Ellie didn’t smile.

She didn’t melt. Didn’t rush in with relief or reach for his hand like a girl who’d just heard everything she wanted. That wasn’t who she was anymore.

She’d heard I’m in before.

She’d heard it from boys who meant it in the moment and disappeared by morning. From people who thought saying the words was the finish line, not the starting pistol.

But still—she let it in.

Not all the way.
Not yet.
But enough.

She turned her head toward him, eyes clear. Measured. Letting the weight of his choice settle in the space between them without rushing to fill it.

And finally, she gave the smallest nod.

Not approval. Not forgiveness.

Acknowledgment.

Because “I’m in” wasn’t the end of the conversation.
It was permission to begin one.

“Okay,” she said, quiet as rain on glass.
“Then be.”

She looked forward again, let her spine ease just slightly against the seat. Her pulse still ran hot beneath her skin, but her breath came steadier now.

It was a start.

He was in.

Now he had to stay.

Tyler wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in the back of his throat, stuck behind everything he hadn’t figured out how to translate yet.

Then be.

What did that even mean?

It wasn’t that he didn’t get it, not really. He just hated how vague she was sometimes. Always handing him riddles wrapped in expectation. Always waiting for him to rise to the moment without giving him the damn blueprint. It made his skin itch, the way she could say so much without giving him a single instruction.

He didn’t know how to be what she needed. And honestly? He wasn’t sure she even knew what that was herself.

But she was soaked to the bone. Quiet and shivering in the passenger seat. And if there was one thing he could do right now—it was take her home. Get her out of this storm, out of these wet clothes, out of this goddamn conversation before it broke open even wider.

He reached for the key and turned the ignition.

The engine rumbled to life, heat pulsing back through the vents in fits and starts.

It wasn’t a grand gesture.
It wasn’t an answer.
But it was something.

A way to say I’m still here without having to say I don’t know how to do this.

The headlights lit up the street ahead, glistening with rain, empty and waiting.

He shifted the truck into drive, jaw tight, eyes forward.

“You should get warm,” he said quietly. “Change into something dry.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Didn’t need to. It wasn’t about the words—it was about the doing.

And maybe that’s all he could offer tonight. Not a promise. Not poetry.

Just this.
Motion.
Presence.
A ride home in the storm.

Ellie stared at the windshield, breath fogging the glass just slightly, hands still curled tight in her lap.

She’d almost said nothing.
Almost let it end right there—him driving, her sitting, silence stretching like a bridge neither of them knew how to cross.

But the heater kicked on, warm and sudden. The vents clicked softly. And beneath the hum of the engine and the hush of the rain, something shifted inside her chest.

It wasn’t just fear.
It was the ache of almost.

Almost walking away.
Almost slamming the door.
Almost believing he didn’t mean it.

But he’d stayed.

Not perfectly. Not with flowers or declarations or whatever version of love her sister liked to read about in books.

He’d stayed with shaking hands and tight shoulders and a voice that faltered around words like I’m in.

And that mattered.

She turned toward him, slowly. Looked at him for the first time without armor.

He still wasn’t looking at her. Just focused on the road ahead like it was easier to face than her. Like she was too much.

Maybe she was.

Maybe he was too little.

But maybe—just maybe—there was something in the middle that still had room to grow.

Her hand moved before she had time to second-guess it.

Slowly, she reached across the space between them and slipped her fingers into his. Not a full grip. Just the beginning of one.

His hand froze under hers.

And then—

He didn’t pull away.

Her voice came quiet. Cautious.

But open.

“Come inside when we get there.”

A pause.

Then softer, like a secret she wasn’t ready to hope for:

“You don’t have to know what to say.”
“Just don’t make me wake up to silence again.”

She squeezed his hand, just once, before resting hers in his completely.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It was an invitation.

And this time, it was his to keep.

Tyler’s fingers curled around hers slowly—like muscle memory, like instinct, like maybe this was the one thing he didn’t need to overthink.

Her hand was cold.

He held it anyway.

He didn’t look at her. Not yet. Couldn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on the blur of yellow-white headlights slicing through rain, on the wet shimmer of Maple Street winding ahead like a lifeline neither of them quite trusted.

But her touch—

God, her touch wrecked him.

Not because it was dramatic. Not because it fixed anything. But because it was gentle. After everything he’d put her through, she was still gentle with him.

That was the part he didn’t know what to do with.

He should’ve said something. Should’ve met her where she was instead of sitting there like some hollowed-out version of the boy she used to love. But his chest felt tight and too full, and all the words he wanted to offer scattered somewhere between his ribs and his tongue.

So when she said, “Come inside when we get there,”
he swallowed hard and nodded once, eyes still on the road.

And when she added, “Don’t make me wake up to silence again,”
he felt it hit bone.

That was what she was really asking for. Not magic. Not answers.

Presence.

No more disappearing acts. No more letting the night swallow his good intentions whole.

He tightened his grip just enough to let her know he heard her. Felt her. Would try.

He didn’t know how to be the guy she deserved, but in that moment—in the soft hum of tires on wet pavement, in the warmth building between their hands—he thought maybe trying didn’t have to mean pretending anymore.

Maybe it just meant showing up.

So he squeezed back. Quiet. Steady.

“I won’t disappear,” he murmured, eyes still on the street but voice stripped bare. “Not this time.”

And for once, he meant it. Even if he had no idea how to stay, he was going to walk through her front door anyway.

And try.

Nat turned her head toward him slowly, letting the full weight of her expression settle before she bothered answering. The confidence on his face was familiar enough that she could have identified it from across a football field, and apparently fatherhood had done nothing to cure the particular Harrison delusion that every successful outcome within a ten-mile radius could eventually be traced back to him. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, with the solemn agreement of someone prepared to concede the entire case. “You did all of it. I contributed nine months of pregnancy, several unpleasant hours at the hospital, and an objectively excellent set of genes. Beyond that, I’ve mostly been observing your work.”

She lifted her coffee again, discovered it had not miraculously improved during the last few minutes, and drank anyway. “Which is actually wonderful news for me, because I’d been wondering how we were going to assign responsibility when she’s fifteen and decides we’re both idiots.” Nat settled more comfortably against the seat, a smile beginning to tug at her mouth as she looked at him. “When she starts rolling her eyes because we breathe too loudly, sneaking a shirt into the wash at midnight because apparently she needs it tomorrow, and explaining that we are ruining her life because we won’t let her go somewhere with seventeen teenagers and one parent who is allegedly ‘around somewhere,’ I’ll know exactly where to send the complaints.” Her brows lifted slightly. “All yours. Genetics can only do so much.”

The thought of Anna at fifteen produced another faint squeeze in Nat’s chest, though this one arrived tangled with enough amusement to keep it manageable. Ten had apparently been capable of ambushing her before breakfast; fifteen was likely to require protective equipment. Worse, Nat could already imagine Trent enjoying at least some portion of the chaos far too much, particularly once their daughter became old enough to argue with genuine confidence and enough vocabulary to sustain it. “Actually,” she added, considering him, “you should start preparing now. She already has your willingness to commit completely to a bad idea, and if adolescence adds your confidence to it, we may have to move.”

She let the quiet settle for a few moments as the school receded behind them, the roads opening up now that they had finally escaped the morning procession. The ache from watching Anna disappear through those doors was still there, but it had stopped feeling abstract. What had caught Nat wasn’t the request to hide the car, not really. It was that Anna had walked away without needing to check whether they were still behind her.

Nat looked out the window for another second before turning back toward Trent. “She didn’t look back,” she said, and this time she didn’t wrap the sentence in anything. There was no accusation in it, no suggestion that Anna should have done differently. Just the small, sharp truth of it. “I know that’s good. I know that’s exactly what we want. I just wasn’t expecting to be proud of her and slightly heartbroken at the same time before nine in the morning.”

She reached across and let her hand settle against his forearm, needing the contact without making a ceremony of it. “I’m fine,” she added automatically, then gave him a look before he had any chance to react. “Don’t make that face. I am fine. I’m also apparently going to spend the next several years discovering new and exciting ways our child can hurt my feelings by developing normally.”

That got her breathing easier again.

The subject of his potential afternoon wardrobe remained very much alive between them, and there was far too much satisfaction in his face for her to believe the threat was entirely theoretical. Nat withdrew her hand, reached down to straighten the strap of her work tote where it had twisted against her ankle, and said mildly, “Also, I didn’t hear any of that.”

She performed the adjustment with deliberate concentration. “I’m establishing plausible deniability now, before this develops into evidence.” Nat looked up at him again, entirely composed. “If Anna comes home this afternoon demanding to know why her father appeared at school dressed like the president of her unauthorized fan club, I intend to look that child directly in the eye and tell her I had no prior knowledge whatsoever.” Her mouth curved. “And I need you to understand that I will be extremely convincing.”

