"Were you two about to kiss?"
"No," I said too quickly.
"Definitely not," Shane added.
Zoe rolled her eyes. "Sure. Can we go now? Before you start being gross?"
Shane laughed, the tension breaking.
"Okay. Let's go."
He offered me his arm.
I felt the warmth of him through the fabric. The steadiness of him beside me.
The gymnasium had been completely transformed.
Streamers in pink and silver. A disco ball scattered fragments of light across the floor. A DJ booth in the corner, thumping with bass. Tables along the walls with punch bowls and snacks.
And everywhere, dads with their daughters.
We walked in, and the room subtly shifted.
People stared. At Shane, because he was recognizable. At me, because I was supposed to be here alone. At the three of us together, because it didn't fit the narrative everyone had written about Maya Cummins and her sad little life.
I caught Mrs. Patterson across the room. Her face went tight.
I didn't care.
Shane led Zoe onto the dance floor, and I found a spot along the wall to watch.
He wasn't a great dancer. A little stiff, slightly off-beat, his movements were the careful concentration of someone trying very hard not to step on anyone's feet. But he was trying. And Zoe was laughing.
Actually laughing. The kind of laugh I hadn't heard from her in months.
She tried to teach him some dance she'd learned online. He failed spectacularly. She laughed harder. He pretended to be offended, then swept her into an exaggerated waltz that had her shrieking.
Something was building in my chest. Watching Shane spin my daughter in clumsy circles. Watching Zoe laugh—reallylaugh. Watching a man with no obligation to be here choose to show up anyway.
Shane caught my eye across the gym and winked, like this was exactly where he belonged.
And just like that, the walls I'd spent thirteen years building cracked down completely.
I was in love with him.
The realization didn’t hit me like lightning. It settled into my bones, like something that had always been there, just waiting for me to notice.
I loved him.
I loved the way he showed up without being asked. The way he fixed things around my apartment and pretended it was no big deal. The way he looked at Zoe like she mattered, like she was worth his time, like her happiness was something he'd rearrange his whole life around.
I loved him, and I was terrified.
Because loving people meant losing them. Giving them the power to leave, to disappoint, to prove you were never worth staying for in the first place.
But standing there at the edge of the dance floor, roses still clutched in my hand, I knew.
It was worth the risk.
