That’s loud, and I don’t know if it’s because of the adrenaline or the fact that every time I look at Jamie I feel something I don’t think I should.
I turn to look at him, and he’s already watching me.
“She’s having a good night,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I reply. “She really is.”
He smiles and looks back at our daughter, who’s still giggling away with Mr. Squishy, completely unaware of her parents on the other bench.
“I like seeing her like this.” The way he says it does something to me. I look at him properly then. He’s no longer this evil version of a man that I’ve carried around in my head for years. He’s completely different. He’s someone caring, who stays at his own detriment. Who teaches and wants to show up without being asked.
And that’s what terrifies me.
Because this version of Jamie—the real one—is the one that could break my heart if he does change his mind.
“You know, I didn’t think it was possible,” I admit quietly.
“What?” he asks.
“This,” I say, gesturing vaguely between the three of us. “You. Us. I never let myself picture it.”
He studies me for a moment. “I have,” he says quietly. “Since the day I found out about Ella. I pictured showing up. Being there for her and learning how to be what she needs.”
His gaze lifts to mine.
“Being with you,” he adds, softer, “felt like something I wasn’t allowed to want, but I did. Every single time.”
The words sit between us, too real for me to say anything back. I swallow, my chest tight in a way that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me. Steady. Hopeful. He’s all in, and just patiently waiting for me to catch up.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
Ella laughs at something below us, completely absorbed, and even though the sound fills the gondola, it doesn’t break the tension between me and Jamie.
He must feel me tense, or maybe he sees it on my face, because his thumb stops tracing circles and he ducks his head slightly to catch my eye.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
“You said you loved me last night.”
The words come out before I can stop them, and the silence that follows makes me want to jump out of this gondola entirely.
“I did,” he says quietly.
“Did you mean it?”
“Every word.”
My chest tightens, and I look down at our joined hands because looking at his face right now feels impossible.
“But how can you be so sure?” I ask, and I hate the way my voice wavers. “We've only been doing this for a few weeks, Jamie. You barely knew me before all of this. You barely knew Ella. How can you say something like that and just… mean it?”
He's quiet for a moment, his thumb still tracing slow circles on the back of my hand. Then he shifts, turning his whole body toward me so our knees press together.
“You want to know how I'm sure?” he says, his voice low enough that it's just for me. “Because I've spent my whole life around people who had every reason to love me and didn't. My father. My mother. People who shared my name, but couldn't be bothered to show up for a single thing that mattered to me. Only things that mattered to them.”
His free hand comes up to my face, his fingers gentle against my jaw.
“And then there's you,” he says. “You, who had every reason to hate me and still let me in. You, who built this entire life out of nothing and made it beautiful. You, who raised the most incredible little girl I've ever met and gave her enough love to fill every gap I left behind.”