Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
“I’m terrible at mini golf rematches,” I said solemnly.
She groaned, hiding her smile behind her cone. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
Seeing her smile like that didn’t leave me feeling like a broken man pretending to be whole. I just felt… alive.
“Okay, I’ll go again,” she said, half a laugh in her voice. “Full disclosure? My life’s… complicated.”
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Complicated how?”
“Work. School. Kids,” she said, ticking each off on her fingers. “I work at a doctor’s office, go to classes in the evenings, and then, you know, raising three tiny humans in between.” She gave me a look, a little daring, as if I hadn’talready been aware from the little glimpses she shared. “Still think ice cream with me was a good idea?”
I didn’t flinch. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a while.”
That earned me a surprised smile, small but genuine. She tilted her head. “You say that now. Wait until you see me trying to do homework while one kid’s crying for snacks and another was asking me to explain why Johnny only has 5 apples. It’s chaos.”
“That doesn’t scare me,” I said without thinking. Her eyebrows shot up.
I smirked, softening it. “Different kind of battlefield, but hey…I’ve seen people survive worse. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
Her smile faded a little as she looked down at her hands, twisting her cup. “Yeah. Still here.”
I caught myself then. I knew that tone. That weight. It was the same one I carried when people asked about deployments or the divorce, too much truth sitting just beneath the surface. My hand itched to close the space between us, to trace the line of her wrist, but I held back. Instead, I leaned back, kept my voice steady. “You don’t have to impress me. The fact that you’re holding all that together and still who you are? That’s already impressive enough.”
Her eyes lifted, locking onto mine. For a moment, the noise of the café around us faded out.
“Most guys don’t think so,” she said quietly. “Most guys hear ‘single mom’ and suddenly remember they left the oven on.”
“Well, I’m not most guys.” It came out sharper than I intended, but I meant it.
Silence stretched between us for a beat, heavy but notuncomfortable. She studied me, trying to decide whether to believe me.
So I softened it with a grin. “Besides, if I’m being honest, you juggling all that just makes me feel lazy. I only have one job, and I still complain about Mondays.”
She laughed, the heaviness breaking. “You? Complain? Shocking.” Rolling her eyes theatrically.
“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
That laugh hit me. Made me want to keep stacking jokes just to hear them again. But under the banter, the truth was clear: she was strong. Stronger than she knew. And I was already in deeper than I’d planned. Closer than I meant to be.
A year out of marriage. A year as a civilian. And here I was, already picturing what it’d be like to sit at her kitchen table, help with homework, carry some of the weight she carried alone. Dangerous thoughts, too soon. But as she ate her ice cream and gave me that crooked smile, I wanted to see where this went. I wanted to try.
So I leaned into what I knew best, lightness. Keep things simple. Keep things easy. “So,” I said, nodding at her cone, now free of sprinkles. “Looks like we got a crisis?”
Her eyes flicked up, warm and mischievous, before she rolled them dramatically. “Oh, please.” A grin tugged at her lips, giving her away.
“Figures,” I said, smirking as I leaned back, trying to look casual when my chest felt like it was buzzing. “Losing sprinkles is serious business.”
Her mouth fell open in mock outrage. “Excuse me? That was not just sprinkles. That was the best part.”
“Noted,” I said, biting back a grin. “Next time, I’ll order you a side of sprinkles. No ice cream required.”
She laughed, shaking her head, the sound spilling into the air. “One day you’re going to regret making fun of me.”
“Highly doubt it.” I let the corner of my mouth curve into a cocky grin, but inside? I was just relieved. Relieved, she was laughing with me, not at me, that she hadn’t decided I was too much or too little.
And the way she leaned across the table, eyes sparking, told me she was enjoying it too. We let the moment linger, her laughter mixing with mine, until the weight between us eased again.
