I should drive you. Marcus gestured at her car. You’re upset and it’s late. She shook her head but didn’t move toward the vehicle. Just stood under the streetlight, vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache. Somewhere distant, a dog barked. Catherine flinched hard. Can I see you again? The question came out rougher than Marcus intended.

Catherine looked at him with complicated emotion. Fear and hope and grief all tangled together. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m not in a good place to be around people, especially people with kids who have their lives figured out. Marcus thought about her story of the dog, the father who valued achievement over love. Danny’s pretty independent.

I’m just talking about coffee, just seeing where this goes. She bit her lip fighting with herself. The internal war played across her face, every emotion visible. One more time. Coffee. She took a breath. But Marcus, I’m not who you think I am. My life is complicated. If we do this, there are things you’ll find out that might make you wish you’d driven away tonight. Warning and plea.

Marcus heard both. He thought about playing it safe, about the easier path of going home and deleting the dating app and telling Danny the world wasn’t ready for them yet. But he also thought about Catherine’s laugh when he’d said foot prisons, the way she’d listened to stories about his dead wife without flinching.

The loneliness in her eyes that mirrored his own. Everyone’s complicated. He met her gaze, held it. I’ve got a dead wife, a kid who thinks he can talk to stars by memorizing constellations, and a bank account that scares me every month. You’ve got whatever you’ve got. Maybe we’re both a mess or maybe we’re just people who ended up in the same parking lot on the same night.

Either way, I’d like to see you again. Catherine’s eyes shimmered with tears that didn’t fall. You don’t know what you’re saying yes to. Probably not, Marcus shrugged, but I said yes to a blind date tonight and she canceled. Sometimes not knowing works out okay. They exchanged numbers, her fingers shaking as she typed.

She saved herself as just V, not even her full name, like she was already protecting herself from whatever came next. I’ll text you, Marcus promised. She nodded backing toward her car. Marcus. His name stopped him halfway to the truck. He turned. She stood under the parking lot lights, barefoot and beautiful and broken in equal measure.

Your wife was right about kindness. Tell Danny he’s lucky to have you. Then she drove away, the Aston Martin’s tail lights disappearing into Portland traffic. The drive home blurred past, Marcus replaying every moment. By the time he pulled into his driveway, he’d nearly convinced himself it had been some kind of fever dream, exhaustion and loneliness creating a woman in a parking lot who understood grief without needing it explained.

His phone buzzed. Unknown number. Thank you for tonight. I mean it. Marcus stared at the words for a full minute before typing back. Thank you for not running. Sleep well. Inside Danny was sprawled on the couch, supposedly asleep but clearly faking. Mrs. Chen looked up from her book, eyebrows raised in question.

How’d it go? Marcus thought about the answer. Weird, but good weird, maybe. The older woman smiled, decades of wisdom in the expression. That’s usually the best kind. After she left, Marcus carried Danny to bed. The kid was heavier than last year, growing too fast. Soon he’d be too big to carry, would want his independence, would stop asking Marcus to check for monsters under the bed, even though they both knew monsters lived in grief, not closets.

Met someone interesting tonight, buddy. He whispered into Danny’s hair. Not sure what happens next, but I think your mom would have liked her. The next days fell into strange rhythm. Marcus texted Catherine each morning, simple messages, nothing heavy. She responded sporadically, like she was arguing with herself about whether to answer, but she always responded eventually.

Thursday morning, Danny wants to know if fish could survive in space with water helmets. Her reply came 2 hours later. Your son asks the important questions. What’s the answer? Probably not, but I love that he wonders. Me, too. Saturday he suggested coffee. She agreed after a pause long enough he thought she’d say no.

They met at a small place near Washington Park. Catherine arrived exactly on time, dressed down in jeans and a sweater that still probably cost more than his entire wardrobe, but looked almost normal. She walked in nervous, shoulders tense, scanning the room like she expected threat. Hi. Hi back. Some of the tension left her.

They ordered, hers black, his loaded with cream and sugar, and found a table by the window. Conversation started awkward, both of them feeling out the shape of whatever this was. Then Danny called, breathless with urgency. Dad, can fish survive in space if they have water helmets? Probably not, buddy, but it’s a good question.

When he hung up, Catherine was watching him with that expression, part longing, part something darker. He calls you midday to ask about space fish. Marcus shrugged, embarrassed. It’s our thing. He has questions, he calls. Catherine’s eyes went shimmery. My father never answered his phone. Too busy building an empire to talk about fish or anything else that didn’t advance the bottom line.

She said it lightly, but Marcus heard the old wound underneath still bleeding after all these years. Your dad sounds like he was an Catherine choked on her coffee laughing so hard tears ran. That’s Yeah, actually accurate. God, you just say things. They talked for 2 hours coffee going cold.

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