Page 60 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

Wren lets out another cheer, darting into the room to wrap her arms around both of our middles.

“Best day ever,” she repeats, her voice muffled as she hugs us tightly.

Gabe glances down at her and then back at me, his expression softening into something that looks an awful lot like hope.

This feels right. It feels good.

I smile at him.

He smiles back.

And I know, with absolute certainty, that everything really is going to be alright.

Epilogue: Gabe

[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 lookextra fancyfor 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 theworld 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.

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