Cassian nodded, satisfied, and set off again.
As they walked, Adelaide allowed herself the smallest hope that the outing, so ordinary in its details, marked a change, and that the care he had taken was not merely a sign of politeness and duty, but of something deeper.
They reached the park just as the sun reached its peak in the sky.
It was a modest stretch of green, bordered by trees and intersected by a narrow gravel path. Cassian seemed pleased by it, and he set the basket down beside his feet. Adelaide felt a quiet thrill that he had chosen it, for as far as she was concerned, choice meant intention.
“Perhaps here,” he said. “It is level enough.”
Adelaide agreed, though she would have agreed to stop anywhere. She sat when he indicated she should, smoothing herskirt with unnecessary care. He took a moment longer before settling beside her, not quite close enough for their sleeves to touch, but near enough that she was acutely aware of the space between them.
For a while, they spoke of nothing in particular. Whenever he asked her a question, she answered him readily. Whenever he asked for her opinion, she felt an unexpected pride at being consulted, even on smaller matters.
She had not expected it, but with his effort came a new desire to open up to him, as though she were giving him a reward.
“I like the quiet here,” she said. “It feels private.”
Cassian gave an easy, unguarded smile. “Yes. That was my thought as well. One can speak without being interrupted, and without a mother watching.”
She laughed softly at that.
They unpacked the basket together, their hands brushing when she reached for the cloth at the same moment he did. The contact was brief, accidental, and yet her breath caught.
Cassian did not seem to notice, moving as though nothing had occurred, which somehow made the moment feel all the more intimate.
As they ate the sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits, he glanced at her with mild curiosity. “You have never spoken much of where you grew up,” he noted.
“No, I do not suppose I have,” Adelaide replied after a moment. “It was quiet, much like this. I did not have any siblings, so it was my mother, my father, and I.”
He smiled faintly. “So you received all the attention. Did you enjoy it?”
“I did,” she said, surprised by the confidence in her tone. “I miss it sometimes.”
Cassian nodded. “You sound fond of them.”
“I am,” Adelaide affirmed. “I miss my father, though he was a busy man.”
Cassian considered this, his gaze thoughtful rather than distant.
Adelaide watched the way the light caught in his hair, the ease with which he spoke, and wondered if this was how closeness began. Had they been courting, she would have been very happy to be there, but she had to remind herself that they were already married.
Did that change anything?
At one point, a breeze stirred, and Adelaide shivered. Cassian noticed at once. Without comment, he shifted closer, enough that his shoulder nearly touched hers.
“There,” he said. “That should help.”
It did, more than he knew, and Adelaide wondered just how deliberate that was.
They sat like that for several minutes, their conversation lapsing into comfortable pauses. Adelaide felt a rare contentment settle over her, the sense of being exactly where she ought to be. She told herself that the ease, the gentle attention, could only mean affection on his part too.
Suddenly, their peace was broken by a sharp cry from somewhere beyond the trees.
Adelaide bristled, her hands clenching instinctively in her lap, and Cassian turned sharply toward the source of the noise. A moment later, a small figure came into view. It was a boy, no more than six or seven years of age, flushed and near tears, stumbling as he ran up the path.
Before Adelaide could even move, Cassian was already on his feet. He crossed the distance in a few quick strides and crouched beside the child, his movements entirely devoid of the reserve she knew so well.
“It is all right,” he said, his voice lower and steadier than she had ever heard it. “I do not believe that you have hurt yourself too terribly. May I see?”