She knew perfectly well that refusing to discourage him was not remotely the same thing as preventing the situation, but marriage had taught her that certain outcomes became inevitable the moment Trent found them amusing. Trying too hard to stop him would probably result in custom lettering, coordinated accessories, and Jack somehow being recruited as an accomplice. Nat reached across the console and briefly smoothed her fingertips along the side of his neck before letting her hand settle against his shoulder, affection slipping easily beneath the warning. “You’re her father. Humiliating her in carefully measured doses is apparently part of your sacred duty. I’m simply asking that you leave enough emotional damage for me to work with when she starts dating.”

She gave his shoulder one last squeeze and withdrew her hand, finally reaching for her phone as the first obligations of her workday began pressing back into view. The screen held exactly as many notifications as she had expected and two more than she wanted, but before opening any of them she looked at Trent again. “For what it’s worth, we did all right,” she said, quieter now. “She knew she could ask us to back off a little and neither of us was going to make her pay for it. That matters.”

Nat glanced once toward the disappearing school in the mirror, then back down at her phone. Anna had walked in happy, secure enough to want distance and certain enough of them not to be afraid of asking for it. Nat could be sad about that without confusing sadness for a problem that needed solving.

Then she unlocked her phone and opened the first email. “But when she’s sixteen and gets caught doing something catastrophically stupid, I’m still putting ‘Harrison influence’ in the official statement.” Her smile returned without her looking up. “I’ll have Communications draft something tasteful.”

She skimmed the first few lines of the message, registered that nobody was on fire and therefore it could survive another several minutes, then locked the screen again and dropped the phone into her lap. “Also, what are we doing for dinner?” she asked, the question arriving with the easy abruptness of a subject that had been waiting somewhere in the background all morning. “Because the chicken in the refrigerator has reached the point where we either cook it tonight or admit we bought it purely for decorative purposes.”

Nat glanced over at him, already mentally sorting through the rest of the refrigerator. “There’s broccoli, assuming Anna hasn’t decided broccoli is socially unacceptable now too, and I think we still have potatoes. Or we could abandon the entire concept of responsible adulthood and order pizza.” Her mouth tipped faintly at one corner. “I have a late meeting, though, so if we’re pretending to be respectable, you may be getting promoted to dinner management.”

The thought reminded her of something else, and she shifted the phone farther onto her thigh. “And we’re almost out of coffee, which feels more urgent than anything currently happening at the hospital.” She looked toward him with deliberate seriousness. “If you’re anywhere near the store today, get the good one. Not the emergency bag you bought last time because it was ‘basically the same.’ It was not basically the same, and I am still choosing forgiveness.”

She settled back against the seat as the road carried them farther from the school, the morning returning to its ordinary shape one practical subject at a time. “Oh, and your blue shirt is still at the cleaners,” she added. “The one you were looking for Sunday. I remembered sometime around midnight and then decided that was a problem for Future Natalie.” She turned her head toward him, entirely unapologetic. “Future Natalie would like it noted that Past Natalie made an excellent call.”

Trent listened to Natalie’s assessment of her contributions to their daughter’s existence with the expression of a man who had somehow stumbled into a considerably more dangerous conversation than he’d anticipated. He kept his eyes on the road, although the grin spreading across his face made it abundantly clear that he was enjoying himself. “Well, when you put it like that, sweetheart, I suppose you did help out a little.” He paused, giving the statement just enough time to become offensive before continuing. “Nine months, a couple of hours at the hospital, ten years of raising her. That’s a pretty respectable supporting role.” He glanced toward her, eyebrows lifting. “I’d definitely put your name somewhere in the credits. Maybe executive producer. You know, something prestigious.” He knew perfectly well how much work she’d put into being Anna’s mother, and there wasn’t a person alive who could convince him their daughter would have turned out half as well without her. Unfortunately, acknowledging that immediately would have deprived him of the opportunity to be obnoxious, and Trent Harrison had never been particularly skilled at passing up an opportunity.

The hypothetical fifteen-year-old Anna Mae was another matter entirely. Trent made a thoughtful noise as Natalie began outlining the collection of teenage offenses they could reasonably expect over the coming years. He remembered adolescence rather vividly, particularly because he’d spent a significant portion of his own testing the patience of every adult unfortunate enough to be responsible for him. “Now, see, this is where you’re making a mistake. You’re assuming I’m gonna be intimidated by a fifteen-year-old girl with an attitude.” He shook his head with exaggerated confidence. “I’ve dealt with armed suspects, drunk idiots, domestic disputes, and Jack Callahan before his morning coffee. I think I can handle one teenager who thinks the world is ending because we won’t let her go to a party.” His mouth twitched. “Besides, she’ll have to get pretty creative to come up with something I haven’t already tried. That’s the beauty of having been a complete jackass when I was younger. I’ve got experience.”

He considered that for another moment before his expression shifted into something considerably more serious. “Although, that party situation? Absolutely not. Seventeen teenagers and one adult who’s supposedly somewhere on the property? She can be mad at me all she wants.” Trent gave a small shrug, entirely comfortable with the hypothetical decision. “I’ll be the mean dad. She can slam her bedroom door, write about how unfair I am in her diary, tell all her friends I’m ruining her life. Whatever she needs to do.” He glanced at Natalie briefly. “I’ll even give her a ride to the library so she can research how terrible I am.” His grin returned. “But she’s still not going.” He’d always been willing to indulge Anna in the little things, sometimes more than he probably should, but there were limits. Being liked by his daughter was wonderful. Keeping her safe mattered considerably more.

The suggestion that their daughter hadn’t looked back drew his attention away from the hypothetical future and returned it to the morning they’d just experienced. Trent let the humor fade naturally, listening without interrupting while Natalie explained what had bothered her. He understood. He’d felt something similar watching Anna disappear into the school, although he’d been too busy making ridiculous suggestions about disguises to put it into words. His gaze remained on the road as her hand settled against his forearm, and he reached over briefly to give her fingers a reassuring squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. “I know you’re fine, Nat.” His voice was gentler now, carrying none of the exaggerated confidence he’d been displaying a moment earlier. “And I know what you mean.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, watching the familiar mountain road curve ahead of them. “You know what I think, though? She didn’t look back because she didn’t have to.” He glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “She knows we’re there. She knows we’re gonna be there when she gets out of school, and tomorrow morning, and the morning after that. Doesn’t even occur to her that we’d be anywhere else.” He let the thought settle before adding, “That’s a pretty good thing, sweetheart.” His mouth curved into a smaller, affectionate smile. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck a little. I’m still recovering from being told my car is apparently a threat to her reputation.”

As for the proposed fan-club shirt, Trent looked entirely too entertained by Natalie’s attempt to establish plausible deniability. “Oh, you’re absolutely getting implicated. I’m not taking the fall for this alone.” He shook his head, already enjoying the hypothetical disciplinary hearing their daughter would undoubtedly conduct if he followed through. “I’m gonna tell her you picked the font. Maybe even claim the whole thing was your idea.” He glanced at Natalie with a wicked little grin. “And when she starts asking questions, I’m gonna look her right in the eye and say, ‘Your mother wanted glitter, but I talked her down.’ Really bring this morning’s science-project controversy full circle.”

He laughed quietly at his own joke, but the threat remained exactly that. A joke. For all his enthusiasm about embarrassing Anna, he wasn’t interested in making her regret asking them for a little independence. There was a difference between being the father who occasionally made his daughter roll her eyes and being the father who deliberately made her uncomfortable in front of her friends. Trent knew that distinction, even if he liked pretending otherwise. “Nah, I’m not gonna do it today,” he admitted after another moment. “Kid asked us for a little breathing room. I’m not gonna turn around and make a whole production out of picking her up.” He paused, then added with renewed enthusiasm, “Now, her thirteenth birthday? Completely different situation. I’m thinking matching shirts. Maybe a banner. Jack could help me set something up in the yard.”

The mention of Anna eventually dating earned a considerably different reaction. Trent’s eyebrows rose, and he looked toward Natalie as though she’d introduced an entirely unnecessary complication into what had otherwise been a perfectly reasonable conversation. “Dating?” he repeated. “Jesus Christ, Nat. Can we get through fourth grade before you start introducing additional problems?” He shook his head, although the amusement never quite left his face. “I haven’t even recovered from the fact that she doesn’t want her friends seeing my car. Now you’ve got boys showing up at the house?” He made a disgruntled noise and returned his attention to the road. “I’m gonna need another cup of coffee.”

Despite the dramatics, Trent wasn’t actually interested in becoming the sort of father who treated his daughter’s future relationships as something requiring a police investigation. He wanted Anna to know what she deserved from people, how to recognize when somebody wasn’t treating her properly, and that she could come to him or Natalie without worrying about an overreaction. Still, the occasional exaggerated threat was practically a parental tradition. “For the record, I’m gonna be perfectly reasonable,” he announced. “Friendly. Welcoming. Might even offer the poor kid something to drink.” He paused. “Obviously, I’ll run his name through every available database first, but after that? Absolutely delightful company.” The grin that followed made it clear he was kidding, although he imagined Natalie would still have something to say about it.

