Daniel’s name. Ryan glanced at it but didn’t pick up yet.

“He’s almost here,” Emma said.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead she squeezed once, lightly. “So what do we do when he walks in?”

“Whatever you want,” Ryan said. “We can pretend nothing happened. Or we can tell him later. Or—” He stopped, searching her face. “I’m not in a rush. I’ve waited five years. I can wait until you’re ready.”

Emma was quiet for a second. Then she reached for her phone with her free hand, typed something, and set it face-down again.

“I told him we’re at the café near the main exit,” she said. “And that he should take his time.”

Ryan blinked. “You did?”

“I’m not ready to let go of your hand yet,” she admitted, almost under her breath. “And I’m not ready to watch you put that careful face back on the second he gets here.”

Something in his chest loosened. He lifted their joined hands just enough to brush his thumb across her knuckles.

“Emma.”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad your flight was late.”

This time she didn’t tell him not to look happy. She just looked at him—really looked—and the smallest, real smile pulled at her mouth.

“Me too,” she said.

Outside the café windows, the sliding doors kept opening and closing. Somewhere in the parking garage, Daniel was finally finding a spot. But for the next few minutes, at least, neither of them was in a hurry to stand up.