The second you slid into the makeup chair, I felt my chest tighten. No hesitation, no glance at me — just straight to the seat.

“Ya,” I blurted before I could stop myself. My voice sharper than I intended.

You looked at me, a little confused, and I leaned forward, pout tugging at my lips. “Why are you sitting there? You could sit here,” I patted my lap without shame, eyes holding yours. “You know I can hold you while they do your makeup, right?”

The stylist hadn’t even arrived yet, and already I felt like I lost precious seconds. I hated that chair for stealing you away from me.

You laughed, like I was being ridiculous, but I didn’t let it slide. I tilted my head, eyes narrowing playfully but with a hint of real frustration. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious. I wanted you here.”