Her quieter observation about Anna knowing she could ask them for space deserved more than another joke. Trent nodded slowly, recognizing the truth of it. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It does matter.” He thought about the way Anna had asked, so casually and without any real concern that either of them would make the request difficult. She hadn’t needed to rehearse an explanation or apologize for wanting something perfectly ordinary. She’d simply trusted that her parents would understand. “I don’t ever want her thinking she has to hide something from us just because she’s worried we’ll get upset,” he continued. “She’s gonna make mistakes. God knows I made enough of ‘em. But I want her to know she can come home and tell us about it, even when she thinks we’re gonna be disappointed.” His expression softened. “Especially then.”

The sincerity remained between them for another few seconds before Natalie announced her intention to assign any future teenage misconduct to Harrison influence. Trent immediately gave an offended little scoff. “Oh, that’s convenient. So when she gets straight A’s, she’s brilliant because she takes after her mother. But when she decides to sneak out of the house, suddenly she’s got Harrison blood?” He shook his head. “That’s discrimination, sweetheart. Plain and simple.” He considered it briefly before conceding, “Although, to be fair, if she ever figures out how to sneak out without waking either of us, I’ll be a little impressed.” He lifted a finger before Natalie could object. “Not approving. Impressed. Two completely different things. She’d still be grounded until approximately retirement age.”

The sudden transition to dinner barely registered as unusual. Trent had been married to Natalie long enough to follow the way her mind moved between subjects, and he’d long since learned that an emotional conversation could end with a grocery inventory without either of them finding it strange. He considered the contents of their refrigerator as she listed them, mentally arranging the chicken, broccoli, and potatoes into something resembling a respectable family meal. “All right, first of all, I think you’re underestimating my culinary abilities. I’m perfectly capable of handling dinner without adult supervision.” His tone carried the faintest suggestion of wounded pride. “I’ve been feeding myself for years. Occasionally, I even use plates.”

He thought for a moment. “I’ll do the chicken in the oven. Garlic, lemon, whatever else we’ve got in the cabinet that doesn’t look like it expired during the Obama administration. Roast the potatoes. Broccoli on the side.” He glanced at her. “And before you say anything, yes, I’ll actually season the food. I’m not one of those guys who thinks black pepper is an adventurous culinary experience.” He reached for his coffee, took a drink, and lowered the mug again. “If Anna decides broccoli is unacceptable, she can have extra potatoes. But she’s still eating something green. I’m not running a restaurant.”

He had every intention of making dinner work around Natalie’s meeting and whatever his own day at the department demanded. It wasn’t particularly complicated. He could stop at the store on his way home, get the chicken started, and have everything reasonably close to ready by the time Natalie walked through the door. He knew she had enough on her plate without coming home to discover that the household had collectively decided dinner was somebody else’s responsibility. “I’ll handle it,” he assured her. “You do your meeting, I’ll pick up Anna and get dinner going. Assuming nobody at the department decides to make my afternoon interesting, we should be in good shape.” His mouth curved. “And if everything goes completely sideways, there’s a pizza place with our number memorized. We’ve got options.”

The coffee situation, however, apparently required a much higher level of attention. Trent turned toward Natalie with a look of exaggerated disbelief. “Are we still talking about that bag?” he asked. “Sweetheart, it was coffee. It came in a bag. You put it in the machine, added water, and coffee came out. I don’t understand how this became a character-defining incident.” He shook his head, grinning as he remembered the expression she’d worn the first morning she’d tasted his supposedly reasonable substitution. “You looked at me like I’d brought home motor oil and told you it was breakfast.”

He knew exactly which coffee she wanted. Of course he did. He knew the brand, the roast, and the particular bag she always reached for when they went shopping together. He’d only bought the substitute because the store had been out of their usual one, and he’d made the apparently unforgivable mistake of assuming that two bags of ground coffee occupying the same shelf might produce reasonably similar results. He had since learned otherwise. “I’ll get the good stuff,” he promised, raising one hand in surrender. “The fancy bag. The one with the little picture you like. I’ll even check the expiration date and make sure nobody’s tampered with it. Full investigative procedure.” He paused. “Maybe I’ll have the cashier sign a witness statement so you know I didn’t switch it out on the way home.”

When Natalie mentioned his blue shirt, Trent’s expression changed almost immediately. “There it is!” He pointed toward her with a triumphant grin, delighted that the mystery had finally been solved. “I knew that shirt hadn’t just vanished into thin air. I’ve been looking for that damn thing since Sunday.” He shook his head. “Checked the closet twice. Looked in the laundry room. Even checked Anna’s room, which, frankly, I don’t recommend unless you’ve had your tetanus shot.” He glanced toward her, eyebrows lifting. “And the whole time, my loving wife knew exactly where it was.”

Her explanation about Past Natalie and Future Natalie earned a low laugh. “Oh, I see how it works. Past Natalie gets to make all the decisions, Future Natalie gets stuck with the consequences, and somehow Present Trent is the last person to know anything.” He considered this arrangement with mock seriousness. “Terrible management structure. I’m filing a complaint.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the windshield as they continued toward town, catching the autumn colors along the road. Trent adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, the comfortable familiarity of the drive settling around them again. The earlier sadness hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it no longer felt quite so sharp. Anna was at school, Natalie had her meetings, and he had a department full of people who would undoubtedly find some creative new way to test his patience before lunch. There were groceries to buy, dinner to cook, and apparently a blue shirt to retrieve from the cleaners. An ordinary day, by every reasonable definition.

He glanced toward his wife again, his expression softening.

“Hey, Nat.”

He waited until she looked at him.

“We’re doing a good job with her,” he said simply. “I know I joke about pretty much everything, but I mean that. She’s a good kid. She’s happy. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.” His smile grew a little. “And when she eventually decides we’re both complete idiots, at least she’ll be making an informed decision.”

He let the sincerity settle before returning his attention to the road.

“Besides, she’s still gonna need us. Who else is gonna find her shoes, remind her to eat breakfast, and explain why putting glitter on Saturn is a terrible idea?”

A moment passed.

“And speaking of terrible ideas,” he continued, the familiar mischief returning to his expression, “I’ve been thinking about that fan-club shirt. I’m not wearing it to school. Relax. But I could wear it around the house.”

He looked over at Natalie, already smiling.

“Maybe get one for you, too. Proud Parents of Anna Mae Harrison. Nice big letters across the front. Family photograph for the Christmas card.”

He gave an appreciative nod, clearly impressed with his own imagination.

“Actually, that’s perfect. We won’t embarrass her in front of her friends. We’ll just mail photographic evidence to everybody we know.”

He reached for his travel mug again, wearing the satisfied expression of a man who had solved a difficult parenting problem.

“See? Compromise. That’s what makes me such an excellent father.”

Nat let him finish assigning her an honorary title in the production of their only child before she turned her head and regarded him with slow, measured disbelief. The corner of her mouth had already betrayed her, which weakened the effect considerably, but she committed anyway. “That’s very generous. I’ll make sure my people contact your people about billing.” She tucked one leg slightly beneath the other and settled deeper into the passenger seat, watching him for another second. “Although if I’m executive producer, I assume that means I control the budget, approve major creative decisions, and have the authority to replace difficult talent. You should probably be nicer to me.”

The prospect of fifteen-year-old Anna did not improve when Trent approached it with the confidence of someone who had apparently forgotten that teenagers specialized in discovering vulnerabilities no trained professional had anticipated. Nat listened, increasingly entertained, until his imagined future hardened around the subject of parties and supervision. On that point, she was entirely with him, even if she had no intention of encouraging the particular gleam that appeared whenever he imagined himself standing between their daughter and some hypothetical catastrophe. “You can be the terrible, unreasonable father,” she said. “I’ll sit beside you looking deeply sympathetic while agreeing with every single word.” Her smile went sweet enough to be suspicious. “That way she can spend several formative years believing I might be persuadable before eventually realizing we’ve been coordinating behind her back the entire time.”

She could picture it too easily: Anna at fifteen, taller and sharper and convinced her parents had been placed on earth primarily to impose arbitrary restrictions on her freedom. The image should have felt impossibly distant, but so had ten once. Nat rubbed her thumb absently over the seam of her coffee cup and glanced out at the passing trees. “Also, your extensive personal experience with teenage stupidity is not the reassuring credential you think it is,” she added. “It just means I’m going to know exactly who to look at when she comes home with an idea that sounds suspiciously familiar.”

His reassurance about Anna not looking back landed more quietly. Nat’s attention stayed on the windshield, but the tension that had been sitting beneath her sternum eased by a degree. She knew he was right; she had known it before he said anything, really, but there was a difference between knowing something rationally and having the person beside you put a hand around the exact shape of it. Anna had not needed to look back because she had never been given a reason to wonder whether home would still be where she left it. Nat let that settle without trying to make it less important by immediately joking around it.

