But before he could speak, there was the soft scrape of another chair.
Ali.
She sat down beside him, not across. Not separate. Her shoulder brushing his, her presence like a warm blanket around his spine.
She didn’t say anything right away—just slid her fingers into his under the table and gave a gentle squeeze. A quiet anchor. Her other hand stayed in her lap, fists loosely curled. Her smile was small, shaky, but real. Meant for both of them.
Daisy finally looked up.
Her gaze flicked to Dylan, then to Ali. Something unreadable passed through her expression. Guilt? Regret? Maybe just exhaustion.
Dylan swallowed, his thumb brushing over Ali’s knuckles. “Hey,” he said softly.
Daisy let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “This feels weird.”
Ali gave a tiny nod. “Yeah. It does.”
“But not bad,” Daisy added, her voice barely above a whisper.
They sat there for a moment—just three people tethered by too much history and still learning how to hold it all.
Dylan leaned back slightly, still holding Ali’s hand. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now. But maybe… we could start.”
Daisy looked at them again. Then nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe we could.”
Ali shifted slightly, still holding Dylan’s hand. She glanced at Daisy, her voice quiet but steady.
“How are your kids?”
Daisy blinked at her, caught off guard.
Ali offered a small smile. “Dylan talks about them all the time.”
That made Daisy’s eyes soften. “Yeah?” Her lips twitched like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or apologize. “They’re good. Liam’s a little obsessed with dinosaurs right now. And Lillie… she’s basically a tiny dictator in a princess dress.”
Ali let out a soft laugh. “That sounds… kinda perfect.”
“It is,” Daisy said, and for a moment, there was peace in her eyes. “Tiring. But perfect.”
Dylan squeezed Ali’s hand, grateful she asked. Grateful Daisy answered.
No digging. No pain.
Just the start of something better.
Mary’s Song
Ali
Ali wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand and took a long look at the box in her arms—labeled Kitchen Things (aka coffee & wine) in Ashley’s messy handwriting. It was the last one. The final piece of her Honeyshore life, tucked inside a borrowed trailer hitched to the back of Dylan’s Bronco.
Her heart fluttered and squeezed all at once.
This was really happening.
She was moving in with him. Not visiting. Not splitting weekends. Not dreaming from five hours away. Actually living with the man she loved in a place they’d already started turning into home.
