Page 54 of The Breaking Point

He nods, eyes lifting to meet mine. “Sounds crazy, right? It was the dream.”

I shake my head. “Dreams change. Besides, your dream was never just NASA. It was building our house.”

He laughs softly, that crooked smile surfacing. “God. The plans I made. The sketches. That whole binder full of designs.”

“The glass atrium,” I say, smiling. “The skylight over the kitchen.”

“And the built-in slide for the boys instead of stairs,” he adds with a sigh. “They’re too old for that now.”

We both fall quiet, sitting there in the soft candlelight, surrounded by the low murmur of conversation and the soft clink of silverware.

“You should do it,” I say. “Quit, or take a break if that feels better. I mean, we’re in a place financially where we can afford it.” Then I smile. “Besides… you could be my house husband.”

He laughs, head tilting back. “Iamthe better cook.”

“And you look really pretty in an apron.”

He chuckles, but I lean in, more serious now. “I mean it. I’ll support you. In whatever.”

After dinner, neither of us is ready for the night to end. So, we head to Sylvan Rodriguez Park. What started as a stiff, awkward evening has softened into something surprisingly easy. Natural. We haven’t stopped talking since we crashed through that first wall of silence. Aiden’s opened up in ways he never used to,not just facts I already knew, but the feelings behind them. I’ve shared, too. Parts of my past I usually keep tucked away. Not shiny, not neat. Just real. And for the first time in a long time… that feels okay.

He groans suddenly, tilting his head back dramatically. “Oh my God. I cannot believe I got you a spa weekend withbothour mothers. What was I thinking?”

I laugh, sharp and real. “Iknowwhat you were thinking, that I’d murder you, and no one would blame me when they found out why.”

He gives me that sheepish grin, the one that saysI know I messed up, but I’m hoping you still think I’m cute.“Was it really that bad?”

“At one point,” I say, dead serious, “and I swear I’m not exaggerating. they started comparing their sex lives.”

His face contorts in horror. “No. Ew. I don’t want to know that.”

“WellIhad to. So nowyouhave to.”

He groans again, clapping his hands over his ears. “This is trauma. Actual trauma.”

He starts to walk ahead, but I catch his hand before he gets too far. Aiden doesn’t pull away. Instead, he threads our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His smirk is smug. And familiar.

The air in the park smells faintly of grass and warm pavement. The lights of downtown glow low on the horizon, the trail winding ahead of us in peaceful quiet.

“So anyway,” I continue, my voice playful, “your mom starts talking about how great her sex life is now that she married Harold. And that they’re, ah-”

He cuts me off mid-sentence, pulling me toward him and leaning in with no warning, pressing his mouth to mine. The kiss is soft but deep, urgent in a way that saysplease, for the love of God, stop talking about Harold.I laugh against his lips.

A few seconds later, right before it becomes inappropriate for public space, he pulls back and keeps walking like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just use a kiss as a tactical escape.

“Cheap move,” I say, still smiling.

He squeezes my hand. “Effective, though.”

We walk around the park, chatting about nothing when Aiden says, cautiously. “Will you tell me how you knew? About…”

I meet his eyes. “The stripper.”

He nods, slowly. It’s a question I’ve been expecting, just not right now. Taking a breath, I answer. “At the anniversary party, when I went to the bathroom. I ran into Eli who was drunk. And… well, you know Eli.”

Aiden lets out a short, tired laugh and shakes his head.

“Oh come on,” I say. “You know he always hated me.”

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