Zola's gone very still, that careful mask sliding into place that means she's trying not to think too hard about what "that thing at the docks" might entail. We still don't talk details—our unspoken agreement from eight years ago still holding—but she knows enough to understand the work isn't pretty.
"Be careful." She says it quietly, like she doesn't want to admit she cares.
"Always am." I catch Stellan's eye. "You too."
"Please." He heads for the door. "I'm basically indestructible."
After he leaves, Zola looks at me. "What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"Bringing Stellan around. Teaching him how to take care of Maeve." She sets down her coffee. "He shows up almost every day now. What's going on?"
I could lie. Could tell her I just wanted Stellan to know his niece, which is true but not the whole truth. Instead I settle onto the couch beside her, Maeve still in my arms.
"I want to take you on a date." The words come out more direct than I intended. "Just you and me. Dinner somewhere nice. No baby, no work, no distractions. Just us figuring out how to be together without everything else getting in the way."
She blinks. "A date."
"Yeah. This Saturday if you're free." I watch Maeve's eyes start drooping. "Stellan's going to watch Maeve."
"Stellan." She says his name slowly, like she's testing how it sounds. "The guy who looked like he might pass out the first time he held her. That Stellan."
"He's better now." I stand, carry Maeve to her bedroom. "And he's family. I trust him."
Zola follows me, watches as I settle Maeve in her crib. The baby immediately curls onto her side, thumb finding its way to her mouth.
"Why?" She keeps her voice low so we don't wake Maeve. "Why a date? We're together most days anyway."
"Because I love you." I turn to face her. "Not because you're an incredible mother—though you are. Not because I want to help with Maeve—though I do. But because you're you. And I need you to know that. Need us to remember what it's like to just be Declan and Zola, not parents or caregivers or people managing logistics."
Her eyes go bright, that vulnerable expression she only lets me see when her walls are down. "We were never that before. Just Declan and Zola without anything else."
"Then let's figure out what that looks like now." I reach for her hand. "Let me take you to dinner. Let me remind you why I fell in love with you in the first place."
"I remember why." She steps closer, presses her free hand against my chest. "I've never forgotten."
"Then say yes." I cover her hand with mine. "Let me court you properly this time."
She laughs—soft and almost shy. "Court me? What are we, Victorian nobility?"
"If that's what it takes." I'm only half joking. "I'll do whatever you need. Grand gestures, slow and steady, complete radio silence for a week if that's what helps. Just tell me what you need and I'll make it happen."
"I need..." She trails off, searching for words. "I need to believe this is real. That you're here because you want to be, not because you feel obligated. That if I let myself fall completely, you'll actually catch me."
"Then let me prove it." I press my forehead against hers. "One date. That's all I'm asking. Let me show you I'm serious about this."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I can see her working through it—weighing the risk against what she wants, trying to decide if she's brave enough to take this step.
Finally she nods. "Okay. Saturday. But if Stellan traumatizes my daughter, you're sleeping on the couch for a month."
"Deal." I can't help grinning. "He won't though. He's better with her than he thinks."
"He'd better be." But she's smiling now, real and warm. "Where are we going?"
"That's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