“That’s the part I’m going to keep,” she said after a moment. Her voice had softened, but it remained steady. “Not the humiliating rejection at the curb. I’m going to resent that until lunch.” She glanced toward Trent then, affection pulling at her expression before she could flatten it. “But the rest of it. I like that she assumes us. I want her to be able to take us for granted in that particular way for as long as she can.”

The subject of the shirt brought her mood back to safer territory almost immediately, especially once it became clear that he understood the difference between teasing Anna and deliberately punishing her for wanting room. That mattered more to Nat than she bothered saying; Trent could be ridiculous without being careless, and it was one of the reasons his antics still entertained her after all these years instead of merely exhausting her. “Good,” she said simply, and let the approval stand on its own for half a beat. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. “But I heard the thirteenth-birthday portion, and I want it entered into the record that Jack is not an acceptable co-conspirator for anything involving banners, lawn equipment, electrical cords, ladders, open flame, or the phrase ‘trust me.’”

Anna dating earned him a longer look, one Nat enjoyed far too much because the subject had apparently offended him on a conceptual level. She had no intention of encouraging any future boyfriend interrogation, police database or otherwise, but watching Trent discover new categories of fatherhood-induced discomfort had considerable entertainment value. “You’re going to behave,” she informed him. “And by behave, I mean you are going to greet whoever she brings home like a normal human man rather than a law-enforcement-themed obstacle course.” Her gaze lingered on him, warm with amusement. “You may ask his name. You may offer him a drink. You may even possess private opinions. What you may not do is somehow make the poor child aware that you know where he lives before Anna has finished introducing him.”

The idea made her smile despite herself because she could already imagine the performance of innocence that would follow any accusation. Nat had seen Trent charm teachers, neighbors, relatives, waitresses, coworkers, and occasionally her own mother when all available evidence suggested he was guilty of something. She had also been personally subjected to that smile since they were children and was therefore immune in the technical sense, though not always in practice. “And before you get smug,” she added, “I’m aware that I’m going to be worse in completely different ways. I’ll notice whether he listens when she talks, how he treats the waiter, whether he interrupts her, whether he makes her smaller. You can worry about the criminal record. I’ll handle the personality assessment.”

The seriousness underneath that thought came and went without weighing the morning down. She wanted Anna to date someday, fall for people, get her heart broken in survivable ways, learn what she liked and what she would not accept. Nat wanted her daughter to have enough room to make mistakes without feeling that every poor decision became a referendum on the way she had been raised. The fact that both she and Trent could remember adolescence with embarrassing clarity would probably help and occasionally make things worse.

When he circled back to the kind of parents they wanted to be, Nat’s expression softened again. She understood the distinction he was making immediately because it was one she cared about too. Disappointment had never frightened her nearly as much as the possibility that Anna might someday decide hiding a mistake was safer than bringing it home. “Especially then,” she agreed quietly. “I don’t need her to think we’re going to approve of everything she does. I need her to know there’s nothing she can do that makes coming home the wrong choice.” She stared through the windshield for another few seconds, then added, “And if she ever does successfully sneak out, you are absolutely forbidden from looking impressed where she can see you.”

The argument over Harrison genetics drew a soft laugh out of her. She shifted in her seat and gave him the side-eye he deserved, the kind she had perfected long before either of them had mortgages or careers or a child old enough to disown their vehicle. “I’ve already explained the division of credit. I supplied the pregnancy and the good DNA. You claimed everything else with remarkable confidence, so I’m merely respecting your position.” She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “When she’s valedictorian, I’ll graciously allow you to stand in the photograph. When she climbs out a bedroom window at midnight, I’ll hand you a flashlight and wish you luck.”

Dinner was easier. Nat could practically feel the morning settling back onto its familiar rails as he took ownership of the chicken and potatoes, and there was something deeply satisfying about how little negotiation it required. Neither of them needed a ceremony around being useful to the other; sometimes affection looked like a hand at the small of her back, sometimes it looked like knowing who was buying groceries and who was going to be late. “That sounds good,” she said, already mentally releasing dinner from the list she had been carrying. “And if the department does ruin your afternoon, order the pizza before I get home. I refuse to participate in the ritual where we both stand in the kitchen at seven-fifteen insisting we could still make something.”

The coffee discussion earned considerably less generosity. Nat turned toward him with an expression of pure, patient disbelief and let him defend the indefensible until she was certain he had exhausted himself. “You’re right,” she said at last. “It was technically coffee in the same way gas-station sushi is technically dinner.” Her mouth curved when she saw the familiar reaction. “I drank it. I survived. We’ve all grown from the experience.” She reached over and briefly smoothed her hand over the back of his neck, fingertips catching against the short hair there before falling away. “Get the right bag and this marriage may yet recover.”

The movement was casual, but the contact lingered in her awareness for a second longer than necessary. He was maddeningly attractive when he was pleased with himself, which felt like a design flaw considering how frequently he managed to achieve that state. Nat had spent enough years beside him that desire rarely arrived with drama anymore; sometimes it was simply the urge to touch him while he drove, the familiar shape of his shoulder under her hand, the sight of his profile in the morning light catching her attention when she should have been checking email. She let herself look for another beat, then dropped her attention to the string of notifications glowing on the screen near her knee before he could notice and make the situation unbearable.

The blue-shirt revelation had apparently restored his faith in the universe, and Nat listened to his mock grievance with no intention whatsoever of accepting culpability. “I didn’t know where it was until midnight,” she reminded him. “At which point you were asleep, I was comfortable, and there was no emergency requiring immediate disclosure of textile information.” She flicked one notification aside without opening it, already deciding it could wait. “Present Natalie supports Past Natalie completely. The administration is unified.”

Her lips twitched when the conversation turned back toward Anna and the kind of job they were doing with her. The simple confidence in his assessment struck somewhere gentler than she expected, perhaps because it arrived after a morning spent discovering one of the first little ways success as parents could feel strangely like loss. Nat reached across without looking away from the message preview in front of her and rested her hand on his thigh, giving it one firm squeeze. “We are,” she said, and this time there was no qualifier, no joke inserted to make the admission easier. “She’s kind. She likes herself. She expects people to listen when she says what she needs. I can live with being hidden around the corner if that’s part of the package.”

She left her hand there while the next email preview expanded beneath her thumb, comfortable with the contact and with the silence that followed. The message concerned approval language for an upcoming community vaccination campaign, which meant somebody had used the phrase stakeholder synergy twice in four paragraphs and was going to require intervention before nine-thirty. Nat sighed softly through her nose, marked it for later, and let the screen go dark. “Someone at work has discovered corporate vocabulary again,” she said. “If I come home talking about optimizing cross-functional engagement, you have my permission to put me outside until I recover.”

The fan-club-shirt proposal returned before the subject could fully die, and this time Nat laughed outright, shaking her head as the image formed despite every instinct toward self-preservation. “Absolutely not for the Christmas card. I have standards.” She considered it, then looked toward him with dangerous thoughtfulness. “However, privately making the shirts and producing them on her eighteenth birthday has merit. She’ll be legally unable to report us to child services by then.”

Her expression softened into a smile as she imagined Anna’s future horror, and she traced her thumb once across the fabric beneath her palm before finally withdrawing her hand. “No glitter, though,” Nat added. “I have listened to the expert testimony this morning and been persuaded. Also, if you involve Jack, I want veto authority over typography.” She picked up her coffee again, grimaced after another lukewarm sip, and set it down for good. “See? That’s compromise. You get your terrible idea, I make sure it’s aesthetically defensible.”

By then they had come down far enough from the more wooded residential stretches that Evergreen was beginning to gather around them again instead of appearing only in breaks between the pines. Morning light lay across the foothills in long October bands, catching yellowing aspens between darker stands of ponderosa and lodgepole pine, while the road curved past familiar businesses, side streets, and the ordinary signs of town waking properly for the day. Nat knew the route well enough that she could have measured what remained of the drive by landmarks without ever checking the clock, and she felt the shift toward work arriving gradually rather than all at once.

A calendar alert appeared across the darkened screen beside her, and Nat tapped it just long enough to confirm the afternoon meeting was still where she expected it to be. She left the rest of the inbox alone while Trent carried them through the last few minutes toward the hospital. The regional medical campus sat tucked into Evergreen rather than towering over it, several low stone-and-glass buildings spread against a backdrop of evergreen-covered foothills instead of the dense urban blocks she had once associated with hospital systems in Chicago. Nat had always liked that about it. The place was busy enough to matter to an entire community but still small enough that she could recognize half the people crossing between buildings on any given morning.

“Community meeting is still at four,” she said as they turned onto the hospital access road. “So if I’m not home by six-thirty, eat without me. And please make sure Anna actually starts her math before declaring she has no homework. She’s been experimenting with very creative definitions of ‘nothing due tomorrow.’” She slipped the phone into the open pocket of her tote afterward, but instead of reaching immediately for her badge, she rested her hand over the top of the bag and looked through the windshield as Trent moved toward the employee side of the lot.

