Page 20 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door (Stuck Together In Mermaid Shores)

[ One Year Later]

The Symphony Center is alive tonight, glowing like a beacon in Chicago’s warm, early-summer night.

The buzz of anticipation thrums through the air as well-dressed patrons stream through the grand entrance, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft strains of sweet music playing over the sound system in the lobby.

Beside me, Wren fidgets with the hem of her dress, both excited and impatient.

“Daddy, do you think she’s nervous?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at me.

Her curls are neatly arranged for once, thanks to Karina, who insisted on handling Wren’s hair while Andy enlisted my help in tying a Windsor knot. The rugged lacrosse coach had wanted to look extra fancy for tonight’s festivities.

He’d winked when he said that, eyes lingering on the not-so-subtle lump in the front pocket of my suit jacket. Karina had shushed him, playfully rolling her eyes.

I smile down at Wren. “Maybe a little, but Alina’s been doing this a long time. She’s going to be amazing.”

“She’s always amazing,” Wren says, with the kind of certainty only an eight-year-old can muster. Her admiration for Alina is one of the many things that warms my heart, and one of the many reasons that I know this is exactly where we’re meant to be.

A tuxedoed usher appears, all polished smiles and practiced charm. “Mr. Sterling? Your party’s box is ready, if you’ll follow me.”

“This way,” I say, guiding Wren with a hand on her shoulder. Karina and Andy fall into step behind us. Andy adjusts his tie for the millionth time, while Karina smooths down the front of her emerald gown, muttering something about having had too much bread with dinner.

We ascend the curved staircase to the private boxes, the carpet plush underfoot and the glow of chandeliers casting golden light on the polished wood and marble. Wren walks a little taller as we’re led to our seats, taking in the opulence with wide eyes. I remember my first time here, over ten years ago, when I took a trip to the city during spring break so that I could watch the CSO perform.

Back then, I never could have imagined this life, this moment. I had wanted such different things back then. Had barely understood anything about the world.

As we settle into our seats, Wren leans over the edge of the balcony, craning her neck to get a better view of the stage below. “Do you think she’ll be able to see us from here?”

“Maybe,” I chuckle. “But we’ll wave after the performance, just in case. Either way, she knows we’re here.”

It’s opening night of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra’s summer season, after all. We wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world except right here in the private box I’ve had reserved for the past year.

The house lights dim, and the murmur of the audience fades into a reverent hush.

When the curtain rises, my breath catches. There she is, sitting in the second chair, her violin cradled in her hands as if it’s an extension of herself. Alina’s posture is flawless, her expression serene yet focused. The spotlight catches the gleam of her bow as she raises it to the strings. For a moment, as I gaze down at her, time seems to stand still.

How many times have I watched her perform? Not just in school, and not just in the spiteful years that followed, but in the past year that we’ve tumbled deeply into love with each other? Hundreds of times, surely, and yet each performance feels like the first one, because I can hardly ever believe that I’m lucky enough to get to witness Alina weave magic with her violin.

The conductor raises his baton, and the orchestra springs to life. In an instant, the bright music swells, filling the hall with a richness that wraps around us like a sparkling, sunlit embrace. Alina, along with the elder woman in first chair, lead the string section with precision and passion, their movements fluid and commanding.

It’s impossible not to be captivated by her. As I watch her play, a wave of emotion crashes over me.

I think back to last summer, to Mermaid Shores, when everything between us began to change. For years, I’d carried resentment toward her, blaming her for doors I thought she’d closed for me. But the truth was that I’d been standing in my own way. Alina had always been my equal and my mirror, not my enemy.

And when we let go of the past, we found something neither of us had expected: something worth fighting for.

After the summer ended, and after so many kisses shared among the sandy dunes and sweet promises whispered in the moonlight, we tried to do the long-distance thing. Alina returned to Chicago to prepare for the orchestra’s fall season, fully healed and ready to go, and I stayed in Boston to finish up my latest project. It wasn’t easy, but we made it work. Late-night phone calls, video chats, stolen weekends.

Wren was the first to suggest moving. She’d barely settled into her first semester of second grade before announcing that she wanted to spend more time with Alina.

And then she happened to mention that she’d already been so bold as to call the admissions department at a prestigious school for the arts in Chicago, in hopes of getting into their percussion program. The administrators were so charmed by her boldness that they made an exception, reviewed the audition materials I hastily helped Wren film, and allowed a mid-year transfer.

