Sabrina grins. “I like her already.”
Of course she does. Everyone likes Mabel—but the way she said it makes my chest warm anyway.
We eat quietly for a while. She hums approvingly after the first bite, eyes fluttering shut like she’s genuinely enjoying it, and I find myself watching her more than my plate.
There’s something almost domestic about it—sitting across from her, sharing a meal in my own home—and the realization hits harder than I expect.
I never thought I’d want this. The comfort. The calm. Someone sitting across from me who isn’t talking business or chasing what my last name could get them.
Just her.
When Mabel brings out dessert—a simple bowl of strawberries with fresh whipped cream—Sabrina laughs softly. “This is one of my favorites.”
Mabel winks. “I had a feeling.”
I don’t miss the way Sabrina blushes at that, or the way she looks at me when Mabel leaves again. Like maybe she’s realizing the same thing I am.
That this doesn’t feel forced anymore.
It feels real.
“Let's go see the garden.” I push back from the table and raise my hand out to her. Praying she will take it again. I can't help but already being addicted to the feeling of her hand in mine.
Her eyes light up, and I can’t help but smile. I lead her out the back doors and down the small stone path, hand in hand.
It’s quiet out here—only the soft hum of crickets, the faint trickle of the fountain, and the glow of low lights hidden among the plants. Mabel strung them through the bushes and up thetrellis years ago, but I never came out here much. I built it because I wanted to. She made it beautiful.
It’s not nearly as grand as the one we visited earlier, but it’s mine.
“I’ve always liked the public gardens,” I tell her as we walk. “It’s one of the few places in the city that shuts out the noise. So I brought a little of it home.”
She squeezes my hand gently. “You did a good job.”
We keep walking, fingers still tangled. There’s something about the night air that slows everything down—the world, my pulse, the thoughts I try to keep buried.
She stops near the edge of the path, where the soft light catches her hair and turns it into copper flame. Her gaze lifts to me, curious and serious all at once.
“Can I ask you something?” she says quietly.
I nod.
“Why me?”
Her voice isn’t bitter—just soft, careful. Then she shakes her head slightly, correcting herself. “I mean… why my family? Why marriage now?”
I exhale, slow and deep.
Like Gravity
Sabrina
The second the question leaves my mouth, I regret it.
I can feel the nerves twist low in my stomach, my fingers tightening in his hand as I mentally kick myself for even asking.
Why me? Why now?
I know better.
