My chest tightens hearing it.
By the time we get back to the front, Zola's locking the register and flipping off lights. She grabs her jacket from behind the counter, shrugs it on, and looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"Ready when you are."
The park is still openwhen we arrive, the evening crowd sparse but present—joggers on the paths, a few families with young kids making the most of the remaining daylight. The park where I brought Zola for our date weeks ago and Zola glances at me with recognition.
"This is where we came before."
"Yeah." I cut the engine, looking at her across the console. "That okay?"
"More than okay." She's smiling that soft smile again. "This is... nice."
I grab the basket from the trunk—because I've already planned all of this out perfectly. Maeve immediately reaches for it, making grabby hands, and I shift it away from her curious fingers.
"Not yet, baby. Soon."
Zola takes Maeve from me so I can manage the basket and blanket, and we walk into the park together. The familiar paths wind through manicured lawns and flower beds, past the playground where kids shriek with laughter, toward the more secluded areas by the water.
I know exactly where I'm going. The small clearing near the lake, mostly hidden by trees, quiet enough for privacy. The place that I came to try and find a bit of peace and calm when I was missing her. The grass is soft here, dotted with wildflowers, and the water laps gently at the shore maybe twenty feet away.
Perfect.
I spread the blanket out and Zola sets Maeve down immediately. The kid takes off at her drunken toddler pace, heading straight for the water's edge with zero sense of self-preservation.
"Oh no you don't." I scoop her up before she can reach the lake, redirecting her back to the blanket. "Stay where I can see you, troublemaker."
Maeve protests with an indignant squawk but gets distracted when I pull out the containers of food. Her eyes go wide at the sight of strawberries and she makes that demanding sound that meansgimme.
"Say please." Zola settles beside her, already reaching for the container.
"Pease!" Maeve bounces on her butt. "Pease pease!"
"Good girl." Zola hands her a strawberry and Maeve shoves the entire thing in her mouth, juice running down her chin.
I pull out the rest of it—sandwiches from that deli Zola loves, pasta salad, fruit, sparkling water because she mentioned last week that she missed having fancy drinks. Everything carefully chosen because I know what she likes, what makes her happy.
She notices. Of course she does. Her eyes go soft as she takes it all in.
"You planned this."
"Yeah." I hand her a plate. "Wanted to do something nice."
We eat while Maeve alternates between demanding more strawberries and trying to escape toward the water. Zola looks more relaxed than I've seen her in weeks—shoulders loose, that tension she always carries eased away by the evening air and the quiet.
This is what I've been waiting for. This moment where she's soft and open and maybe ready to hear what I've been trying to say for months.
I watch her laugh at something Maeve does—the kid's trying to share her strawberry with a bee that's landed nearby—and my chest aches with how much I love them both. How much I want this to be permanent. Real. Forever.
Not just stolen evenings and borrowed time, but an actual life together.
The ring's been burning a hole in my pocket for nine years. I had it that day—the day everything fell apart. Had it in my jacket when I got the call about Zola's accident, carried it through every terrible moment after, kept it when she left because some part of me refused to believe it was really over.
Stellan found it a few months ago when we were moving my stuff back to the original house. Held it up with raised eyebrows and asked if I was ever going to actually use the damn thing or if it was just going to sit in a box collecting dust.
I'd taken it from him, turned it over in my palm, and realized I was done waiting. Done letting fear or timing or circumstance dictate when I got to have what I wanted.
I want her. I want Maeve. I want the family we've been building in the spaces between fear and hope.
