“That sounds perfect,” Chloe said, handing Harper Leo’s overnight bag. “He’s in his pajamas. I’ve packed his toothbrush and his stuffed truck. He can’t sleep without his stuffed truck. He’ll probably ask for his usual bedtime routine – one story, then the nightlight on, then—”
“Chloe,” Harper interrupted gently, smiling. “We’ve got this. Go enjoy your date night.”
“Right. Date night.” Chloe glanced at Leo, who was already holding Emma’s hand and telling her about Rosie the brave puppy. “Are you sure he’ll be okay?”
“He’ll be great,” Jack assured us. “And if he’s not, we’ll call. But he’s going to have a blast with Emma.”
After they left, the house felt strangely quiet. Chloe and I stood in the living room, suddenly alone together for the first time in weeks.
“So,” I said.
“So,” Chloe echoed.
“We have three hours before our reservation.”
“We do.” A slow smile spread across her face. “Whatever shall we do with all this time?”
I pulled her close, and for the first time in a month, I kissed her without worrying about little eyes watching.
“I have a few ideas,” I said against her lips.
Three hours later, we were seated at a corner table at our favorite Italian restaurant, candlelight flickering between us, the noise and chaos of parenting temporarily left behind.
Chloe was wearing a deep green dress that made her eyes look impossibly bright, and she’d left her hair down – something she rarely did anymore. I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“You’re staring,” she said, her amusement obvious as she took a sip of her wine.
“Can you blame me?” I reached across the table, my fingers tracing lazy circles on the inside of her wrist. “I’d almost forgotten what you look like without peanut butter handprints on your clothes.”
She laughed, but didn’t pull her hand away. That was new – or rather, old. The ease with which she let me touch her, the way she leaned into it instead of holding herself slightly apart. “I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have a conversation without spelling every other word.”
“Or debating why spaghetti isn’t called long-noodles.”
“Or explaining why ice cream is not, in fact, an acceptable breakfast food.” Her thumb brushed against my palm, deliberate and slow. “Though I have to say, I miss him already.”
“He’s been gone three hours.”
“I know.” Her smile was soft. “Is that pathetic?”
My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down to see a text from Harper – one of several she’d sent since picking Leo up. This one was a photo of Leo and Emma sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by toys, both of them grinning at the camera. Earlier photos had shown them eating, Leo carefully helping Emma arrange her dolls, and the two of them watching a movie on the couch.
I turned the phone so Chloe could see. “He’s having the time of his life.”
Her face lit up at the photo. “He looks so happy.”
“It’s perfect.” I turned her hand over, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You’re perfect.”
She watched me, her expression shifting into something warmer, more intent. “How are you really doing?” she asked. “With everything. The custody process, therapy sessions, instant fatherhood.”
“Honestly? Terrified half the time.” I kept my fingers laced with hers, grounding myself in the connection. “I don’t want to lose either of you.”
Chloe’s eyes softened. “You’re not going to lose us.”
“I know. Because you’re here.” I held her gaze. “You stayed, Chloe. Even after everything I put you through, you stayed. You chose us.”
“I choose you,” she corrected, her voice dropping lower. “Present tense. Every day.”
The certainty in her voice – that was what I’d been missing. Not just the words, but the way she said them. No hesitation, no guardedness, no shadow of doubt lurking behind her eyes. She trusted me again. Really trusted me.
