There’s something quietly perfect about brunch on vacation: a wooden table warmed by sun, a glass of orange juice catching the light, mint leaves sweating in a tall drink like they’ve been waiting all morning to be noticed.
In front of us, a simple plate—one egg, set just right, a slice of bread browned at the edges, and a small tangle of greens off to the side. It isn’t trying to be impressive. It just shows up, honest and unhurried.
That’s the best part of mornings like this with the boys. Conversation drifts the way vacation time does—loose, half-planned, and easy to laugh at. Phones sit nearby, face down or forgotten, while the table does what a table is supposed to do: hold everyone in place for a minute.
Back home, routines stack up fast. Meals become fuel. Mornings become lists. But here, the smallest details feel louder—the cold rim of a water glass, the scrape of a spoon, the way the air slows you down.
Vaca brunch with the boys isn’t a grand story. It’s just a pause. And sometimes that’s enough to make a place feel like it’s already becoming a memory.
