Page 24

We continue upriver, pointing out red hawks swooping above the water and laughing at a dog that barks frantically at us from the riverbank.

The conversation flows as easily as the current, touching on childhood memories of summer, favorite water activities, and Gordie's hilarious fear of the neighbor’s garden hose.

After about an hour, Alder suggests we head back. "There's a little café near the rental place. Best bagels in Pittsburgh."

"Lead the way," I say, surprised by how reluctant I am for our time on the water to end.

The return journey is even easier, as we're now moving with the current. By the time we reach the boat launch, I feel more relaxed than I have in weeks. The attendant helps us out of our kayaks, and I'm pleased to find that I'm not even embarrassed when he steadies me as I climb out.

"How're your arms feeling?" Alder asks as we return our life jackets.

I rotate my shoulders, noticing the pleasant burn of muscles used in new ways. "I'll be sore tomorrow, but the good kind of sore. "

"Nothing a hot shower won't fix." He takes a long pull from his water bottle, and I try unsuccessfully to look away from his throat as he swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and I realize I’m almost drooling. "Ready for lunch? It's just a short walk."

Farmer x Baker is a café built into a repurposed shipping container at the edge of Aspinwall Riverfront Park. The line stretches outside the container, but Alder assures me it moves quickly.

"Trust me, it's worth the wait," he says, and twenty minutes later, when I'm biting into the most perfect avocado toast I've ever tasted, I have to agree.

We sit at a small table outside the café, watching families with children and people walking dogs enjoy the park.

"Gunnar's wedding … tomorrow,” Alder says suddenly. "I know things have been weird, but... I'd still really like it if you'd come with me."

I take a sip of my iced coffee, buying time to organize my thoughts. "I haven't changed my mind about finding my place," I say finally. "I still think it's for the best."

"I know." He looks down at his plate. "The invitation stands regardless. It would mean a lot to have you there."

I pat his hand. “I’m going to the wedding regardless. But the question is how much time I can safely spend with you while we’re there.”

He shakes his head. “You're the only one who gets it. What I've been through with Adam. And..." he hesitates, "because I like spending time with you. Today has been the best day I've had in weeks."

The simple honesty in his voice makes my chest tighten. "Mine too," I admit.

"So? Wedding date?" He gives me a hopeful look .

"Okay," I say, surprising myself with how easily the agreement comes. "I'll be your very casual, friendly plus one."

His smile is like the sun breaking through clouds. "Perfect. Now finish your fancy toast so I can show you the rest of the park."

After eating, we wander through the green space, eventually finding ourselves at a small playground. There are a few children climbing on the equipment, but the swings are empty.

"Race you," Alder says suddenly, and before I can respond, he's jogging toward the swing set.

I follow, laughing despite myself. "Are you five years old?"

"Sometimes," he admits, dropping onto one of the swings. "Come on, when's the last time you let yourself just play?"

I can't remember, which is probably answer enough. I sit on the swing beside him, feeling slightly ridiculous but also strangely free.

"Bet I can go higher," he challenges, already pumping his legs.

"You're on."

We swing side by side, trying to outdo each other, laughing like children. The fact that we're two grown adults—one a professional athlete, one a dentist with a doctorate—makes it all the more absurd and extraordinary.

"Jump on three!" Alder calls when we're both swinging high. "One, two, three!"

My first instinct is fear, but something about Alder and our morning together snuffs out that hesitation.

I let go of the chains and sail through the air.

I feel free as if I’m flying—an actual bird.

With a soft thud, I squeal before landing in the mulch, momentum carrying me forward onto my knees.

Alder lands beside me, both of us laughing too hard to care about the mulch now stuck to our clothes.

"I can't believe we just did that," I gasp between laughs, brushing wood chips from my palms .

“I can,” he says, sitting up beside me. “You’re fun, Lena Sinclair.”

He reaches over, and for a moment, I think he's going to take my hand. Instead, he gently plucks a piece of mulch from my hair. His fingers linger for just a second.

“And you're really beautiful, you know that?" he says, his voice softer than before. "Especially like this, with your cheeks all rosy and your eyes bright."

My breath catches. No clever response comes to mind, no deflection or self-deprecating joke. All I can do is meet his gaze as something electric passes between us.

"Alder," I begin, not sure what I'm going to say next.

"Mom! Mom! Look at me!" A child's voice breaks the moment as a little boy races past us to the climbing structure.

Alder withdraws his hand, but his eyes remain fixed on mine. "We should probably head back," he says, though he doesn't sound particularly convinced.

He stands and offers his hand, effortlessly pulling me to my feet. We brush ourselves off as best we can and begin walking back toward the parking lot, a newfound awareness humming between us.

"Thanks for today," I say as we reach his car. "I needed this more than I realized."

"Me too." He opens my door for me. "We should do it again sometime. Before you..." He trails off.

"Before I find a new place," I finish for him. "That might be a while at the rate I'm going. Everything decent is either too expensive or already taken."

"No rush," he says, and I can hear both relief and caution in his voice. "The guest room is yours for as long as you need it."

As we drive back to the city, windows down and music playing, I find myself relaxing into the moment, letting go of the constant fretting about the future. For today, at least, I can simply enjoy this—the warm breeze, the music, the comfortable presence of the man beside me.

Maybe just for this weekend, I can stop overthinking everything and simply enjoy this strange, unexpected connection we've found.