Nysa too had not paid much mind to the fact that Emilia’s hand had somehow become linked to hers. There was a time when she would have been hyper aware of every time the two of them met skin to skin, and another time, after Emilia had been married, when she would have resisted the intimate gesture; now, however, such things occurred without conscious intention. She had long ago written it off as just a simple fact of life: somehow, someway, the two of them were going to find a way to touch. It was also one of the few selfish indulgences that she allowed herself. What could it really hurt to allow Emilia to hold her hand, or run her fingers through her hair, or brush eyelashes (real or imaginary) off her cheek?
Yes, Nysa did know the restaurant. She wasn’t proud of the fact that she had been on more dates than she had fingers, but it had made her quite the connoisseur of fine dining. Cooking an exquisite meal of her own may have been still out of her reach, but in the meantime she could enjoy the food made by some of the best chefs in Scarlet Oak. “Oh yes, they have a cotechino that is absolutely divine.” She added a chuckle to the end of her statement, amused by how much of a foodie she sounded like. It wasn’t that she intended to sound pretentious, whether the subject was food or something she had read; sometimes her words simply came out that way. Nysa merely smiled warmly as Emilia explained that not only had she brought something for her to wear, but that she could pack up so they could leave soon. She had never been a fan in the bossy assumptions of others. Many times as a child, she had purposefully done the opposite of what Doran had told her, simply to spite him. But with Emilia, it was different; it was as though the other woman gave voice to everything she was planning on doing anyway. Very rarely, if ever, did Emilia take her complacency for granted. Nysa offered a soft and simple “Okay” as her smile deepened, obviously in appreciation of the kiss that had graced her skin; it was a whisper, nothing to be worried about.
In the short time that Emilia was gone, Nysa began prepping her station to leave. She had to make sure not only that all her supplies were closed and stored properly, but also had to make notes of where she had paused her work to save herself from being lost when she came back. It was a trick she had picked up over the years, and after several wasted days doing duplicated work. She had just placed the book back in its protective storage container when Emilia returned. “You know I’m not going to hate any of them.” Nysa moved to stand before Emilia and the outfits, scanning each one as she brought a hand to her lips and contemplated. La Dolce Vita demanded a certain level of finery, a fact that the other woman had obviously taken into consideration. “What do you think of this one,” she asked, reaching out for a blue dress. It loose enough to compliment the shoes she was already wearing, without looking too casual. She passed her head under the hanger, allowing the dress to hang around her neck. The hem fell shorter than she would have liked, but she was willing to make a compromise for the occasion.