There were still enough empty spaces farther out that they did not have to circle. Trent pulled into one with several minutes to spare before Nat actually needed to be inside, the car settling into a patch of thin autumn sunshine near the edge of the lot. Beyond the windshield, employees crossed toward the entrance carrying coffee and backpacks, while farther back the foothills rose dark green behind the hospital roofs. Nat checked the dashboard clock, did the calculation once, and made no move to leave.

“We have seven minutes,” she said, unfastening her seat belt but staying where she was. “Possibly eight if I’m willing to walk with purpose.”

She set her tote on the floor again, an unmistakable declaration that work could wait the length of one more conversation. The car had gone pleasantly quiet now that the engine noise and school traffic were behind them, and the intimacy of simply sitting there together felt different from the drive without becoming more significant than it needed to be. Nat turned slightly toward him, tucking one arm along the back of her seat and letting herself enjoy the fact that neither of them was currently responsible for locating shoes, supervising homework, answering emails, or feeding anyone.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “there was a period in our lives when sitting alone in a parked car together had much less respectable implications.” Her mouth curved, and her eyes dropped briefly over him before returning to his face. “Now we’re discussing broccoli, coffee brands, and our daughter’s theoretical criminal adolescence. Very glamorous progression.”

She was teasing, but the attraction underneath it was uncomplicated and very real. Nat reached across and hooked two fingers lightly into the front of his jacket near his chest, smoothing the fabric beneath them afterward simply because she could. “I still prefer this version,” she added, quieter without becoming solemn. “Although I reserve the right to occasionally miss the one that had fewer emails.”

For a moment she simply looked at him, close enough now that the space between their seats seemed unnecessarily formal. The affection came first, easy and habitual, and the attraction followed so closely behind it that Nat did not bother pretending they were separate things. She leaned across the console and kissed him without announcing the intention, one hand still curled loosely into the front of his jacket while her mouth settled warmly against his. It was not rushed enough to qualify as a goodbye and not dramatic enough to require one; it was simply what she wanted to do while they had a quiet car, several stolen minutes, and nobody in the back seat complaining about their parents being disgusting.

When she eased back, she stayed close rather than immediately retreating to her side. Her thumb smoothed once over the fabric she had wrinkled near his chest, and her expression carried the faint satisfaction of somebody who had made excellent use of at least part of their available time. “That,” she said, “was significantly more appealing than stakeholder synergy.”

For another blessed minute, nothing buzzed or chimed from inside her tote. Nat leaned back in her seat, looking out across the lot as someone in scrubs hurried toward the entrance with a travel mug balanced precariously against a stack of folders. She recognized one of the outpatient coordinators passing two rows over and instinctively started to lift a hand before realizing the woman was looking the other direction. For once, Nat was happy not to be noticed yet.

She turned back toward Trent. “I have absolutely no desire to go inside,” she admitted, with none of the drama the statement might have carried from someone who disliked her job. Nat did not dislike it at all. Some mornings were simply easier to begin when she was still sitting in a warm car with her husband after an unexpectedly emotional school drop-off. “Not because anything is wrong. I just currently prefer you to community messaging and stakeholder synergy.”

The honesty cost her nothing, which was one of the luxuries of him. Nat reached over and rested her hand against the side of his neck, thumb brushing once beneath his ear. “Don’t become insufferable about ranking above stakeholder synergy. The bar is underground.”

She smiled when she said it and left her hand where it was for another few seconds. Outside, the hospital morning continued without them, employees crossing the lot in twos and threes while a delivery truck eased around the side of one of the low stone buildings. Inside the car, Nat felt no particular urgency to participate yet. She had spent enough of her adult life moving efficiently from one responsibility to the next that sitting still for several minutes beside someone she genuinely liked seemed almost rebelliously indulgent.

Trent had been enjoying himself immensely right up until Natalie pointed out that an executive producer technically possessed the authority to replace difficult talent. He gave her a sideways look, his eyebrows lifting with the kind of offended disbelief that had never been particularly convincing on him. “Whoa, sweetheart. You can’t just replace the leading man halfway through production. People are invested in this character.” He gestured briefly toward himself before returning his hand to the steering wheel. “I’ve got a pretty loyal fan base. One very enthusiastic ten-year-old, occasionally. My wife, when she’s in a good mood. Jack, although he’d probably deny it under oath.” He paused, considering his options. “Besides, I’ve got a lifetime contract. Pretty sure there was something about that in the paperwork we signed when we got married.” His grin widened. “You should’ve read the fine print.”

The possibility of their daughter becoming a teenager was considerably less entertaining when Natalie began describing the elaborate arrangement she intended to establish between them. Trent listened with growing amusement, particularly when she suggested spending several years pretending to be the sympathetic, persuadable parent while quietly supporting every decision he made. “Oh, I see how this works,” he said, nodding slowly. “I get to be the asshole who tells her she can’t go to the party, and you get to sit there looking all sweet and understanding while agreeing with me.” He glanced toward her. “That’s a pretty impressive scam you’ve got planned, Nat. I’m almost proud.” He thought about it another moment before adding, “Although, knowing our daughter, she’ll figure us out by the second argument. She’s already got your ability to spot bullshit, which is gonna become a real inconvenience for everybody involved.”

He wasn’t particularly worried about Anna developing a personality. She already had one, and he liked it considerably, even when it involved negotiating bedtime as though she were representing a labor union. But he understood that the next several years would require a different kind of parenting than the first ten had. There would be arguments he couldn’t resolve by distracting her, problems he couldn’t fix simply by showing up, and moments when making the right decision meant accepting that she might not like him very much afterward. Trent wasn’t looking forward to those moments, but he wasn’t afraid of them either. He’d been a police officer long enough to recognize that avoiding an uncomfortable conversation rarely made the underlying problem disappear.

“Look, if she inherits even half the stupid ideas Jack and I came up with when we were teenagers, we’re gonna have our hands full,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But at least I’ll know what to look for. That’s an advantage.” He lifted his eyebrows. “And for the record, your husband was an absolute delight growing up. Charming. Respectful. Excellent judgment.” He held the expression for approximately two seconds before giving up and laughing. “All right, fine. Two out of three.”

Her quieter response about Anna knowing they would always be there made him smile for an entirely different reason. Trent glanced at her briefly, catching the affection in her expression before returning his attention to the road. He liked that she’d found something reassuring in what he’d said. He hadn’t intended to offer some grand piece of parental wisdom; he’d simply been trying to explain what he believed. Anna had never needed to wonder whether her parents would come for her, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as he was around. “Well, she’s gonna have a hell of a time getting rid of us,” he said, his voice warm beneath the humor. “I mean, eventually she’ll move out, get her own place, have a whole life that doesn’t revolve around us. And I’ll respect that.” He paused thoughtfully. “I’ll still probably call to ask if she’s eating vegetables, though. Somebody’s gotta maintain standards.”

The restrictions on his hypothetical thirteenth-birthday celebration earned Natalie another look of exaggerated offense. “I can’t believe you’re already putting limitations on an event that hasn’t even happened yet.” He shook his head. “And what’s wrong with Jack? He’s a perfectly responsible adult.” A beat passed. “Most of the time.” He thought about the list she’d provided and gave a short laugh. “Okay, fine. No ladders, no open flames, no electrical cords. But you’re really taking all the creativity out of this.” He glanced at her with a grin. “Also, the fact that you specifically included the phrase ‘trust me’ feels targeted. Jack and I have successfully completed plenty of projects that started with those words.” He considered that claim before adding, “Granted, a few of them required repairs afterward, but that’s beside the point.”

Dating, unfortunately, remained a subject Trent would’ve preferred to postpone until their daughter was approximately thirty-five. He listened to Natalie’s instructions about greeting future boyfriends like a normal human being, the corners of his mouth pulling downward in a display of wounded dignity. “I am a normal human man, thank you very much. I know how to shake somebody’s hand without conducting a background investigation.” He paused. “I also know how to conduct a background investigation, which seems like a useful skill to have, but apparently we’re not appreciating that today.” He chuckled before his expression became a little more thoughtful. “Nah, seriously. I’m not gonna interrogate some poor kid just because Anna likes him. I remember what that was like.” He glanced toward her, a familiar gleam returning. “Although, for the record, I was an exceptional boyfriend. Your family loved me.”

He let the boast sit for a moment before returning to the more important part of what she’d said. Natalie would notice whether somebody listened when Anna spoke, whether he respected her, whether he made their daughter feel smaller than she was. Trent understood that kind of assessment, and it mattered more to him than any hypothetical criminal record. “But you’re right about that other stuff,” he said. “I don’t care if the kid’s captain of the football team, president of the student council, or the nicest-looking little bastard in Colorado. If he treats her like crap, we’ve got a problem.” His voice was matter-of-fact rather than threatening. “And more importantly, I want her to recognize it before either of us has to point it out. She’s not gonna spend her life thinking she has to put up with somebody making her miserable just because she likes them.”

