Follow Emily's transformation from influencer burnout to authentic digital nomad living in Portugal. Along the way she finds balance, adventure, and love. Follow her vlog journey here: 

Chapter 1: The Art of the Unscripted Pack
Chapter 2: The Bright Yellow Baggage Claim
Chapter 3: The Search and the Deal
Chapter 4: The Co-Living Chaos and the First Lesson
Chapter 5: Wipeouts and Web Design
Chapter 6: The Dream Job and the Algarve Road Trip
Chapter 7: The Benagil Cave Climax
Epilogue: The Art of Staying Put

Chapter 1: The Art of the Unscripted Pack

The Seattle rain drummed a relentless, rhythmic beat against the windowpane of Emily’s Capitol Hill apartment. On her hardwood floor lay a gaping, bright yellow suitcase, surrounded by a mountain of linen dresses, oversized sun hats, and a dizzying array of camera lenses.

 

Emily, known to her seventy-thousand followers as "Emily Everywhere," stared down at her life. She checked her phone. Her latest reel—a highly curated montage of her sipping a perfect matcha latte in a Pike Place Alley—was ticking up in likes, but it left her feeling entirely empty. Every post had become an equation. Every trip was a chore. She wasn't traveling anymore; she was content farming.

 

"Time to get unscripted," she muttered to herself, tossing a pair of hiking boots into the suitcase.

 

To prep for her massive leap to Lisbon, she had completely overhauled her setup with a shopping spree from the Gadabout Collective, her absolute favorite online storefront for sleek digital nomad gear. She reached in to her desk and grabbed her new Anker Power Bank, her literal lifeline for charging her phone and laptop on the go. She tucked it snugly into the interior mesh pocket of her bag.

 

Next came her safety essentials. Because she spent half her life working from cramped airplane cabins and unpredictable co-working spaces, she packed her Air Quality Monitor. The 9-in-1 tester was a bit of a running joke among her friends, but Emily swore by it to check CO2 levels whenever she felt a midday brain-fog coming on.

 

She grabbed her passport, sliding it into her Active Recycled RFID Double Pouch along with her credit cards, slinging the lightweight strap across her body to make sure it fit perfectly over her sweater.

 

Finally, she zipped up her absolute favorite travel piece: the chic, premium 2-Pocket Leather Sling for Women. It was just big enough to hold her wallet, lip balm, and vlogging microphone without ruining her outfits.

Emily zipped the bright yellow suitcase shut, sitting on it to force the zipper past a final bulky sweater. She opened her digital planner and scrolled straight past her Lisbon accommodation details to a highlighted link at the bottom of the page: “Exclusive Small Group Kayak Tour to Benagil Caves.”

 

Forget the standard, crowded tourist boats. She had booked a premium, small group paddle out of Carvalho Beach. The description of the tour promised an unforgettable route through secret limestone tunnels and hidden arches, culminating in the famous, sun-drenched "oculus" cave dome. It was the exact kind of raw, rugged adventure she used to live for before she started worrying about Wi-Fi speeds and aesthetic grid layouts.

 

"Portugal, ready or not," Emily whispered, pulling the handle of her suitcase up. She didn't know it yet, but across the Atlantic, a handsome surf instructor named Tiago was packing an identical yellow suitcase—and her perfectly curated life was about to get wonderfully chaotic.

 

Chapter 2: The Bright Yellow Baggage Claim

The flight from Seattle to Lisbon was an eleven-hour blur of airplane coffee, fitful naps, and frantic outline editing. By the time Emily stepped off the plane at Humberto Delgado Airport, the crisp, golden Portuguese sun was pouring through the terminal windows, immediately melting away her Pacific Northwest chills.

 

"Step one: survive the luggage carousel," Emily told herself, her fingers tracing the smooth strap of her Active Recycled RFID Double Pouch still securely slung under her jacket.

 

She stood at Carousel 4, surrounded by tired families and couples speaking in low, rhythmic Portuguese. Her phone buzzed. It was a notification from her travel app, warning her that her co-living check-in window closed in two hours. She quickly checked her battery. It was draining fast from searching for international roaming networks. Moving efficiently, she unzipped her 2-Pocket Leather Sling, pulled out her Anker Power Bank, and snapped the built-in USB-C cable directly into her phone. Instant lifeline.

