Chance spots him too, and shoots me a wink.
Catching me when my confidence wobbles on a broken heel.
And suddenly, I wish I’d already told him that I love him too. Because when I finally say it, I don’t want it to be tangled up in timing, circumstance, or anything else. I want it to be about him.
About us.
Ethan’s son squeals, and all eyes turn to them just as Ethan saves his toddler from an epic faceplant.
Gone is the man from the presentation. Here he’s an affable dad, still buzzing with the same energy but channeled in a much different direction.
He’s the picture of casual in blue jeans and flannel rolled up to the elbows over a black t-shirt. Not in the forced sense common with tourists, but more a natural return to his roots.
Called it.
He’s layer built on unexpected layer—the grandmother’s influence no doubt—adding another level of appeal to workingwith him. One that speaks right to my spirit—that until this week—I had yet to fully embrace.
His oldest, a girl who looks to be around six, clutches his hand while his wife balances their infant daughter against her hip. Their toddler son trails behind, more interested in the massive tree than our gathering.
"Sorry for the delay," Ethan says, taking his sons hand before he can race off to the wish tree he’s just spotted judging by the wonder on his face. "Someone needed an emergency diaper change, and I lost rock-paper-scissors."
"Daddy always loses," his daughter announces with the brutal honesty only kids can deliver.
"That's because Mommy's the mastermind and I'm just the guy who makes epic PB&Js." He grins, completely at ease with this admission.
I bite back a smile, something warm unfurling in my chest at their easy dynamic. At how neither of them seems concerned about who does what, just that it gets done.
At how when he’s in dad mode, he’s a dad and in the moment. No signs of the CEO to be found.
His little girl will be so much better for it.
My father makes his way over as the rest of our family takes a few steps back. It's just far enough to give us a bit of privacy and still hear the highlights.
A part of me wants to pause. Just—whatever happens here, this is it. This whole chase is over. I’ll have all the answers whether or not they hurt.
Ethan turns to me, his expression shifting to business mode though his son is now using him as a jungle gym. "About your presentation..."
I’ll never be able to go back to a time when I didn’t feel this—this pull, this ache—the safety of uncertainty, because at least it wasn’t guaranteed disappointment.
My stomach pitches—not quite dropping, not exactly soaring, but twisting sideways, like I’m stuck on a tilt-a-whirl I didn’t ask to ride.
Ethan catches his son mid-break for the tree, barely missing a beat as he continues. “I’ve seen a lot of strategies,” he says, setting the kid back on solid ground without losing his train of thought. “But what you showed us today? That wasn’t just innovation—it was revolution. The way you mapped those transition paths...” He shakes his head, almost incredulous.
“Transition paths?” My dad cuts in, his voice sharp, with an air of authority he lacks the awareness to recognize is out of place.
Ethan’s eyes snap to my father’s, all intense focus. “The full plans she turned over to accompany her presentation, giving us a chance for deeper review,” he says, his tone firm but measured. “You know, the ones that left my CFO speechless. And when the shock wore off,” Ethan glances briefly at his daughter with a wry smile, “I think he might’ve believed in you-know-who again.”
A light laugh bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it, easing the knot that’s been lodged there all day.
There’s no way I’m losing. Not today.
“I would have been happy to provide a more detailed breakdown for you to review if that’s what you wanted,” my father begins.
Ethan scans the room, his tone shifting, leaning into the authority he carried earlier today. “It’s what I needed. Only I didn’t know it until she handed it to me.”
I glance at my dad. For once, he’s not the one steering the conversation. And the weight of that realization only fuels me further.
“The world is moving too fast to keep doing it the old-school way,” I say quietly, in the same way I tried to be part of myfather’s conversation the other day, only to be dismissed at every turn.