The conversation about mistakes and coming home settled naturally into something more familiar. Trent nodded when Natalie agreed that Anna needed to know she could tell them the truth, even when she’d done something wrong. He’d seen enough frightened teenagers during his career to understand how quickly an already bad situation could become dangerous when a kid was more afraid of their parents’ reaction than whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into. “Exactly,” he said. “If she’s sixteen and calls me at two in the morning because something’s gone wrong, I want her first thought to be that Dad’s coming to get her. Not that she needs to figure out some creative way to hide it.” He paused, then grinned. “Now, that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna be grounded when we get home. It just means I’ll make sure she’s home safe before we start discussing how spectacularly stupid her decision was.”

He laughed at the warning about appearing impressed by any successful attempt to sneak out. “I make no promises about my facial expressions, sweetheart. You know I’ve got a terrible poker face.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Years of interviewing suspects had given him a perfectly serviceable poker face when he needed one. The problem was that he had very little interest in using it around his wife, particularly when making her laugh was so much more rewarding.

He was equally amused by her insistence that Harrison genetics would be responsible for every questionable decision Anna made for the remainder of her life. “That’s fine. I’ll take the blame. I’m a generous man.” He nodded as though making a significant concession. “But when she gets older and starts arguing with people purely because she enjoys winning, I’m sending her directly to you. I refuse to accept responsibility for that.” His grin widened. “And if she becomes valedictorian, I’m standing in the middle of that photograph. You can fight me for the spot.”

By the time the conversation returned to dinner, Trent had already mentally organized the afternoon around picking Anna up and getting everything started before Natalie finished work. He wasn’t particularly concerned about it. Between his job and theirs at home, he’d become pretty good at managing several things at once, even if he occasionally preferred to pretend otherwise. “Chicken, potatoes, broccoli. I’ve got it,” he assured her. “And I’ll check the homework situation before she disappears into her room and conveniently forgets mathematics exists.” He shook his head with affectionate amusement. “Kid tried telling me last week that she’d already finished everything. Opened her folder and found a whole worksheet staring back at me. Apparently, ‘finished’ means ‘I thought about doing it.’”

The coffee comparison, however, was an entirely unnecessary attack on his character. Trent looked at Natalie with such theatrical disgust that it was a wonder he managed to keep a straight face. “Gas-station sushi? Jesus, Nat. That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” He gave a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’d think I brought home something I found in a dumpster behind a convenience store. It was a perfectly respectable bag of coffee.” He paused before adding, “Not good coffee, apparently. But respectable.” Her fingers brushing the back of his neck made his smile soften briefly, and he gave her an appreciative glance. “I’ll get the right one. I promise. Can’t have our entire marriage falling apart over a bag of ground beans.”

He was still smiling when Natalie announced that her various past and present selves were united in their decision not to tell him about the blue shirt. “Well, that’s convenient. An entire administration of Natalies conspiring against one innocent man.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to understand how Anna feels.” He’d collect the shirt himself if he had time, although he was considerably more entertained by pretending its disappearance had been some elaborate domestic conspiracy. He’d been looking for the damn thing for days, and knowing it was sitting at the cleaners made the situation considerably less mysterious.

Her hand settling against his thigh drew another small glance from him, and he reached down briefly to cover it with his own before returning his hand to the steering wheel. There was something about the simplicity of her agreement that he appreciated. Neither of them needed to spend the entire morning congratulating themselves for producing a reasonably well-adjusted child. They knew they’d made mistakes. They’d undoubtedly make plenty more. But Anna was happy, secure, and becoming more herself every day, and Trent couldn’t think of a much better measure of success than that. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We really are.”

The complaint about stakeholder synergy brought his grin back immediately. “Oh, absolutely. You come home talking like that, I’m putting you on the porch until you remember how normal people communicate.” He glanced toward her, clearly delighted with the idea. “Might even leave a bowl of water out there. Couple of crackers. Make sure you’re comfortable while you work through whatever corporate nonsense you’ve picked up.” He laughed under his breath before adding, “Although, if you’re gonna start using phrases like optimizing cross-functional engagement at the dinner table, I’m gonna need you to translate. I barely understand what the hell you’re saying half the time as it is.”

He took the eighteenth-birthday shirt proposal considerably more seriously than she probably intended. “Now that’s an idea,” he said, nodding with approval. “Eighteenth birthday. Perfect. We get the shirts made, take a nice family picture, and give her a framed copy as a present.” He considered it another moment. “Maybe put one in her graduation announcements. Really make sure the extended family gets to appreciate our dedication.” Her insistence on approving the typography earned a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fine. You can be in charge of making it look pretty. I’ll handle the creative direction.” He glanced toward her. “And Jack can be executive consultant. No ladders required.”

The final few minutes of the drive passed pleasantly, the conversation settling into the easy rhythm he’d come to love about being married to Natalie. There had been a time in their lives when sharing a car meant driving around Evergreen with nowhere in particular to go, arguing over music, stopping for food, and finding increasingly ridiculous excuses to spend another hour together. Now they had a mortgage, a daughter, two demanding careers, and an ongoing domestic dispute about coffee. Trent wouldn’t have traded the latter for the former, although he sometimes missed being able to spend an entire afternoon with her without having to check a clock.

He listened while she reminded him about the four o’clock meeting, nodding as they turned toward the hospital. “Six-thirty. Got it. I’ll make sure Anna gets started on the math, and I’ll have dinner handled.” He paused, considering the logistics. “And if I’m running behind because something comes up at the department, I’ll let you know. Worst-case scenario, we order pizza and pretend it was the plan all along.” He gave her a grin. “Very sophisticated household we’ve got.”

Trent pulled into an empty parking space and shifted the car into park, glancing toward the hospital entrance before turning off the engine. He’d expected Natalie to gather her belongings immediately, perhaps offer him a quick kiss and disappear inside with the brisk efficiency she brought to practically everything. Instead, she announced that they had seven minutes and placed her tote on the floor.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Seven whole minutes?” he repeated, looking at her with exaggerated interest. “Well, shit, sweetheart. You really know how to spoil a guy.”

He settled back into his seat, turning slightly toward her now that he no longer needed to concentrate on traffic. There was something distinctly appealing about having her attention to himself for a few minutes, particularly after a morning that had been almost entirely occupied by getting their daughter out the door. He watched the way she tucked herself more comfortably into the seat, the familiar expression on her face suggesting that she was about to say something he’d probably enjoy considerably more than he should.

And he wasn’t disappointed.

The observation about their earlier experiences in parked cars drew a slow grin across his face. Trent leaned his elbow against the center console, looking at her with an expression of shameless amusement. “Oh, I remember,” he said. “Very fond memories, actually. Beautiful girl, questionable judgment, extremely inconvenient center consoles.” He glanced down between their seats before looking back at her. “Some things never change.” His grin widened. “Although, I’ll give you that one. We definitely spent less time discussing broccoli back then.”

When her fingers caught lightly in the front of his jacket, his expression softened beneath the teasing. He watched her smooth the fabric, finding himself momentarily distracted by the familiarity of the gesture. Natalie had been touching him like that for so many years that he couldn’t remember when it had first become instinctive. A hand on his shoulder when she passed behind him, her fingers brushing his neck while he drove, the little absent-minded adjustments she made to his clothing. None of it had become ordinary in the sense of being unimportant. If anything, he appreciated those small gestures more now than he had when they were younger.

“Yeah,” he said when she admitted she preferred their current life. His voice carried none of the sarcasm he’d been using a moment earlier. “Me too.”

He looked at her for another second, his mouth curving.

“Although I wouldn’t mind revisiting a few of those less respectable activities sometime when we don’t have a fourth grader who thinks we’re disgusting.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe we should get ourselves one of those weekends where nobody needs anything from us. No school lunches. No missing shoes. No conversations about whether strawberries are too wet.” He gave a quiet laugh. “Just you and me.”

He didn’t have much opportunity to elaborate before she leaned toward him.

Trent met her kiss without hesitation, one hand moving naturally to the side of her face while the other settled against her waist. He smiled faintly against her mouth, particularly when she made no apparent effort to rush the affection into something appropriately efficient for a hospital parking lot. He’d kissed Natalie more times than he could possibly count, in enough places and circumstances to fill several lifetimes of memories, and he still liked the way she occasionally caught him off guard simply by deciding she wanted to.

When she drew back, he let his hand linger against her cheek for another moment, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw before dropping away.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” he murmured, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “If that’s how we’re handling stakeholder synergy from now on, I’m becoming a big supporter.”

Her declaration that she had no desire to go inside earned a softer smile. Trent looked toward the hospital entrance, watching a pair of employees cross the parking lot, then turned his attention back to his wife. He understood the feeling. Some mornings he didn’t particularly want to walk into the station either, even though he loved his work. There were days when sitting in a quiet car with Natalie sounded considerably more appealing than spending the next several hours dealing with other people’s problems.

