It’s ridiculous.
We’ve been married for years. I’ve had three children with this man. And yet the idea of walking beside him tonight makes my stomach flutter.
What if it’s awkward?
What if we don’t know what to say?
What if the spark was just… wishful thinking?
And then the other voice answers:
What if it isn’t?
At lunch time I drop Ruby in for her afternoon in pre-school.
The butterflies lurch in my stomach as I make the walk back, eagerly awaiting Dans return from work.
It’s 2:03 p.m.
The front door opens.
Dan steps in, loosening his tie, scanning the room.
“Still up for milk?” he asks.
There’s that carefulness again. Like he’s expecting me to bail.
“Absolutely,” I say, maybe a bit too quickly.
He smiles.
And something in my chest steadies.
We don’t make a big thing of it. No grand announcements. Just jackets on. Keys grabbed.
The cool air hits us as we step outside.
Oakwood during school hours is softer. Quieter. The pub down the road hums with low conversation. Windows flicker with warm domestic scenes.
We fall into step beside each other.
Not touching at first. Just walking.
The sound of our footsteps echoing slightly on the uneven stones.
We walk past the old bakery. Past the florist. Past the little Italian bistro we used to go to, fairy lights still twinkling in the window.
I feel it again, that ache.
He must notice because he says, “We should go back there.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
Then, quietly, “I liked who we were there.”
