Chapter Two - Daniel
CHAPTER TWO
Daniel
DANIEL STUDIED HIS reflection in the restroom mirror.
Thirty. He didn’t feel any different, but the number sat heavy in his chest, heavier than he wanted to admit.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling, trying to shake off the strange weight pressing down on him. It was just a birthday. Just another year. He’d felt fine that morning. He’d felt better than fine waking up beside Hannah, wrapped in her warmth.
Daniel sighed, rolling his shoulders back and heading back toward the restaurant.
“Son.”
He turned, spotting his father leaning against the doorframe of the restaurant hallway. There was a looseness to his posture, the kind that only came from a few too many drinks.
“Dad.” Daniel straightened, shaking off the weird introspection, slipping into something easier. “Enjoying yourself?”
His father clapped a hand on his shoulder. “So. Thirty .”
Daniel sighed, shaking his head with a half-smile. “I swear, if one more person—”
“Officially past your prime,” his father interrupted, his smirk widening. “The next ten years go fast, son.”
Daniel’s amusement cooled. “Jesus, thanks for the pep talk.”
His father chuckled. “Just telling you the truth.” He stepped back, studying him. “You’re lucky, though. You’ve still got your looks. Your build. Women like that.”
“I’m married, Dad,” he said dryly, because that was the only response worth giving.
His father raised an eyebrow, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “Yeah.” He exhaled, reaching into his pocket for a mint. “Well. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Daniel frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His father smiled grimly. “Your mother and I didn’t last. It happens.”
Something cold settled in Daniel’s chest, but before he could respond, his father clapped him on the back.
“Oh—before I forget, Isabella was sad to miss dinner,” he added, tone casual. “She wants us to have a lunch soon, a belated celebration since she wasn’t able to make it today.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. His father’s third and youngest wife—so far. She was closer to his age than his father’s.
Just like his father’s second wife before her—she had seamlessly taken her place in his father’s curated world. Young, optimistic, believing in true love.
By now, Daniel knew how this story ended.
He forced a nod. “Yeah. We’ll set something up.”
His father grinned, apparently satisfied. “Good.”
══════════════════
He didn’t want his birthday to be a big deal. It was just another year, another reminder that he was getting older.
His gaze drifted across the table, landing on Hannah. She was laughing at something Paula said. Oblivious to Daniel’s growing annoyance.
His phone buzzed against the table.
Dirty 30 ?? Don’t worry, man. You’ve still got a few good years left before we have to wheel you into pitch meetings.
Daniel exhaled through his nose and locked the screen without replying.
It was funny. Technically, Daniel was Tristan’s mentor at work, the one who was supposed to guide him. But half the time, Daniel felt like he should be taking notes—on how to talk like he still understood what was trending, on how to pitch ideas that resonated with people ten years younger than him.
He was still good at his job. He knew that. But there was no denying it—Tristan was twenty-four, he spoke the language of youth in a way Daniel no longer could. And in an industry built on relevance, that was something worth paying attention to.
He took another sip of his beer, schooling his expression into something light, something present .
══════════════════
The odd mood followed him home. He double checked the doors were all locked and then followed Hannah upstairs.
Hannah was sitting on their bed, her legs tucked beneath her. When she saw him, her face brightened.
“Hey, birthday boy.” Her voice was soft, affectionate. She stretched out her arms toward him. “Come here.”
Daniel didn’t hesitate before crawling onto the bed beside her. She immediately curled into him, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“Did you have a good birthday?” she murmured.
He exhaled, wrapping an arm around her. “I did,” he lied. “You made sure of that.”
Hannah reached up, tracing a finger along his jaw. “You did so well at yoga. Very bendy.”
“You really think so?” It came out strangely flat.
Hannah pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Of course. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She smiled as he leaned into her touch. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you—we're launching that new intergenerational program next month. The one connecting seniors with the elementary schools."
Her eyes were lit with excitement, the way they always did when she talked about her work. "We've got fifteen elders signed up already. They'll be reading with the kids, sharing stories..." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smile widening. "One woman, Margaret—she's eighty-four—she used to be a children's book illustrator. She's going to teach a little art workshop."
Daniel smiled, his hand lazily tracing circles on her bare arm as she spoke. He liked seeing her this animated, even if he didn't quite understand her passion for her work. Spending all day with old people seemed depressing to him, though he'd never say that aloud.
Daniel kissed her properly then, slow and lazy. Hannah’s body was familiar, warm, his , and when she sighed into his mouth, he let himself focus on that. Just that .
And for a while, it was enough to drown out the rest of it—his father’s voice in his head, the weight in his chest, the vague unease he still couldn’t put words to.
He lost himself in the slide of skin against skin, in the heat of her hands on his shoulders, in the way she pulled him closer, like she couldn’t get enough of him.
And it was good. It was great .
But afterward, as Hannah drifted off beside him, soft and content, Daniel lay awake, staring at the ceiling.