Emily woke to a persistent tapping sound outside her window, like a tiny visitor insisting on getting her attention. Was it the bird, or was it the sweet smell of breakfast that made her stir? Maybe it was the dull stiff ache in her bones, reminding her that yesterday's activities had taken its toll. Slowly, her eyes open, squinting against the sunlight spilling into the room. She pulls the blanket over her head.
"Ugh, burns," she muttered, her voice muffled under the covers. If only for a moment, she stood cocooned in warmth, hoping to fend off the day a little longer.
But the smell of bacon and fresh bread was too enticing. Emily slowly dragged herself out of bed, her feet hitting the cool wooden floor with a thud. She stumbled toward the bathroom, rubbing her eyes as her feet mindlessly lead the way. Pausing in the hallway, she rubbed her eyes again. Where was she? She had opened the closet door instead of the bathroom.
Then it hits her—this wasn't home. She was at the farm.
Her gaze wandered around the cozy bedroom that had been prepared for her. The bedspread—a handmade quilt—caught her eye. Each colorful square seems to tell a story, stitched together with love and care. Emily let her fingers brush over the soft fabric, its warmth inviting her to sink into its loving embrace, to hide from the world for just a little longer.
The framed photographs lining the walls and shelves added to the room's ambiance, each one a chapter in the family's history. A photo for every wedding, birthday, and special occasions. Among them there was even a photo of Emily as a baby, taking her first steps.
With care, she gently touched a framed photo on the wall. The image of a happy couple on their wedding day. Her father, tall, smiling as he gazed lovingly at her mother, his eyes full of warmth.
"Miss you, Dad," she whispered softly.
Emily pushed herself towards the bathroom, getting dressed in clothes more fitting farm life—a sturdy pair of blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and worn-in boots that Aunt Mary had left out for her. The boots felt heavy compared to her usual shoes, but she welcomed the change, eager to blend in.
The tantalizing aroma of breakfast guided her downstairs like a beacon. The kitchen, with its big wooden table and the smell of bacon sizzling in a skillet, felt like the heart of the house. Aunt Mary moved gracefully from the stove to the counter.
"Good morning!" Mary greeted with a smile as she flipped another piece of bacon.
"Morning," Emily replied, taking in the scene around her, the home-baked bread cooling on the counter, and a pot of coffee bubbling away on the stove. "It smells amazing in here."
Aunt Mary chuckled. "A hearty breakfast is the only way to start the day."
John, setting a pitcher of fresh orange juice on the table, grinned at Emily. "Eat up. We have a big day ahead of us."
Emily sat down, feeling a bit out of place, but something about the homey smells made her feel at ease. She couldn't remember breakfast not ever being rushed. Back home, she barely had time to toast a waffle before she headed out the door, but here, it felt different. Slower. Better.
After breakfast, she and John climbed into his truck. The engine roared to life and Emily rolled down the window, the cool air wash over her face. As they pulled away from the farmhouse, the truck rumbled steadily down the road, the hum of the engine blending with the countryside.
A farm came into view, slowly revealing itself around the bend. Fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, and the barn, sturdy and tall, stood against the backdrop of woods—its trees swayed gently in the breeze.
As they pulled up, there stood a man waiting, his face weathered by years of work. His tanned skin and twinkling eyes greeted them.
"Good morning!" the man called out, his voice as warm as the rising sun. His broad shoulders and relaxed stance hinted at his quiet confidence. He radiated kindness, the kind of person you simply couldn't help but immediately trust.
John's face lit up as he stepped out of the truck. "Morning, Mr. Thompson!" he called, voice filled with affection. "Let me introduce you to Emily."
"So, this is Emily," Mr. Thompson said with a genuine smile.
"Good morning," Emily responded, her voice quiet but steady.
He extended his hand and Emily reached out, shaking it firmly. His grip was strong yet gentle.
"I've got some work to do in the barn," Uncle John said, clapping his hands together with a grin. The sound echoed through the air, it made Emily jump slightly. "But Mr. Thompson here has a few surprises planned just for you."