 

Just then, a flash of unmistakable, obnoxious neon color rounded the bend of the conveyor belt.

 

"There you are," Emily breathed.

 

A bright yellow suitcase tumbled onto the metal tracks. Without a second thought, she stepped forward, hauled the heavy bag off the carousel by its top handle, and rolled it out toward the arrivals hall, eager to find a taxi.

 

Meanwhile, just fifty feet behind her, a tall, tanned man with salt-sprayed curly hair and a canvas jacket was staring blankly at the emptying carousel. Tiago rubbed his eyes, looking down at his phone. He had just returned from a quick equipment-sourcing trip to the States for his eco-surf school in Cascais. When the very last bag on the belt turned out to be a box of golf clubs, he groaned.

 

He scanned the crowded arrivals hall. Far ahead, bobbing through the sea of people, was a girl with a bounce in her step, happily wheeling a bright yellow suitcase exactly like his.

 

"Ei! Desculpe! Wait!" Tiago called out, navigating through the crowd.

 

Emily didn't hear him over the airport announcement system. She was already out the sliding glass doors, basking in the 75-degree Lisbon heat and breathing in the scent of saltwater and pastries. She pulled up her ride-share app, watching the little car icon head toward her.

 

"Excuse me!" a deep, breathless voice sounded right beside her.

 

Emily turned, blinking in the bright sun. Standing there was a man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a tourism brochure—sun-bleached hair, a light tan, and a look of mild, exhausted desperation.

 

"Hi? Are you... a local guide?" Emily asked, instantly wondering if this was a new, high-end welcome service.

 

"No," Tiago said, pointing directly at the handle of her suitcase. "But I am the owner of that bag."

 

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, no, sorry. This is my signature 'Emily Everywhere' yellow. I buy them in bulk so my followers can always spot me."

 

"Then your followers are going to be very confused by the three gallons of organic surfboard wax, four wetsuits, and Portuguese history books inside that one," Tiago replied, a tired but amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

Emily froze. She looked down at the bag. She looked back up at him. She reached for the luggage tag. Written in bold black marker was the name: Tiago Silva.

 

"Oh my god," Emily gasped, her cheeks turning as bright as the suitcase. "I am so, so sorry!"

 

"It’s okay," Tiago laughed, gently taking the handle from her hand. "But unless you want to surf Carcavelos beach in a linen dress tomorrow, I think we need to find your actual bag."

 

Chapter 3: The Search and The Deal

"Okay, don't panic," Emily muttered, her fingers flying across her phone screen as she and Tiago headed back inside the chaotic terminal. "The universe is just giving me unscripted content. Right?"

 

"If your content involves waiting in the lost baggage line for an hour, then yes, the universe is delivering," Tiago said, a teasing glint in his eye as he wheeled his actual yellow suitcase beside her.

 

The line at the baggage claim desk was a stagnant sea of frustrated travelers. Emily sighed, leaning against a pillar. To pass the time, she unzipped her Leather Sling and pulled out her Air Quality Monitor to check the indoor air metrics.

 

The little screen flickered, showing a spike in carbon dioxide from the crowded terminal.

 

Tiago stared at the little device in her hand, utterly baffled. "Is that... a bomb defuser?"

 

"Worse. A CO2 monitor," Emily laughed, shaking her head at her own habits. "When the indoor air gets stuffy, my brain turns to mush. It's a digital nomad survival tool, I swear. I got it from the Gadabout Collective online store—it's like a sanctuary for people who live out of bags."

 

"Right. Because nothing says 'world traveler' like measuring the oxygen in an airport," Tiago smiled, clearly charmed by her quirky preparation. He leaned closer, noticing the logo sticker on the back of her phone. "'Emily Everywhere.' You are a real travel blogger?"

 

"Guilty as charged," she said, showing him her Instagram grid. "Seventy thousand followers who expect me to post a perfect 'Top 5 Hidden Gems of Lisbon' reel by tomorrow night. Which is going to be pretty hard considering my camera gear, tripod, and entire wardrobe are currently flying toward Madrid or Casablanca."

 

Tiago scrolled through her feed, his smile fading into a slight frown. "Ah. You are one of those."

 

"One of those?" Emily repeated, crossing her arms defensively.

