Saturday came too soon.
Alice had talked herself into thinking it was just a school event. A picnic in the park. Some sun and sandwiches. She had talked herself into believing Sophie would play with her peers, Cole would be polite, and she would sit calmly on a blanket as if she had not already crossed some unwritten line.
But all reason went flying out the window the moment she woke up.
The picnic was held at Lakeside Grove, a sunlit park along a blue, glistening lake.
Overspreading oaks threw lazy shadows across the lawn, and the air hummed with excitement children giggling, dogs barking, parents laying out collapsible chairs while trying to juggle juice boxes and sunscreen.
Alice came a whole ten minutes early, worry clenched tightly under the hem of her light-colored floral sundress. White sneakers offered just enough grip on the grassy slope, and a cooler bag thumped against her hip as she walked.
In the vehicle were sandwiches, pesto, mozzarella, and tomato. Some diced watermelon, two thermoses of lemonade, and the chocolate chip cookies Sophie had pronounced "better than any bakery's." That stamp of approval still made Alice smile.
She wasn't nervous.
Okay. She was completely nervous.
This wasn't Family Day with arts and crafts and sticker charts. This was the real deal. A real park. Real sunshine. Real feelings she had no business indulging in.
Sophie had begged for hers. Again. Asked for hers like she was something steady. Lasting.
And Cole. He hadn't blinked. He hadn't shown how much it meant.
That was what made her gut writhe.
She spotted them with ease. Cole and Sophie were sitting under a weeping willow that dangled over the water as if it was drained of energy from the week too. There was already a picnic blanket spread on the ground, plush and plaid, with Sophie on one corner in the kneeling position giving quick-fire instructions on something that had napkins and jelly sandwiches involved.
Cole sat with one arm draped casually across a crossed leg, his other hand propped behind him for balance. He wore a gray polo and dark wash jeans, sunglasses perched on the crown of his head so that he looked younger than usual, less like uptight doctor type, more like someone who would be tempted to take a whirlwind road trip.
Alice hovered for a moment, watching them before Sophie turned her head and lit up.
"Alice!" she shrieked, abandoning her station like a soldier going AWOL. She barreled across the lawn at full speed.
Alice laughed and dropped into a squat just in time to catch her. "I was worried you'd forget me."
"Never!" Sophie hugged herself tight like a monkey. "I said Daddy you were coming for real. Not pretend. Like a tradition."
"A tradition?" Alice pulled back enough to study her face.
"Yeah. Like pancakes on Saturdays. And brushing teeth before stories. You're part of it now."
Alice's throat tightened. She'd forgotten tissues in her cooler.
Cole walked up, pockets in his jeans, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.
"You brought food?" he asked, eyeing the bag.
"I couldn't just show up empty-handed," Alice replied with a light shrug. "It's just snacks."
She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, acutely aware of the way his eyes followed the motion.
"You're making it harder and harder to keep this arrangement 'casual,'" he said, half-teasing, half-sincere.
Their eyes met. The air changed.
She didn't say anything. Just rummaged in the bag and grabbed him a sandwich wrapped in parchment paper. "Pesto and mozzarella. Is that your favorite, huh?"
He blinked. "How'd you know?"
"You always skip the cafeteria lasagna. I've had those green wraps from home like three times a week." She smiled modestly. "I pay attention."
There was a moment of silence where his eyes did not move, they just remained on her face like something to be seen.
They plopped down on the blanket as Sophie ran off with her classmates, a whir of pigtails and intent. The hum of families filled the park ball games starting in the distance, music spilling from speakers being carried on the breeze. Nearby, a father tried and succeeded in inflating an inner tube the size of a flamingo, and a group of children laughed at the attempt.
Alice leaned back on her elbows and let the sun touch her face. Beside her, Cole bit into his sandwich and let out a quiet noise of approval.
"You're full of surprises," he said.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not." He looked out across the lake. "It's not at all."
They talked easily, no effort. About work, and school, and the way Sophie had suddenly become obsessed with dinosaurs and pirate ships.
They drank lemonade and cookies, and Cole laughed when he bit down and said, "Okay. Sophie was not lying."
Alice floated as though on air. It wasn't love, not exactly. But it was the beginning of something fragile, something daunting.
Every time Cole leaned a little closer to say something over the music, every time their hands brushed on the blanket or their knees touched, something sparked inside her chest.
"This was supposed to be simple," she muttered at one point, watching Sophie chase a classmate around a picnic table.
Cole glanced at her. "And now?"
She looked down at her hands. "Now it feels like something I'll miss when it ends."
That changed the mood between them. Made it lag.
He did not answer right away. Simply turned his head, put on a mask, then finally spoke, saying, "She's never had this before. A woman she can trust. A mother figure."
Alice hesitated. "Neither have I."
The words slipped out before she could censor them. She did not mean to go that far. Did not mean to expose that exposed place.
Cole looked at her straight on. "You never had a mom growing up?"
"Not exactly. Mine left when I was eight. Said she had to find herself. Guess 'herself' wasn't in Ohio raising a little girl." She attempted a smile, but it cracked.
Cole was quiet for an incredibly long time.
"Interestingly enough, folks who leave always say it's all about them, not the ones they leave behind."
They gazed into each other's eyes once more. And it wasn't friendly or familiar this time.
It was bare.
No roles now. No pretenses.
Just two people who were used to the aching, invisible bite abandonment leaves behind.
"I didn't want a family," Alice whispered. "Not this week, anyway."
Cole spoke barely above a whisper. "You want this?"
She nodded slowly. "More than I should."
He reached out, running his fingers over hers on the blanket. It was a gentle touch, but one that took her breath away.
"Me too," he whispered.
They didn't get up. The rest of the world faded away. She didn't even dare to say anything because the moment was too fragile, too honest.
And then Sophie suddenly reappeared, her face smeared with frosting and her hands sticky with cupcake bits.
"Best. Picnic. Ever!" she declared, arms wide.
Alice sat up straight and reached for a napkin with a soft laugh. "Let's just say this we'll do it again. Soon."
"Pinkie promise?"
Alice hooked her finger around Sophie's without hesitation. "Pinkie promise."
Sophie smiled happily and settled onto Cole's lap like a sleepy toddler. He wrapped his arms around her, placing a kiss on the crown of her head before glancing over at Alice.
And in that look, unguarded, hopeful something passed between them.
Not lust. Not infatuation.
Possibility.
Alice knew she was in trouble.
Because she wasn't falling for the little girl who needed her.
She was falling in love with the man beside her as well.
And judging from the expression on Cole's face, soft, steady, maybe a little terrified he was falling just as deeply.