“I’ve ruined your presentation.”
“You’ve improved the color palette.”
He stared at me.
Then laughed.
So did I.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No instant romance.
No fireworks.
We simply kept talking.
One coffee became dinner.
Dinner became walks.
Walks became weekends.
He never tried to rescue me.
I didn’t need rescuing.
He never competed with my daughters.
He asked about them.
Remembered their exams.
Listened when Emily talked about physics.
Allowed Grace to explain the entire plot of a seven-book fantasy series.
Daniel learned about Adrian from the girls.
He called me.
“So.”
“So?”
“There’s a man.”
I smiled.
“There is.”
“Serious?”
“Possibly.”
Long pause.
“I hope he treats you better than I did.”
There was no jealousy in his voice.
Only regret.
And sincerity.
“He does.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“I mean that.”
“I know.”
The following year, Adrian proposed.
Not at a restaurant.
Not beneath fireworks.