 

"The influencers who come to Lisbon, take a picture in front of a tram, eat one pastel de nata, and tell the world they know Portugal," Tiago explained gently, but with an underlying seriousness. "You miss the real soul of the city because you are looking at it through a five-inch screen."

 

Emily opened her mouth to argue, but the truth hit her like a splash of cold Pacific water. He wasn't entirely wrong. That was exactly why she felt so burnt out back in Seattle.

 

Before she could reply, the airline attendant called her name. After a brief flurry of paperwork, the verdict was in: Emily’s actual yellow suitcase had been left behind in London during her connection. It wouldn't arrive in Lisbon for another forty-eight hours.

 

Emily stepped away from the desk, utterly defeated. She had no clothes, no camera stabilizer, and her co-living space check-in was in thirty minutes.

 

"Hey," Tiago said, stepping into her path with a thoughtful look. "Don't look so tragic. I have a proposition for you, Emily Everywhere."

 

"I'm listening," she said, adjusting her Active Recycled RFID Double Pouch against her side.

 

"My eco-surf school in Cascais needs a modern website overhaul and some social media buzz to compete with the big corporate schools," Tiago said. "If you help me create a authentic marketing strategy for the school, I will give you my spare surfboard, introduce you to the best local spots, and personally drive you down south to the Algarve later this week so you can do that exclusive Benagil Caves kayak tour you have pinned on your digital itinerary."

 

Emily’s eyes widened. "How did you know about the Benagil Caves?"

 

Tiago pointed to her phone, where her digital planner layout was still wide open. "You are an open book. So, do we have a deal? You help me save my local business, and I show you how to actually experience Portugal without a script."

 

Emily looked at her empty hands, then up at Tiago’s warm, genuine smile. Her planned itinerary was completely ruined—and for the first time in years, she was absolutely thrilled.

 

"Deal," Emily said, throwing her hands up in the air. "But first, you have to take me somewhere I can buy a toothbrush.

 

Chapter 4: The Co-Living Chaos and the First Lesson

The co-living space in Lisbon's trendy LX Factory district was sensory overload. Neon signs buzzed, espresso machines hissed, and dozens of digital nomads tapped furiously on laptops. Emily felt a familiar wave of anxiety. It looked exactly like the corporate tech hubs she had fled in Seattle, just with more indoor plants and better weather.

 

After dropping off her temporary canvas tote bag in her tiny room, she met Tiago downstairs. He laughed when he saw her. She was wearing a borrowed, oversized surf-school hoodie that smelled like sea salt, paired with her own sleek Active Recycled RFID Double Pouch.

 

"You look less like a global influencer and more like a human," Tiago teased, guiding her out of the bustling tech bubble and into the winding, cobblestone streets of the Alcântara neighborhood.

 

"I feel naked without my tripod," Emily admitted, her hand instinctively twitching toward her pocket. "Usually, I’d be filming this exact walk."

 

"Good. Keep your phone in your 2-Pocket Leather Sling," Tiago instructed. "Rule number one of the real Portugal: you eat with your eyes and your mouth, not your camera."

 

He led her down a narrow alley away from the tourist crowds, stopping outside a tiny, unassuming spot called A Tasca do João. The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of garlic, grilled sardines, and fresh espresso. An older man behind the counter shouted a cheerful greeting in Portuguese, immediately pulling Tiago into a rugged embrace.

 

"This is João," Tiago said, introducing Emily. "He makes the best bitoque in Lisbon."

They sat at a small wooden table by the window. Emily pulled out her Air Quality Monitor to check the room out of pure habit, but Tiago gently placed his hand over the screen.

 

"No gadgets," he said softly, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. "Just look around. Listen."

 

Emily paused, taking a breath. She closed the monitor. Without the barrier of her screen, she noticed the details. The sound of old men arguing passionately about football over tiny cups of coffee. The bright yellow tram screeching past the window. The way the afternoon sun painted the chipped blue tiles on the wall across the street. It was chaotic, loud, and absolutely beautiful.

 

João brought out two plates of steak topped with fried eggs, alongside a basket of crusty bread. Emily took her first bite, and her eyes widened. "Oh my god. This is incredible."

"See? No filters needed," Tiago smiled, leaning back. "Now, let’s talk about our deal. Tomorrow, we go to Cascais. I’m going to put you on a surfboard, and you are going to help me tell the story of my school. But you have to promise me one thing, Emily."

