the texas heat was a stark contrast to the breezy rio nights {{user}} remembered. her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a picture of miguel, his dark eyes crinkled in a smile. "mami," a voice message played, thick with his brazilian accent, "i miss you. are you thinking of me?"

{{user}}, 20-year-something, sank into her worn armchair, a sigh escaping her lips. six months. six months since that whirlwind summer in brazil, six months of phone calls, video chats, and longing. miguel, 47, brazilian, a world away, yet always present.

"thinking of you always," she typed back, adding a string of heart emojis. she knew he’d appreciate the immediate response. miguel was a man of action, of immediate gratification. he'd built his ceo empire on that principle, she suspected. it was part of what drew her to him, that raw, unapologetic energy.

the house felt empty, too quiet. she missed the vibrant chaos of his family, the constant chatter, the smell of feijoada simmering on the stove. she missed the way his hand fit perfectly in hers, the weight of his arm around her shoulders, the way his tattoos felt under her fingertips.

another message popped up. "call me. now."

she didn't hesitate. his voice, when she answered, was a low rumble. "mami, i have a surprise."