Instead, I grab the wool blanket and drape it over her shoulders. She doesn’t pull away.
“I hate that the message scared you.” My voice is low, raw. “I hate that you got it at all.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then turns just enough for me to see her profile. “It didn’t scare me,” she lies.
I move in slowly, hand brushing along her arm, down to her fingers. “Don’t lie to me, baby. Not about this.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I just … I don’t want to feel like this anymore. Like everything we’ve worked so hard for can be taken away in a blink. That’s how I’ve felt since I overheard your conversation—since I found out you gave away all our savings.”
Those words don’t just hurt; they snag in my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I force air in anyway.
“I know,” I say quietly. “And I know I’m the reason you feel that way.”
I step closer until my chest brushes her back, until her warmth seeps into me through the blanket and the thin cotton of her shirt.
“You were always the one thinking ahead. Protecting what we had. You created the savings plan, managing every dollar.” My hand settles lightly on her hip.
I sigh, not wanting to ruin the evening any more than I already have.
“Here.” I clear my throat. “Let’s listen to some music for a bit. Then you can try that chocolate cupcake I brought.”
Her head turns slightly, her mouth lifting at the corner. “You brought cupcakes too?”
“Just one,” I say, digging it out of the basket. “But it’s the big kind. You might even share a bite.”
She laughs, and something in my chest unclenches as I unwrap the sweet and hand it to her.
I go to play a playlist, but my audiobook starts again. The voice booms out:
“You realize you fucked up. That’s a good start. But what are you doing to make up for it? Not surface-level shit, dude. How are you taking care of her? What are you changing fundamentally? Just because you didn’t mean to trample her trust doesn’t mean you didn’t. If your family comes first, then you're failing. She’s your wife. That’s your person.”
I fumble to shut it off. Becca blinks, mid-bite. “More audiobook?”
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, but then I stop myself. That’s the old instinct—to keep it in, handle it alone. But that’s part of what got us here. I sigh. “It’s this new book. I’m trying to understand where I went wrong and how to fix it. It’s helped me look deeper … at stuff I didn’t even realize I was carrying.”
I sit down beside her, watching the shadows dance across her face in the flickering candlelight.
“I know the accident wasn’t my fault, but the guilt never faded. I went to every appointment. I tried to make her life easier. Even tolerated her best friend, just to make her smile.”
Becca raises an eyebrow, amused. “Tolerated is generous.”
“Yeah, well.” I force a smile. “I see now that my guilt blinded me. Holly doesn’t need me to carry her world. I just … I was prioritizing the wrong woman. It should’ve been you. It will always be you.”
She stares at me for a long beat, then breaks off a bite of cupcake. She leans on my shoulder as we both stare up at the starry sky, listening to the river babbling in the distance.
Her lips part, a slow smile forming as she licks a smudge of chocolate from her fingertip. The night is quiet, stars scattered across the dark sky like they showed up just for us. For a second, it almost feels normal again. Like we didn’t break anything; we’re still trying to fix it. And just like that, the shift happens—tension curling between us, humming beneath her soft breath and the way her knee brushes mine beneath the blanket.
The song changes, and the familiar first notes float through the speaker—our song.
“Dance with me, baby. Like we did on our wedding night,” I whisper.
Becca smiles and sets her cupcake down, licking frosting from her thumb as she stands. I take her hand, gently tugging her in. I guide her arms around my neck and slide mine around her waist, pulling her close.
In a low voice, I start singing against her ear—the song we claimed as ours the night we got married. The one aboutchoosing her over the Northern Lights, the Eiffel Tower, every beautiful thing in the world.
My voice isn’t Rhett’s, but I mean every damn word.
She spins once beneath my hand, laughing as I pull her back in, singing the lyrics like a vow. The fire pit crackles nearby, but all I feel is the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