 

"What’s that?"

 

"You write about the people," Tiago said, his tone turning serious but warm. "Not just the views. Tell your followers about João. Tell them about the ocean. Show them what it means to actually live here, not just visit."

 

Emily looked down at her plate, a genuine smile spreading across her face. For the first time in months, she didn't feel the pressure to curate her life. She just felt happy to be exactly where she was.

 

"Deal," Emily whispered.

 

Chapter 5: Wipeouts and Web Design

The Atlantic Ocean was a brilliant, intimidating blue as Emily stood on the golden sands of Praia do Guincho in Cascais. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She was wearing a thick neoprene wetsuit that compressed her ribs, holding a massive foam surfboard that felt completely unmanageable.

 

"Okay, Emily Everywhere," Tiago laughed, joggling his own sleek fiberglass board under his arm. "Let’s see if your balance on camera translates to the water."

 

"I did a paddleboard yoga class once in Lake Union," Emily called out over the roar of the crashing waves, trying to sound confident. "How different can it be?"

 

Ten minutes later, she had her answer: entirely different.

 

Tiago waded out into the waist-deep, chilly water, holding her board stable as the rolling waves pushed against them. "When I say paddle, you paddle with everything you have. When I say pop up, you jump to your feet. Ready?"

 

"Ready!" Emily yelled, her adrenaline pumping.

 

"Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!" Tiago shouted, launching her forward into a swelling green wave.

 

Emily paddled furiously, feeling the sudden, terrifying rush of the ocean catching the tail of her board. The wave lifted her. "Pop up!" Tiago roared from behind.

 

Emily tried to spring to her feet, but her foot caught on the leash. She launched face-first into the freezing saltwater, her limbs flailing as she tumbled through the roaring white water like a sock in a washing machine. She popped back up to the surface, gasping for air, her hair plastered to her face, coughing up half the Atlantic.

 

She looked back at the shore. Tiago was splashing his hands in the water, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

 

"That," Emily yelled, wiping salt from her eyes and bursting into a huge laugh herself, "was not very aesthetic!"

 

For the next two hours, it was a cycle of pure, unadulterated chaos. Emily wiped out on her back, on her stomach, and once did a literal cartwheel over the front of the board. But on her twelfth attempt, something clicked. She paddled, she popped up, and for five glorious, roaring seconds, she stood upright, riding the white water all the way to the wet sand, screaming with absolute delight.

 

Later that afternoon, they sat wrapped in towels on the wooden deck of Tiago’s eco-surf school shack. Emily's skin was tingling from the salt and sun. She pulled her laptop out of her backpack and plugged it into her Anker Power Bank to keep it juiced up while working outdoors.

 

"Alright, surf instructor," Emily said, her fingers flying across her keyboard as she opened up a new web design wireframe. "Your current website looks like it was built in 1998. We need to change that."

 

Tiago leaned over her shoulder, smelling of coconut wax and sunscreen. "What is the plan?"

 

"We are leaning into the raw truth," Emily smiled, opening her vlogging app. She filmed her entire lesson with a small waterproof camera. "I'm uploading a reel called 'Expectation vs. Reality: Surviving My First Portuguese Surf Lesson.' No glamorous filters. Just me eating sand, followed by the actual history of your school and your commitment to keeping these beaches plastic-free."

 

She pointed at her screen, showing him the layout. "We link your booking platform directly to this story. People don't want a corporate package, Tiago. They want this feeling. They want to learn from someone who loves the ocean as much as you do."

Tiago stared at the screen, then looked at Emily. The playful teasing in his eyes faded, replaced by something much warmer, much deeper. "You are very good at your job, Emily."

 

"I forgot how much fun it could be when I'm actually having an adventure," Emily said softly, looking up at him.

 

The distance between them felt very small on the wooden bench. Just as Tiago leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, Emily's phone erupted with a loud, aggressive ringing. She looked down. It was a video call from her luxury travel agency contact in New York.

 

Chapter 6: The Dream Offer and The Algarve Road Trip

The face of Chloe, a high-powered brand manager from a luxury travel agency, popped up on Emily’s laptop screen. Behind her, the sleek skyline of Manhattan gleamed.

 

"Emily! I’ve been trying to reach you all day," Chloe said, her voice dripping with corporate excitement. "We just saw your 'Expectation vs. Reality' surf reel. It’s absolutely blowing up. The engagement metrics are insane!"

