Chapter 24 Eleanor #2
“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.”
I felt something warm in my chest. “You’re . . . incredibly kind about it.”
He shrugged. “She deserved to be herself. So did I. And now we’re . . . a weird little family. But it works.”
“It really does,” I murmured.
He looked grateful. Quietly, but deeply.
I took a sip of my wine, letting the flavors ease the lump in my throat before I said, “When . . . when did Leo get his diagnosis?”
“Oh,” Alex said, brightening a little. “Three years old.”
“Who’s your pediatrician?"
“Dr. Patel.”
“That’s who we see now.”
“She’s a godsend, we love her.”
I exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank god. Leaving behind Ava’s doctors was hard. But I liked Dr. Patel.”
“She’s amazing,” he said with absolute conviction.
He tilted his head. “What about Ava’s diagnosis?”
A familiar tug of memory pulled at me. “A little later. It . . . took some time. And a few rough years in school. Lots of misunderstandings. A few teachers who didn’t get her at all.”
His brows pulled together in empathy.
“But Ethan . . . ” My voice softened without me meaning to. “He always understood her. He just . . . got her. He saw her clearly. Even before we had names for things.”
We both grew quiet.
The sunset cast a soft orange glow over everything as it sank behind the lake.
Alex didn’t rush to fill the silence. He didn’t look away, either. He just . . . held the moment with me.
“I’m really glad you had that,” he said quietly.
I swallowed, breath catching. “Me too.”
We sat with it. Not the heaviness, but the truth of it, letting the evening settle around us like a blanket.
And when our eyes met again . . . the moment didn’t break.
It shifted.
Softened.
Opened.
Something was changing between us, something I hadn’t expected, something warm and terrifying and alive.
The quiet between us stretched, comfortable, but also dangerously close to breaking something open in me I wasn’t ready for. The air felt thick. His eyes were too gentle. The grief was too near.
I cleared my throat softly. “So,” I said, swirling my wine, “what’s your favorite concert you’ve ever been to?”
He blinked.
Then gave me that look, eyes crinkling at the edges, mouth tugging into a small, guilty smile.
“What?” I asked, smiling despite myself. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks going the slightest bit pink. “Well . . . because . . . I’ve never actually been to a real concert.”
I stared. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” He winced. “Not unless you count the Christian rock bands my parents let me listen to as a kid.”
“Oh my god.”
“And,” he added, holding up a finger, “I did take Leo to see The Wiggles. Does that count?”
I put my hand over my heart. “Okay, that is adorable, but also absolutely does not count.”
He laughed — warm, sheepish, boyish. “I figured.”
“You’ve seriously never been to a concert?” I asked again, as if repeating it would make it make more sense.
“Not a real one,” he said, shrugging.
“No basement punk shows. No stadium tours. No indie bands in questionable venues. Nothing?”
He shook my head slowly, dramatically.
“That’s tragic.”
He laughed again, covering his face for a second. “I know. I know.”
“We have to fix this,” I declared. “It is our duty as citizens.”
He dropped his hand and looked at me, really looked.
“Our duty?” he echoed gently.
Heat crept up my neck. “Yes. Obviously.”
His smile softened into something that tugged at my ribs. He reached across the blanket and took my free hand, no hesitation this time, no testing the waters.
Just . . . warmth. Sure, steady, intentional warmth.
“I’d like that,” he said quietly. “Going to one with you.”
My heart flipped, a full somersault. My breath caught in my throat.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”
His thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles, sending the tiniest spark through me, not shocking, but grounding. Comforting.
The sun had sunk lower now, almost completely gone, painting the lake in gold and violet.
The fairy lights above us flickered softly, glowing against the deepening blue sky.
Alex was still holding my hand, thumb brushing slowly over my knuckles, and something inside me, something quiet and hopeful and long asleep, stirred awake.
He looked so beautiful in the half-light.
Scruffy jaw.
Soft brown eyes.
Gentleness radiated off him with every breath.
A thought flickered across my mind.
I want to kiss him.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but I leaned in anyway, hesitant at first, giving him every possible chance to pull away.
He didn’t.
His breath hitched, eyes widening just a fraction in surprise.
And then he met me halfway.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, questioning, but when my hand slid up to cup his cheek, something inside him answered.
His fingers brushed the side of my face, warm and steady, and he kissed me again. It was deeper, more certain, his lips moving with a tenderness that made my knees go weak.
Heat curled low in my belly.
I felt that kiss everywhere.
The world dissolved into warmth and breath and the faint smell of his cologne, and when he shifted closer, I went willingly. He eased me back onto the blanket, the two of us wrapped in each other and the dizzy relief of letting go.
His hands were gentle on my waist. Mine slid up the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Every touch was careful, reverent, asking rather than taking.
I hadn’t felt this alive in so long.
When the kiss finally broke, I was breathless. He rested his forehead against mine, eyes searching mine with a question he hadn’t spoken yet.
I swallowed hard. “Alex . . . ”
He lifted his head, worried, flickering across his face. “Yeah?”
I drew in a breath that trembled just a little.
“Will you . . . come back to my place?”
His whole body stilled.
Then he pulled back just enough to look directly into my eyes, his voice low and steady.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, heart pounding. “Yes.”
His expression softened, something tender and fierce rising in his eyes.
“Then yes,” he whispered. “I’d really like that.”
He squeezed my hand, as if grounding us both.
We rose from the blanket together, stepping into something new, something terrifying, something wondrous.
Something that felt like the start of another life.