Those three words send a flutter through my chest, and I have to look away for a moment to compose myself.
The waiter returns with our drinks, pouring the deep red liquid into delicate glasses. Pink watches, his expression somewhere between fascination and trepidation.
“To Ned’s recovery,” I say, lifting my glass in a toast.
Pink mirrors the gesture, his smile brightening. “To Ned.”
We clink glasses gently, and Pink takes a tentative sip. His nose scrunches slightly, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Too strong?” I ask.
“No, no, it’s good,” he says quickly, though his voice lacks conviction. “Just… different.”
I chuckle, setting my glass down. “It’s an acquired taste.”
As the evening progresses, Pink begins to relax. He talks animatedly about his time babysitting Morgan’s children,recounting their antics with a warmth that makes my heart ache in the best way.
“And then Lottie insisted I wear the tiara,” he says, his laughter bubbling over. “I think she was disappointed I didn’t have much hair to clip it into.”
I grin. “You must have been quite the dashing prince.”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “More like a very sparkly pirate. She gave me an eye patch to go with it.”
The image is so vivid and so utterly Pink that I can’t help but laugh. “I wish I’d seen that.”
Pink’s expression softens, his gaze dropping to the table. “It was nice,” he says quietly. “Being around kids again. It reminded me of how much I wanted a family.”
My chest tightens at the wistfulness in his voice. I lean forward slightly, lowering my own voice to match his. “You’d make a wonderful father, Pink.”
He looks up at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us thick with unspoken things. Then the waiter arrives with our food, breaking the spell.
As we eat, the conversation flows more easily, touching on everything from favorite childhood memories to the strangest things we’ve ever encountered. Pink’s laughter becomes a constant melody, and I find myself hanging on every word he says, every expression that flits across his face.
By the time we’ve finished dessert, a shared slice of chocolate cake that Pink insisted we split, the restaurant has quieted, most of the other patrons having already left.
“This has been really nice,” Pink says as we linger over the last of our drinks. I’m still on the wine, but he has switched to a lemonade.
I smile, my heart feeling impossibly full. “I’m glad.”
He hesitates, glancing down at his hands. “I don’t… go out much. This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt…” He trails off, searching for the words.
“Felt what?” I prompt gently.
He looks up at me, his eyes shining. “Happy.”
The word hangs in the air between us, simple but profound.
“Me too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
I drive us back to the house and the journey is silent, yet extremely comfortable. I pull up the drive and tuck my car into a corner, careful not to block anyone else in.
As we climb out of the car, the night air is crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. We walk side by side towards the front of the house, the sound of our footsteps the only noise.
Pink pulls his jacket tighter around himself, and without thinking, I step closer, offering the warmth of my presence.