 

Emily blinked, looking down at her laptop. She had been so distracted by the smell of the ocean and the taste of grilled fish that she hadn't checked her analytics. Sure enough, her phone notifications were a relentless blur of activity. People loved the raw, unedited footage of her falling face-first into the Atlantic.

 

"Thanks, Chloe. It felt good to just post something real for once," Emily said, glancing sideways at Tiago, who was watching her quietly from the edge of the wooden deck.

 

"Well, the timing couldn't be better," Chloe continued, clapping her hands together. "Our primary sponsor for the 'Global Escape' campaign just dropped out of their Bali residency. We want you, Emily. Full sponsorship. A luxury villa in Ubud, private drivers, and a six-figure contract for six months. The only catch is you have to leave for Indonesia this Friday."

 

Emily’s breath caught in her throat. Bali. The ultimate digital nomad mecca. A six-figure contract. It was everything she had been working toward for the last three years of her career. It was the definition of making it.

 

"Friday?" Emily managed to say, her voice suddenly sounded small. "That's... in four days."

 

"I know it's tight, but you're 'Emily Everywhere,' right? You live out of a suitcase!" Chloe laughed. "I'll send over the contract contracts tonight. Let me know by tomorrow morning so we can book your flights out of Lisbon."

 

The screen went black. Emily sat in the quiet surf shack, the distant sound of the crashing waves filling the silence. She slowly shut her laptop and unhooked it from her Anker Power Bank.

 

"Bali," Tiago said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"It's my dream job," Emily said, looking out at the ocean. "Or, at least, it was my dream job before I landed in Portugal."

 

Tiago stood up, brushing the sand off his shorts. He gave her a small, supportive smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "A deal is a deal, Emily. You helped me launch the new site today, and our bookings are already up for next month. Tomorrow morning, we will drive south to the Algarve. You are going to see your Benagil Caves before you have to make any big decisions."

 

The next morning at dawn, Tiago’s battered blue vintage Volkswagen van was packed. Emily tossed her bright yellow suitcase—which had finally been delivered to her co-living space the night before—into the back next to the surfboards.

 

As they hit the highway heading south toward the sun-drenched cliffs of the Algarve, Emily felt a heavy weight in her chest. She reached into her 2-Pocket Leather Sling for Women, pulling out her passport tucked safely inside her Active Recycled RFID Double Pouch. On Friday, that passport could take her to a luxury paradise in Bali. But as she looked over at Tiago, singing along softly to a Portuguese radio station with the windows rolled down, she realized her heart was already exactly where it wanted to be.

 

Chapter 7: The Benagil Cave Climax

The golden sandstone cliffs of the Algarve towered over the emerald waters of Benagil Beach. Emily stood on the shore, her pulse racing with excitement as she strapped on a life jacket. This was the moment she had been planning for months: her ⁠Exclusive Small Group Kayak Tour to Benagil Caves.

 

"Ready for the grand finale?" Tiago asked, adjusting his own paddle. He had joined the tour as her partner, his experienced eyes scanning the rolling swell of the ocean.

 

"More than ready," Emily said, though her chest tightened. Her deadline to sign the Bali contract was exactly three hours away.

 

They launched their tandem kayak into the surf, paddling hard through the breaking waves. The water was incredibly clear, revealing schools of silver fish darting over the sandy bottom below. Emily steered them along the rugged coastline, navigating past hidden sea arches and jagged limestone pillars that looked like ancient cathedrals rising from the sea.

 

After a fifteen-minute paddle, the guide signaled the group toward a massive, dark opening in the cliffside.

 

"This is it," Tiago whispered.

 

They paddled into the mouth of the cavern. As they glided inside, the echoing roar of the ocean softened into a majestic, reverent hush. The kayak rounded a sandy bend inside the cave, and Emily gasped.

 

Above them, a massive, perfectly circular hole in the roof of the cave—the famous "oculus"—allowed a brilliant beam of midday sun to pour straight down, illuminating a secret interior beach in a dazzling halo of golden light. The walls of the cave were layered in brilliant stripes of amber, cream, and burnt orange. It was entirely breathtaking.

 

They beached their kayak on the soft, dry sand inside the dome. The other four people in their small tour group immediately pulled out their phones, snapping dozens of photos.