We moved in January, just six months ago. Now, we live just a few blocks from Alina. Wren sees her almost every day, skipping down the street to pester her when she gets home from rehearsal. Their bond has grown into something beautiful, and I can’t help but feel a surge of gratitude every time I see them together. They’ve become a family in every way that counts.

Of course, I also see Alina every chance I get. I still fly out to Los Angeles often, especially now that Noah Clark’s new movie is in post-production, but my new base is in Chicago rather than Boston, so at least I’ve been able to cut off a couple hours’ worth of flight time.

We’ve built a life together while balancing our busy schedules, and it’s a life that feels right in a way I never thought possible. The harsh memories of the past we share have softened, replaced by the quiet contentment of the present. I know that my late wife would be at peace knowing that I’ve found true happiness again.

I know that it’s what she would have wanted for me and Wren, above all else.

And yet, there’s one more step I’m ready to take.

Before I know it, the final notes of the symphony ring out, and the audience erupts into applause. Alina rises from her seat, her gaze sweeping the crowd before landing on our box. Her smile lights up the room, and I feel Wren tugging at my sleeve.

“Daddy! She sees us! Wave!”

We all wave, and Alina’s smile widens. She dips into a graceful bow before the curtain falls, and the applause continues until the house lights come up. Wren is bouncing in her seat, clapping enthusiastically.

“She was fantastic, wasn’t she?” Karina says, her eyes shining.

“She always is,” I reply, my voice thick with pride.

As we make our way to the lobby, the buzz of the crowd surrounds us. Patrons in evening attire mill about, their conversations laced with excitement and admiration for the performance.

Wren clings to my hand, her eyes scanning the crowd for Alina. When she finally appears, dressed in an elegant black gown, her violin case slung over one shoulder, Wren breaks free and runs to her.

“Alina!”

Alina kneels to catch Wren in a hug, laughing as the little girl gushes about the performance. When she stands, her eyes meet mine, and the rest of the world fades away. I cross the distance between us, pulling her into a gentle embrace and kissing her on the cheek.

“You were incredible,” I whisper.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and warm. “I’m glad you were here.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” I say, stepping back just enough to reach into my jacket pocket.

There’s no time like the present, right? No point in wasting another moment. I want to do this right now, with our hearts still hammering from the rush of the music and the thrumming crowd swirling around us like a silken, frothing sea.

Her brow furrows in curiosity as I pull out a small velvet box from my jacket. Behind me, Wren lets out a squeal. The sound is followed by Karina’s sharp peal of laughter and Andy’s deep chuckle.

Alina gapes at me. “Gabe? What’s that?”

I drop to one knee, the noise of the lobby fading to a distant hum.

Alina’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide as I open the box to reveal the ring inside. It’s simple yet elegant, a single diamond set in a platinum band. Not so garish that it will distract while she’s playing, but not so plain that it won’t do her beauty justice.

“Alina Sokolov,” I begin, my voice steady despite the rapid pounding of my heart. I’m vaguely aware of hushed whispers and dozens of turning heads, but I pay them no attention. “You’ve challenged me, inspired me, and made me believe in things I never thought possible. You’ve shown me what love can be, and I don’t want to spend another day without you by my side. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, she’s silent, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

When she finally nods, I nearly collapse in relief. Her voice breaks as she murmurs, “ Yes . Yes, of course I will.”

Around us, the lobby erupts into applause. I hadn’t originally intended to make this so public, but I truly couldn’t wait another second. I bought the ring months ago, after all, and had been waiting for the so-called right moment.

No more waiting, though. Love doesn’t wait for anyone, after all.

I slip the ring onto her finger, standing to pull her into a kiss. Wren cheers louder than anyone, barreling forward to throw her arms around both of us. Karina and Andy join the celebration, their congratulations blending with the joy of the crowd.

After the excitement settles, we step outside into the cool night air. The city sparkles around us, the lights reflecting off glass and chrome and the shallow puddles from an earlier sun-shower. Wren skips ahead, twirling in her dress and humming snippets of the orchestra’s performance. Karina and Andy trail behind, their laughter filling the quiet spaces between the sounds of the city.

“So, what now?” Alina asks, her hand warm in mine. I can feel the cold brush of the diamond ring against my skin.

“Now?” I repeat, glancing at her with a smile. “Now we plan a wedding. And maybe start talking about combining households?”

Her laughter is soft and musical, like the notes of her violin. “I think Wren would like that.”

“I think she’d love it,” I agree. “And so would I.”

Alina leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder as we walk. In this moment, everything feels perfect. The city, the music, the family we’ve built together—it’s all more than I ever could have hoped for.

And as I hold Alina close, I know that this is just the beginning of our happily ever after.

The End