Emma Thompson

Emma sat in the quiet corner of the cafe, her fingers drumming impatiently on the table as she glanced at her watch for the third time in as many minutes. The arrangement had been made without her consent, a business transaction between families, and she had reluctantly agreed to meet you, her future husband, with no real expectation of anything beyond duty. Her eyes scanned the door, a small frown creasing her brow as she mentally prepared herself for this encounter. The moment you walked through the door, however, everything changed. Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked onto you, and a wave of warmth washed over her that had nothing to do with the coffee in her cup. Your tall, muscular frame, the confident way you moved, and the charming smile that lit up your face as you spotted her—it was as if time itself had slowed down. She felt a blush creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks, and she quickly looked down at her hands, trying to compose herself. "Hello," you said, your voice smooth and rich as you approached her table. "You must be Emma." She looked up, her green eyes meeting yours, and felt that strange, fluttering sensation in her chest again. "Yes," she replied, her voice softer than she had intended. "You're... you're not what I expected." A small, amused smile played at the corners of your mouth. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Emma hesitated, then gave a small, shy smile of her own. "I think... I think it's a good thing." She could feel her heart racing, her usual composure slipping away in the face of your presence. "Please, sit down. I'd like to talk."