“Well, that’s understandable,” he said. “I happen to be excellent company. Funny, handsome, occasionally useful around the house. Really, the hospital never stood a chance.”

Her hand settled against his neck, and he turned his head slightly into the touch before looking back at her with a grin.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m absolutely becoming insufferable about it.” He nodded solemnly. “I’m gonna be telling people about this for weeks. My wife, accomplished professional woman, highly respected in her field, would rather sit in a parking lot with me than go to work.” His eyebrows lifted. “That’s a pretty significant endorsement, Nat. Might have to put it on my résumé.”

He laughed softly, then reached up to cover the hand resting against his neck. His fingers curled around hers, and for a moment he simply looked at her. He’d known Natalie for most of his life, had watched her grow from the girl who could argue him into submission over practically anything into the woman sitting beside him now. The years had changed them both, sometimes in ways he hadn’t expected, but there were still moments when looking at her brought back that same unmistakable feeling he’d had when they were young.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, slower this time, his free hand resting gently against the side of her face. It wasn’t an attempt to keep her from work or persuade her to abandon her responsibilities. He simply wanted another kiss, and given that she had voluntarily announced the existence of seven available minutes, he considered it a perfectly reasonable use of their time.

When he finally drew back, he remained close enough that his forehead nearly touched hers.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I like this part.”

He smiled when he saw her expression, knowing the statement probably required clarification.

“Not the parking lot. Although, very romantic location. Five stars.” His thumb moved gently over the back of her hand. “I mean this. Us. Getting to do all the boring stuff together.” He glanced toward the hospital for a second before returning his attention to her. “Taking Anna to school, figuring out dinner, arguing about coffee. I know it’s not exactly the kind of stuff people write love songs about, but…” He gave a small shrug. “I like doing it with you.”

The sincerity sat comfortably between them for a few seconds. Trent wasn’t embarrassed by it. He never had been particularly shy about telling Natalie how he felt, even if he tended to wrap most of his affection in enough sarcasm to make it difficult for an outsider to identify.

“Besides,” he continued, his grin returning, “you’ve been putting up with my bullshit since we were kids. At this point, I think we’re both too invested to start looking for alternatives.”

His gaze flickered toward the dashboard clock, then back to her.

He wasn’t going to make her late. He knew she took her work seriously, and he respected that. He also knew that if he started another ridiculous conversation, she’d probably stay long enough to argue with him, and he’d enjoy every second of it. But after the unexpected emotion of Anna’s school drop-off and the long morning they’d already shared, he found himself reluctant to be the one who brought their little pocket of quiet to an end.

So instead, he reached across the console and took her hand again, bringing it to his mouth for a brief kiss.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. You go inside, impress everybody with your stakeholder whatever-the-hell-it-is, and I’ll take care of the rest. Pick up our kid, buy the sacred coffee, cook dinner. Maybe even retrieve that mysteriously missing blue shirt.”

He paused, his expression turning playfully thoughtful.

“And tonight, after Anna’s in bed, maybe we can spend a little time together that doesn’t involve discussing homework or vegetables.”

His smile widened.

“Unless you wanna talk about broccoli. I’m flexible.”

He laughed at his own joke, then softened again, giving her hand another affectionate squeeze.

“And Nat?”

He waited until she met his eyes.

“Love you.”

There wasn’t any elaborate speech attached to it, no dramatic declaration or attempt to make the moment bigger than it was. He said it with the same easy certainty with which he’d promised to pick up their daughter and make dinner. It was simply true, as fundamental to his life as the fact that he’d be driving home to the same house later that afternoon.

Then, because apparently he was physically incapable of allowing an entirely tender moment to remain untouched by humor, he glanced toward the hospital entrance and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Now, you’ve still got a couple minutes, right?”

His eyebrows lifted, and that familiar, thoroughly unrepentant Harrison grin returned.

“Because I distinctly remember being promised seven, and I don’t believe we’ve used our full allotment. I’d hate to file a formal complaint with management.”

Nat let the threat of formal escalation hang between them for a moment, studying the thoroughly pleased expression on his face as though she were genuinely considering the merits of his case. She had heard some variation of that confidence from him since they were young enough for neither of them to have any actual authority over anything, and time had only given him more sophisticated ways to be impossible. “Management has reviewed your complaint and found it without merit,” she said at last. “You were promised seven minutes. Nobody promised you exclusive control over how they were allocated.” Her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth before returning to his. “Frankly, I think you’ve received excellent value.”

She was still smiling when the affection beneath everything he had said caught up with her properly. It was difficult to be especially clever about the simple certainty of him telling her he loved her, and Nat had never believed every sincere thing needed improving with language. She reached up and smoothed her fingers once along his jaw, taking in the familiar warmth of his skin beneath her palm. “Love you too,” she said, easy and direct, because that was the truth and because after all these years she still liked saying it to him. Then she leaned forward and gave him another kiss, softer than the one before it, lingering just long enough to make clear that the remaining minutes were not going to be managed with anything resembling professional efficiency.

When she settled back, she left her hand loosely at the side of his neck. “Though I do want the record corrected on one point,” she added. “I did not have questionable judgment. I had very specific judgment that happened to include you.” Her mouth curved when she looked him over, appreciation entirely unhidden. “Repeatedly, apparently. So if anything, history suggests I was remarkably consistent.”

The suggestion of getting away together had stayed with her more than she expected. They had said versions of it before, usually while loading the dishwasher or realizing too late on a Sunday that another weekend had somehow disappeared into errands, schoolwork, family obligations, and whatever crisis either of their jobs had contributed. This time, sitting with him in the quiet car while the hospital continued functioning perfectly well without her for another few minutes, Nat did not want to file the idea under eventually. “We should actually do that,” she said, her tone shifting enough to make it clear she meant it. “Not mention it fondly for six months until we suddenly realize we’ve booked every weekend through Christmas.”

She withdrew her hand only far enough to reach for his, loosely lacing their fingers over the center console. “I’ll look at both our schedules when I get a minute today and see where we actually have room instead of guessing.” A trace of mischief warmed her expression. “Then I’ll text Ellie whenever work gives me five consecutive minutes where nobody needs a statement approved and see what works for her. Anna will probably consider being left with Ellie a substantial improvement over spending a weekend with us anyway, so I doubt we need to prepare for an emotional custody dispute.”

Once those pieces were in place, the rest felt easy enough to protect. One night would be good; two would be even better if their schedules, Ellie’s availability, and the universe happened to cooperate at the same time. Nat gave his hand a small squeeze. “And before you decide this means we need an itinerary, I am imposing rules. No responsible home-improvement errands on the way there, no stopping somewhere because you suddenly remember we need windshield fluid, and absolutely no turning a romantic weekend into an opportunity to compare prices on something for the house.” She knew herself well enough to add, “I’m also prohibited from checking work email over dinner, so you can enjoy that admission while it lasts.”

The practical part of her brain was already arranging the pieces despite her attempt to sound spontaneous. She and Trent only needed to find the opening first, then determine whether Ellie could take Anna for whichever night or weekend looked promising. Nat could move things around with enough notice. Trent could do the same unless work decided otherwise, which was always a possibility but not a reason to never make plans at all. “We find the weekend, make sure Ellie can do it, put it on the calendar, and protect it like adults who are allegedly capable of managing their own lives,” she said. “If something truly catches fire, fine. Otherwise everybody survives without us for thirty-six hours.”

She watched him for a second after that, the thought of being alone with him somewhere that did not contain a laundry basket, homework folder, or alarm set for school doing something pleasant to her mood. They had been together long enough that intimacy did not require removing themselves from ordinary life, but occasionally escaping ordinary life sounded excellent anyway. “And I’m not opposed to some of those less respectable parked-car traditions you were reminiscing about,” she added, voice dry enough to keep the admission from becoming coy. “I would, however, prefer an actual bed at this stage of my life. My knees have nothing left to prove.”

The grin she could already anticipate made her narrow her eyes before he had the opportunity to become insufferable about that too. Nat gave his hand a small squeeze and shifted closer in her seat, shoulder angling toward him. “Do not make me regret being attracted to you before work,” she warned. “I have meetings today. I need at least a portion of my executive function intact.” The warning would have carried more authority if she had not immediately leaned over and brushed a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth.

Outside, another cluster of hospital employees crossed the lot, jackets pulled close against the October chill as sunlight worked its way higher over the Evergreen foothills. Nat glanced through the windshield long enough to recognize someone from finance heading toward the building and automatically sank a fraction lower in her seat before she could stop herself. The reaction made her laugh quietly. “Excellent. I’m apparently hiding from coworkers now. Anna and I are having parallel developmental experiences.”