 

Emily reached into her waterproof dry bag. Her hand hovered over her camera stabilizer. This was prime "Emily Everywhere" content. This shot would pull in hundreds of thousands of views.

 

She looked at the camera. Then, she looked up at the golden light swirling through the cave ceiling, catching the gentle spray of the ocean breeze. She looked at Tiago, who was watching her with a quiet, bittersweet smile, letting her have her moment.

 

Emily slowly let go of the camera. She zipped the dry bag shut.

 

"Aren't you going to film it?" Tiago asked, surprised.

 

"No," Emily said, a profound wave of clarity washing over her. "I'm just going to look at it."

 

She walked to the center of the sunbeam, feeling the warmth of the light on her face. For years, she had been running from country to country, chasing the perfect backdrop, thinking that self-discovery was found in the next destination. But standing inside the heart of the Algarve, she realized the truth. Self-discovery wasn't about where she was going; it was about being entirely present with the people and places she loved.

 

She turned to Tiago, her mind completely made up. "I'm not going to Bali."

Tiago blinked, stepping forward into the light with her. "What? Emily, that is your dream contract."

 

"It was my dream," Emily smiled, her eyes shining as she reached out to take his hands. "But I don't want to curate an artificial life in a luxury villa anymore. I want to build something real. I want to help you grow the surf school. I want to eat bitoque at João’s. I want to learn how to actually stay in one place."

 

A massive, radiant smile broke across Tiago’s face. He caught her by the waist, lifting her up slightly as he spun her around on the secret beach. "You are completely crazy, Emily Everywhere."

 

"Just Emily," she laughed, leaning in as he pulled her close.

 

Their lips met right in the center of the golden sunbeam, the echoing sound of the ocean sealing the unscripted promise of her brand-new life in Portugal.

 

Epilogue: The Art of Staying Put

Six months later, the morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Emily’s new apartment in Lisbon’s historic Alfama district. Outside, the iconic yellow Tram 28 screeched happily along the cobblestones, a sound that had transformed from an exotic soundtrack into the familiar heartbeat of her everyday life.

 

Emily sat at her reclaimed wood dining table, sipping a perfectly poured espresso. Her laptop was open, displaying the vibrant, newly launched website for Tiago’s eco-surf school. Bookings were completely full for the season, driven by a new wave of travelers who wanted authentic, community-minded adventures rather than sanitized luxury packages.

 

Her personal blog now rebranded simply as Emily, Present, had actually grown since she stopped running across the globe. Her followers loved her raw, thoughtful essays on what it truly meant to build a life in a new country.

 

She owed a massive part of her smooth, daily workflow to the gear that had sustained her transition from a frantic wanderer to a grounded professional. Scattered across her sunny desk were her trusted digital nomad essentials from the Gadabout Collective.

 

Even though she wasn't boarding flights every week, her apartment’s thick, historic stone walls sometimes made the indoor air a bit stagnant during long writing sessions.

 

She reached over and tapped her Air Quality Monitor, smiling as the 9-in-1 tester confirmed the room's ventilation was perfectly optimal for creative focus.

 

Next to her notebook lay her sleek Leather Sling, ready for her afternoon walk down to the local market. Tucked safely inside it was her Active Recycled RFID Double Pouch, which now carried her official Portuguese residency card right alongside her credit cards. And resting on the corner of the table was her workhorse—the Anker Power Bank—which she still packed into her bag every single weekend when she and Tiago drove down to the surf shack in Cascais. 

 

For a digital nomad, the right tools weren't just about convenience; they were the invisible framework that made a flexible, independent life actually sustainable.

 

A key clicked in the front door. Tiago walked into the apartment, his hair still damp and curly from an early morning surf session. He was holding a paper bag that smelled warmly of cinnamon and baked custard.

 

"Bom dia," he smiled, walking over to drop a fresh, warm pastel de nata onto a plate next to her computer, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple. "Are you still changing the world online, or are you ready to go get lunch at João’s?"

 

Emily closed her laptop, her heart completely full as she looked up into his hazel eyes. She didn't need to check her battery, her analytics, or her flight status. She was exactly where she belonged.

 

"I'm ready," Emily said, sliding her phone into her leather sling and catching his hand.

 

"No script today. Just Lisbon."

 

The End