He laughed softly, pulled out a bottle of red, and poured carefully into two stemless glasses. The fairy lights glowed against the deep ruby liquid, and the sky behind him was turning lavender and peach and gold.
He handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine in a way that made heat swirl low in my belly.
I took a sip.
The sun began inching toward the horizon, casting light over the water like a path made of fire.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” I said again, voice quieter now, softer.
He settled beside me on the blanket, close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
“I wanted to,” he said, looking at me instead of the sunset. “I’ve been wanting to do something special for you.”
The world stilled with the air, the lake, the hush of leaves overhead.
I let myself feel special.
Wanted.
Seen.
And sitting there beside him, wine warm in my chest and fairy lights flickering in the trees, I realized I wanted this moment to last forever.
Alex opened the second compartment of the cooler, and my jaw actually dropped.
“Wait . . . you made all this?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Technically, Mel supervised. I’m good with the grill, but presentation’s not my strong suit.”
There were grilled chicken breasts, seasoned vegetables, a little container of couscous with herbs, and even a slice of strawberry cake tucked to the side. The kind of picnic you had to care about someone to put this much effort into.
We spread everything out on the blanket, our knees brushing now and then, and started eating as the sky shifted from pink to molten gold.
The wine warmed my cheeks pleasantly as we slipped into easy conversation, the kind that didn’t feel forced or polite. It felt like picking up the thread of something already familiar.
We talked about Leo first, because of course we did.
“He LOVES rehearsal,” Alex said, laughing as he cut into his chicken. “It’s his favorite part of the week. He keeps calling himself ‘The Penguin Prince.’”
I snorted. “That is so cute it should be illegal.”
“He’s a menace,” Alex said fondly. “A wonderful menace.”
I hesitated a moment, then said, “I think it’s . . . honestly, I think it’s amazing how you and Becca co-parent. The three of you seem so in sync.”
His smile softened. “Thank you. It took time.”
I waited, sensing the shift in his tone.
“When Becca left,” he continued gently, “it was hard. I mean . . . obviously. And when she met Mel?” He huffed a quiet laugh. “It was a lot. For both of us.”
I nodded, letting him have the space.
“But we realized something eventually. We’d both been robbed of knowing who we were supposed to be. The way we grew up . . . ” He shook his head. “Everything was about roles. Appearances. Expectations. Not authenticity. Not joy. Not truth.”
He took a sip of wine, eyes turning toward the lake for a moment.
“Therapy helped. A lot. And time. And the fact that we never stopped loving each other — just not in the way we were forced into.”
