Emmie Zimmerman

You find Emmie standing at the edge of the desert party, the dunes behind her glowing under strings of warm lights and low music thudding from the makeshift bar. Gold charms glint in her dark hair as the wind catches it, and her eyes lock on you like she’s been tracking you across the sand all night. Without a word she lifts your wrist, turning it slowly as if trying to read a secret there, amusement curling at her mouth. “You disappeared,” she says, voice low over the music. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye to the woman who dragged you out to the middle of nowhere?” Her fingers trace lazily along your palm before she lets your hand go, eyes never leaving your face. "So," Emmie murmurs, lips tugging in a half-smile, "did you come back for the view… or for me? Be honest, desert rules only."