She stayed where she was anyway. There was something mildly ridiculous and deeply pleasant about being forty-five years old, married, professionally respectable, and still sitting in a hospital parking lot stretching seven available minutes as though they were getting away with something. Nat rested her temple briefly against the headrest and looked at Trent, taking in the easy familiarity of him beside her. “You know, when we were younger, I assumed adulthood would feel more organized than this,” she said. “I genuinely thought people eventually reached an age where they stopped losing shirts, bought groceries before the coffee ran out, and knew what they were making for dinner before eight in the morning.”

Her gaze warmed. “Turns out it’s mostly the same people with better calendars.”

That pleased her more than it disappointed her. She had spent enough years constructing an adult life on purpose to know that competence and certainty were not the same thing, and she no longer needed every part of the day to be perfectly arranged before she trusted it. There was a husband beside her who would get their daughter from school, dinner would become either chicken or pizza, her blue-shirt information had finally been successfully transferred to the relevant party, and her inbox could remain full for another few minutes without civilization ending. It was not glamorous, perhaps, but neither was it small.

Nat glanced at the dashboard clock and discovered they had somehow managed to consume most of the time she had claimed. She did not comment on it immediately. Instead, she raised their joined hands and pressed a quick kiss to his fingers, then lowered them again. “I’m not saying you were right about the seven minutes being insufficient,” she said. “I’m saying management may be open to renegotiation under very limited circumstances.”

Her eyes returned to his with a hint of challenge. “You get one more minute. Use it wisely.”

She barely waited for the implication to settle before her expression softened again. “And tonight, yes,” she added, sparing him the trouble of pretending not to know what she meant. “After homework, dinner, showers, whatever fourth-grade emergency materializes between now and then, I would very much like some time with my husband that does not involve vegetables.” Her thumb moved idly over his knuckles. “So behave yourself today.”

Nat paused, reconsidered, and gave him a small smile that carried far too much knowledge of the man sitting beside her. “Actually, don’t. I’d probably worry.”

Trent had been listening to his wife outline their prospective weekend away with the sort of interest usually reserved for conversations involving considerably fewer logistical considerations. He appreciated the planning, of course. Somebody had to make sure Anna was taken care of, their schedules lined up, and neither of them received a phone call halfway through dinner demanding their immediate return to civilization. Still, there was something particularly entertaining about watching Natalie turn the prospect of spending thirty-six uninterrupted hours with her husband into a carefully coordinated operation. “Jesus, sweetheart. You make a romantic weekend sound like we’re planning a hostage extraction.” He grinned, squeezing her hand. “But I’m in. You find us a weekend, I’ll make sure I can get the time off, and we’ll see if Ellie can take our favorite little social climber.” His eyebrows lifted. “And for the record, I fully support the no-email policy. Might even confiscate your phone if you start talking about stakeholder synergy over dinner.”

The comment about preferring an actual bed earned a considerably more interested expression. Trent slowly turned his head toward her, that familiar crooked grin spreading across his face before he’d even decided which inappropriate observation he wanted to make first. “Well, that’s disappointing. Here I was thinking we could really embrace our youth.” He glanced toward the center console, then back at her. “Although, yeah, I’ll give you that one. We’re not twenty anymore, and I happen to enjoy having functioning knees.” He paused, his expression becoming deliberately thoughtful. “Besides, a nice hotel room? Big comfortable bed? Nobody knocking on the door asking where their shoes are?” His grin widened. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Harrison, but I think I can make that sacrifice.”

He liked the idea more than he probably let on. Not because he particularly needed to escape their life, but because he liked the prospect of having Natalie entirely to himself for a little while. They were good at being parents, good at managing responsibilities, and good at finding ways to keep the household functioning when their schedules became ridiculous. But he also liked being her husband without having to divide his attention between an unfinished math worksheet and whether somebody remembered to transfer the laundry. There was something appealing about the simplicity of taking her somewhere nice, ordering dinner, and spending an entire evening doing whatever the hell they wanted. He’d already decided he was going to make it happen.

When she ducked slightly in her seat to avoid being spotted by a coworker, Trent laughed outright. “Oh, this is beautiful. First our daughter doesn’t want anybody seeing her with us, and now my own wife is hiding from people in a parking lot.” He glanced toward the hospital entrance with exaggerated suspicion. “Should I be worried? Is there another husband inside I don’t know about?” He let the accusation hang for a second before shaking his head. “Forty-five years old, and apparently we’re still sneaking around. I’d say that’s a pretty impressive accomplishment.”

Her observation about adulthood being the same people with better calendars made him smile. “Speak for yourself. I’m incredibly organized.” He gestured toward the back seat, where Anna had left behind a stray hair tie and what appeared to be a crumpled tissue. “Look at this operation. Everybody got where they needed to be. Nobody lost a limb. We even found both shoes.” He nodded approvingly. “That’s a successful morning by any reasonable standard.” Then his expression softened as he looked at her. “But yeah. I like our little circus. Even when it’s a complete pain in the ass.”

And then Natalie offered him another minute.

Trent’s eyebrows lifted almost immediately. He glanced toward the dashboard clock, then back at his wife, studying her with an expression that suggested he was taking the offer considerably more seriously than she’d anticipated. “One minute?” he repeated. “That’s all management’s willing to approve?” He made a thoughtful noise, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. “Pretty tight deadline. Lot of pressure.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. “Good thing I’ve always performed well under pressure.”

The grin lingered for another second before he leaned across the center console.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

He didn’t give her much opportunity to make another smart remark.

Trent brought one hand to the side of her face, his fingers slipping gently beneath the hair near her ear as he closed the remaining distance between them. His mouth found hers in a kiss that was immediately more deliberate than the affectionate little exchanges they’d shared throughout the morning. There was nothing hurried or absentminded about it. He kissed her slowly at first, his lips moving warmly against hers, before tilting his head and deepening it with the kind of confidence that came from knowing the woman in front of him almost as well as he knew himself.

His other hand settled against her waist, drawing her a little closer despite the inconvenient obstacle of the console between them. He could feel a smile threatening against his mouth, partly because he’d been thinking about kissing her properly ever since she’d announced those seven minutes, and partly because the entire situation was ridiculous. They were sitting in an employee parking lot in broad daylight, both perfectly respectable adults with jobs to get to, and he was kissing his wife like he’d somehow managed to steal her away from the rest of the world.

And he was enjoying every damn second.

He shifted closer, his thumb brushing along her cheek as he kissed her again, deeper this time. His hand slipped from her waist to the small of her back, holding her near while his mouth moved against hers with an affection that had long since stopped needing an explanation. He wasn’t thinking about the department, the grocery store, or the chicken currently sitting in their refrigerator. He wasn’t even particularly concerned about the unfortunate possibility that someone Natalie worked with might happen to glance toward the car.

For the moment, he wanted his wife.

When he finally eased back enough to catch his breath, he stayed close, his nose brushing lightly against hers. His eyes opened, finding her face only inches away, and that familiar, mischievous expression returned.

“How am I doing on time?” he murmured.

He didn’t actually wait for an answer.

Instead, Trent leaned in again, catching her mouth in another lingering kiss. This one carried a little more urgency, his fingers curling gently against the back of her neck as he drew her closer. He kissed her with the enthusiasm of a man who had been married long enough to know exactly how fortunate he was and who still found his wife ridiculously attractive. There was something deeply satisfying about the familiar way they fit together, even awkwardly across the middle of a car.

The kiss softened eventually, though Trent was reluctant to be the one who ended it. He brushed one last kiss against her lips, followed by another shorter one at the corner of her mouth, before finally drawing back far enough to look at her properly.

He was smiling now, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Well,” he said, his voice a little lower than before, “I think that was an excellent use of company time.”

His hand remained against her cheek for another moment, his thumb moving affectionately along her jaw. He glanced toward the dashboard clock and gave a small, exaggerated sigh.

“Unfortunately, I believe we’ve exceeded our allotted sixty seconds.” He looked back at her, eyebrows lifting. “Which means I’m probably gonna have to file for overtime.”

He laughed quietly, then leaned forward and pressed a final, gentler kiss to her forehead before allowing his hand to fall away. For a moment, his expression settled into something warmer, the teasing giving way to the simple pleasure of looking at her.

“Seriously, though,” he said, reaching for her hand again. “Let’s make that weekend happen. I don’t care if it’s one night or two. You, me, somewhere nice, and absolutely no conversations about fourth-grade mathematics.”

His mouth curved.

“And tonight?” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m holding you to that promise, sweetheart. After Anna’s asleep, I’m all yours.”

He glanced toward the hospital doors, then back at Natalie, clearly fighting the temptation to lean in for another kiss.

“Now get your beautiful ass into work before somebody comes looking for you.”

He paused.

“And for God’s sake, if anybody asks why you’re smiling when you walk in there, tell them your husband gave you an excellent motivational speech.”

Trent leaned comfortably against the driver’s seat, his grin returning in full.

“Very professional. Inspirational, even. I should probably start charging consulting fees.”